Best 4184 quotes in «books quotes» category

No, we weren't lovers, but in a way we had opened ourselves to each other even more deeply than lovers do. The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for - and to do it so unconsciously.

Now hear of the new judgement. You are judged many times more by what you do in groups than for what you do as individuals.

No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can't put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.

Now, taking books, or anything else, from a little girl is like taking arms from an Arab, or candy from a baby...

Now, which of these stories is about you? Which one describes or illuminates an aspect of your life? Now, keep in mind, a fool will answer quickly. He will report that none of these tales relate to the world in which he resides; he will find nothing apropos, nothing applicable to his present hour. A wise man, on the other hand, might take his time to answer. He might listen to the changing voices, to the accumulation of characters, and places, and ideas. He might notice how they all string together, each part functioning individually and amid the whole. He might see something larger, something more. In time, he might even begin to see his own character connects to everything.

Now that his children had grown into their lives, their own children too, there was no one who needed more than the idea of him, and he thought maybe that was why he had this nagging feeling, this sense that there were things he had to know for himself, only for himself. He knew, of course he knew, that a life wasn't anything like one of those novels Jenny read, that it stumbled along, bouncing off one thing, then another, until it just stopped, nothing wrapped up neatly. He remembered his children's distress at different times, failing an exam or losing a race, a girlfriend. Knowing that they couldn't believe him but still trying to tell them that it would pass, that they would be amazed, looking back, to think it had mattered at all. He thought of himself, thought of things that had seemed so important, so full of meaning when he was twenty, or forty, and he thought maybe it was like Jenny's books after all. Red herrings and misdirection, all the characters and observations that seemed so central, so significant while the story was unfolding. But then at the end you realized that the crucial thing was really something else. Something buried in a conversation, a description - you realized that all along it had been a different answer, another person glimpsed but passed over, who was the key to everything. Whatever everything was. And if you went back, as Jenny sometimes did, they were there, the clues you'd missed while you were reading, caught up in the need to move forward. All quietly there.

Now that we are all so smart, we don’t easily find resolutions.

No. You can't leave a library. Without a book.

Now the tea began to do its work- as it always did- and the world that only a few minutes previously had seemed so bleak started to seem less so.

Number me the things that are not yet come- gather me together the dross that are scattered abroad- make me the flowers green again that are withered- Open me the places that are closed, and bring me forth the winds that in them are shut up- shew me the image of a voice: and then I will declare to thee the thing that thou labor to know.

Nuk e di. I kemi të gjitha ç’duhen për të qenë të lumtur, e prapë s’jemi dot të lumtur. Diçka mungon. Kërkova përreth dhe pashë se e vetmja gjë që më mungonte ishin librat, ata që unë i kisha djegur gjatë gjithë këtyre dhjetë a njëzet vjetve të fundit. Dhe atëherë mendova se ndoshta janë librat ata që do të më ndihmojnë.

Of all the ways of acquiring books, writing them oneself is regarded as the most praiseworthy method. — Walter Benjamin, "Unpacking My Library

Of course I loved books more than people.

Of course I loved book more than people.

Of all books printed, probably not more than half are ever read. Many are embalmed in public libraries; many go into private quarters to fill spaces; many are glanced at and put away...scarcely opened until the fire needs kindling. The most ardent book-lovers are not always the greatest readers; indeed, the rabid bibliomaniac seldom reads at all. To him books are as ducats to the miser, something to be hoarded and not employed... So pleasant it is to buy book; so tiresome to utilize them.

Of all things I liked books the best.

Of course, of course. Drugs, music, a new age dawning … and you came for an old book.

Of all the comforting objects in this world, few things are as reassuring and accepting as books.

Of course, she had paid for her books –most of them. Like almost every other bibliophile on the planet, Tess had books, borrowed from friends, that she had never returned, even as some of her favorite titles lingered in friends' homes, never to be seen again.

Of course they were eaten,” he retorted, his eyes flashing in cold humour. “Trolls generally aren’t exactly renowned for being vegetarians.

Of course, you'll defend Jay," says Rango, He was a part of your former life, of your former values. I will never be able to alter that. I want you to think as I do." "But Rango, you couldn't respect someone who surrendered an opinion merely to please you . It would be hypocrisy.

Offence is an event, offended is a decision. Offence and offended we have to live through it but to stay offended? To live in that place denies the very nature of the salvation that you claimed to have received.

Often something looks, or is felt to look, "better" in a photograph. Indeed, it is one of the functions of photography to improve the normal appearance of things. (Hence, one is always disappointed by a photograph that is not flattering.)

Of course. You get everything from books.

Of course you can trust me," Jake Hix said. "We read the same books.

Of course you worthless hunk of fur, books are the real treasures of the world.

Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read and what I haven't read.

Of the two thousand original copies printed of The History of Love, some were bought and read, many were bought and not read, some were given as gifts, some sat fading in bookstore windows serving as landing docks for flies, some were marked up with pencil, and a good many were shredded to pulp along with other unread or unwanted books, their sentences parsed and minced in the machine's spinning blades.

Often, when I am able to check out a book, I read it a dozen times before returning it, desperate to remain lost in the magic of someone else's story.

Oft times I write with my own blood in pain,a quick release of freedom to express well,the woes of past and present by views train;while my fancies unbar from my soul’s hall.

Oft When Somber shadows veil the human laughter,and lowly made depression its doom above us sink,from agonal mind with grief that drive's and batter mark'd by the sails of lonely hours that steep to think.

Of what use is my going to church every day and still come home and remain the same? Of what use is my attending the mosques and the next day I enter the mall with knives and start slaughtering people in the name of religion. God is a God of variety. He was not stupid creating all of us different with our uniqueness. His creating us different shows the level of His creativity. He didn't make you white to hate black or vice versa. He made it so that we can cherish and love each other irrespective of our differences just as He loved us with all our flaws and our short comings. Can we forgive those who have offended us? Yes and some will say no but never forget that you are not worthy but God still forgives you even till the last hour of your life. If God can love us against all our atrocities why can't we learn to love one another. Take a look around you, you can only see sad faces. Was that really God's intention for us on earth? Absolutely not. But we have remoulded God's creativity to suit our taste and lifestyles and now we are reaping the fruit of our labour. You should not expect to reap love when you sowed the seed of hatred. What a man sows that he reaps. We sowed on weapons of war and we are yielding war in return. We have sowed on weapons of destruction so why are we asking for peace. If you ask me....I will say let's go back to our source. He has never lost any battle. I am a living witness.

oh god i live in sea of shallow people ..i hope someday find who really deeper than every book i read it..

Oh, I guess I'm physically able to father a child. That's not what I'm thinking. I'm too closely married to a quiet reading lamp".

Oh, oh, oh I can't do that and that... Okay I will do that,... I gonna read this book, I will check out this film and in the end few of them have read the book or the books and the film or the films.

...Okay... probably now you have read all my books up to now..., you have check out everything what I have and you are asking what more??? Check out horror and try to understand it!

Okay, so it’s like each of these books is a mystery every book is a mystery. And if you read all the books ever written, it’s like you’ve read one giant mystery. And no matter how much you learn, you just keep on learning there is so more you need to learn.

Oh yes! I have couple-goals too. I love to couple myself with- Books, Coffee and Mountains.

Old books, yes! They are the true comforters; and principally because they are old and familiar. Many excellent new tales and poems and dramas are added yearly to the catalogues, and and some of these in time will stand beside the great companions under discussion; but only Time (and you and I and all other lovers of good books) will bring about their survival.

O Lord that bear rule, even we all are full of impiety. And for our sakes peradventure it is that the floors of the righteous are not filled, because of the sins of them that dwell upon the earth.

Old is old at any age. Old is when you quit asking questions about this, that, and everything. Old is when you forget how to love-or worse, don't care. Old is when you don't want to dance anymore. Old is when you don't want to learn anything new except how to be old. Old is when people tell you that you are old-and you believe them.

O livro é um pássaro com mais de cem asas para voar.

O Lord that bear rule, who may know these things, but he that had not his dwelling with men?

O livro que espalma a flor nas suas págimas transforma-a em borboleta.

Olly: jesus. is there a girl on this planet who doesn't love mr.darcy Madeline: All girls love Mr. Darcy? Olly: are you kidding? even my sister loves darcy and she doesn't love anybody Madeline: She must love somebody. I'm sure she loves you Olly: what's so great about darcy? Madeline: That's not a serious question Olly: he's a snob Madeline: But he overcomes it and eventually realizes that character matters more than class! He's a man open to learning life's lessons! Also, he's completely gorgeous and noble and brooding and poetic. Did I mention gorgeous? Also, he loves Elizabeth beyond all reason.

On a small table beside his chair were other haphazardly stacked volumes by such poets as Emerson, Whitman, and Wallace Stevens, a dangerous crew to let into your head.

Olivia's heart pittered. A blank page. A pen in hand. Was there anything as exciting? The endless possibilities, the potential for beauty, even genius, waiting for that breath of life.

On Books - Books are the ultimate accessory; they go with everything. Carpets wear down, drapery fades, statuary chips, wallpaper tears and appliances become obsolete and out of date. Movie posters simply scream “Poor high school grad”. But no one ever looks at books and scoffs, “Books? Really? What are you, a college professor?

On a cloudy day, when the dim dance of the firelight and the warmth of the sconces are not enough, the books shed their own form of light. By the hundreds, they fill the shelves that stretch across every inch of exposed wall. They rise up to the ceiling, warriors of an impenetrable army, encircling my over-sized armchair and keeping me safe as they whisper their stories softly in my ear.

On a Parisienne’s Bookshelf THERE ARE MANY BOOKS ON A PARISIENNE’S BOOKSHELF: The books you so often claim you’ve read that you actually believe you have. The books you read in school from which you remember only the main character’s name. The art books your parents give you each Christmas so you can get some “culture”. The art books that you bought yourself and which you really love. The books that you’ve been promising yourself you’ll read next summer … for the past ten years. The books you bought only because you liked the title. The books that you think makes you cool. The books you read over and over again, and that evolve along with your life. The books that remind you of someone you loved. The books you keep for your children, just in case you ever have any. The books whose first ten pages you’ve read so many times you know them by heart. The books you own simply because you must and, taken together, form intangible proof that you are well read. AND THEN THERE ARE THE BOOKS YOU HAVE READ, LOVED, AND WHICH ARE A PART OF YOUR IDENTITY: The Stranger, Albert Camus The Elementary Particles, Michel Houellebecq Belle du Seigneur, Albert Cohen Bonjour Tristesse, Françoise Sagan Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert L'Écume des jours, Boris Vian Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire Journey to the End of the Night, Louis-Ferdinand Céline À la recherche du temps perdu, Marcel Proust “How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are: Love, Style, and Bad Habits” By Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline de Maigret, and Sophie Mas