1. (via bookporn)

  2. 
Where my books go, W. B. Yeats

    Where my books go, W. B. Yeats

    (Source: archive.org, via bookporn)

  3. 
“When at last I came upon the right book, the feeling was violent: it blew open a hole in me that made life more dangerous because I couldn’t control what came through it.” ―Nicole Krauss, Great House

    “When at last I came upon the right book, the feeling was violent: it blew open a hole in me that made life more dangerous because I couldn’t control what came through it.” ―Nicole Krauss, Great House

    (Source: juliettetang, via booklover)

  4. http://www.jmtohline.com/2013/05/green-apple-books-in-san-francisco.html
  5. "Books on the bookshelves
    And stacked on the floor
    Books kept in baskets
    And propped by the door
    Books in neat piles
    And in disarray
    Books tucked in closets
    And books on display
    Books filling crannies
    And books packed in nooks
    Books massed in windows
    And mounded in crooks
    Libraries beckon
    And bookstores invite
    But book-filled rooms welcome
    Us back home at night!"
    L.R. Knost (via wordpainting)
  6. macrolit:

    Parking garage structure at the (beautiful) Kansas City Public Library

    (via booklover)

  7. 
untitledusedandrarebooks:
New addition, this lovely collection of Jane Austen from the Modern Library Giant series, at ‘Untitled’! 

    untitledusedandrarebooks:

    New addition, this lovely collection of Jane Austen from the Modern Library Giant series, at ‘Untitled’! 

    (via bookporn)

About

Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing. (Harper Lee)

I nearly always write, just as I nearly always breathe.
(John Steinbeck)

When I don’t write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.
(Anaïs Nin)

With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.
(Haruki Murakami)

I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling.
(Carlos Ruiz Zafón)

He loved a book because it was a book; he loved its odor, its form, its title. What he loved in a manuscript was its old illegible date, the bizarre and strange Gothic characters, the heavy gilding which loaded its drawings. It was its pages covered with dust — dust of which he breathed the sweet and tender perfume with delight.
(Gustave Flaubert)

I whispered the thrilling words to myself, then lifted the book to my nose and breathed the ink from its pages. The scent of possibilities.
(Kate Morton)

This is how you read a novel: you inhale the experience. So start breathing.
(Azar Nafisi)



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ifyougiveachildabook.tumblr.com

Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com


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