1. theunquietlibrarian: What the Catalog Card Tells Us by bibliovox on Flickr.  I miss card catalogs.

    theunquietlibrarian:

    What the Catalog Card Tells Us by bibliovox on Flickr.

     I miss card catalogs.

    (via bugseatbooks)

    • 4 months ago
    • 356 notes
    1. unconventionalmoose reblogged this from bibliofeminista
    2. neverindanger reblogged this from mythologyofblue
    3. a-1-y-5-e reblogged this from mythologyofblue
    4. hermione-mcgonagall reblogged this from theunquietlibrarian
    5. kristinspen reblogged this from clueless-librarian
    6. theredshoes reblogged this from mythologyofblue
    7. rawveganani reblogged this from mythologyofblue
    8. mooz3 reblogged this from mythologyofblue
    9. mythologyofblue reblogged this from theunquietlibrarian
    10. lifelovelibraries reblogged this from bibliofeminista
    11. ephemeral-serendipity reblogged this from lydianea
    12. ignaciogallego reblogged this from marujailustrada and added:
      What the catalog card tells us.
    13. marujailustrada reblogged this from poplibrary
    14. notmaryverycontrary reblogged this from my-ear-trumpet
    15. flayrah reblogged this from my-ear-trumpet
    16. littlelotte26 reblogged this from learnforlife
    17. lydianea reblogged this from my-ear-trumpet and added:
      “One of a series of library education visuals designed by Peabody Visual Aids in...1930s...
    18. my-ear-trumpet reblogged this from learnforlife and added:
      What the catalogue card tells us
    19. learnforlife reblogged this from bibliofeminista
    20. pearhelwa reblogged this from bibliofeminista
    21. tinamatilde reblogged this from bibliofeminista

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)



My Other Tumblrs: mustanggina.tumblr.com
diaryofadocent.tumblr.com
ifyougiveachildabook.tumblr.com

Contributor: womenreading.tumblr.com


See something you like? Click on the image to see where I found it! :)