Best 4184 quotes in «books quotes» category

We are what we love to read, and when we admit to loving a book, we admit that the book represents some aspect of ourselves truly, whether it is that we are suckers for romance or pining for adventure or secretly fascinated by crime.

We awaken by asking the right questions.

We become the books we read.

We believed in the existence in this country of a vast reading public for intelligent books at a low price and staked everything on it.

We both know you can’t split a bookstore. (I don’t even share shelf space.)

We can ignore reality, but we cannot ignore the consequences of ignoring reality.

We can imagine the books we'd like to read, even if they have not yet been written, and we can imagine libraries full of books we would like to possess, even if they are well beyond our reach, because we enjoy dreaming up a library that reflects every one of our interests and every one of our foibles--a library that, in its variety and complexity, fully reflects the reader we are.

We can read a good spiritual book in search of information or in search of God. We will find only what we're looking for.

We can trace the communitarian fantasy that lies at the root of all humanism back to the model of a literary society, in which participation through reading the canon reveals a common love of inspiring messages. At the heart of humanism so understood we discover a cult or club fantasy: the dream of the portentous solidarity of those who have been chosen to be allowed to read. In the ancient world—indeed, until the dawn of the modern nation-states—the power of reading actually did mean something like membership of a secret elite; linguistic knowledge once counted in many places as the provenance of sorcery. In Middle English the word 'glamour' developed out of the word 'grammar'. The person who could read would be thought easily capable of other impossibilities.

We can’t avoid the beliefs of people because many a people live & hope on it.

Weddings are friendship deal breakers if the friendship is weak. There are too many favors, too many tasks, too much required devotion and Aqua Net for imposters like me. I tried to make eye contact with Francine, to give her a knowing good-bye smile like a ghost of a loved one in a movie. It was no usue, I decided to cut my final pink wire. There would be no more yearly "happy birthdays" and certainly no more bonding with the girl in the duct tape dress. That ship had sailed.

We do not belong to those who have ideas only among books, when stimulated by books. It is our habit to think outdoors - walking, leaping, climbing, dancing, preferably on lonely mountains or near the sea where even the trails become thoughtful.

…we dipped down into the tunnel taking us under the Hudson River and into the heart of the “Big Apple.” I knew New York City well, so it only took minutes before I found my way to 42nd Street and was on the Great White Way! There was a sense of excitement being surrounded by people who all seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. I ambled over to 8th Avenue, and found one of many bars advertising two drinks for the price of one. I entered thinking that in uniform I looked old enough to be served, but was still surprised when it happened. I don’t remember how much money I had on me, but it couldn’t have been much. Sitting at the bar, I blended in and no one seemed to care, so I had the second glass of what must have been the cheapest whiskey ever sold. Fortified by liquid courage, I started to feel bigger than life, and I thought to myself that if nobody else cared, why should I? The world was my oyster and I was the “King of the Hill.” The bartender asked if I wanted another drink. Looking at my watch I suddenly realized that it was later than I thought…. Where had the time gone? I had to get back! I had just arrived in the City and couldn’t believe how fast the time had flown by. I hurried to the new Port Authority Bus Terminal two blocks away and luckily caught the bus to Perth Amboy just in time. I felt a little lightheaded, but had it together enough to realize that I was racing against the clock. The bus seemed to take forever, making many more stops for red lights than I expected….

We exist in the world of books.

We encounter many sacred souls while reading.

…We feel different things. We like different things. It’s like they say with books, no two people ever read the same book. It’s the same with music, yo.

We encounter great souls by reading great books.

We find paradise in every library and bookshop.

We have adorned the lower heaven with an adornment, the star- They cannot listen to the exalted assembly and they are reproached from every side.

We have evolved a new cosmogony of literature, Boris and I. It is to be a new Bible - The Last Book. All those who have anything to say will say it here - anonymously. We will exhaust the age. After us not another book - not for a generation, at least. Heretofore we had been digging in the dark, with nothing but instinct to guide us. Now we shall have a vessel in which to pour the vital fluid, a bomb which, when we throw it, will set off the world. We shall put into it enough to give the writers of tomorrow their plots, their dramas, their poems, their myths, their sciences. The world will be able to feed on it for a thousand years to come. It is colossal in its pretentiousness. The thought of it almost shatters us.

...we have, each of us, a story that is uniquely ours, a narrative arc that we can walk with purpose once we figure out what it is. It's the opposite to living our lives episodically, where each day is only tangentially connected to the next, where we are ourselves the only constants linking yesterday to tomorrow. There is nothing wrong with that, and I don't want to imply that there is by saying how much this shocked me -- just that it felt so suddenly, painfully right to think that I have tapped into my Long Tale, that I have set my feet on the path I want to walk the rest of my life, and that it is a path of stories and writing and that no matter how many oceans I cross or how transient I feel in any given place, I am still on my Tale's Road, because having tapped it, having found it, the following is inevitable....

We have more choice than ever before about where and how we buy and read books.

We have the power to move mountain, if we have faith that the mountain can be moved.

We have to report this." Kai sighed deeply in relief. "I was afraid you were going to say that we had to investigate it ourselves." "Don't be ridiculous," Irene said briskly. "We may collect fiction, but we are not required to imitate the stupider parts of it.

Weigh thou therefore their wickedness now in the balance, and theirs also that dwell the world; and so shall thy name no where be found anymore.

We humans have many ways to complain what burning sunlight gives more than a day's light, until purple moon cures us with her fondling balms,like every pain has a remedy to heal and future to grow.

We knew the difference between that which cannot be expressed and that which must. We understood that while words are a path taking us only so far, they are a requisite to the journey. They are like road maps that show us which way to go.

We live vicariously through stories, because our own lives provide so few opportunities for high-stakes adventure and noble sacrifice.

We live for books.

We live in an odd world, where books are filled with expressions of love, and lives devoid of it.

Well, tell me boy," she said, "what have you been reading?" Craftily he picked his way across the waste land of printery, naming as his favorites those books which he felt would win her approval. As he had read everything, good and bad, that the town library contained, he was able to make an impressive showing. Sometimes she stopped him to question about a book--he rebuilt the story richly with a blazing tenacity of detail that satisfied her wholly. She was excited and eager--she saw at once how abundantly she could feed this ravenous hunger for knowledge, experience, wisdom. And he knew suddenly the joy of obedience: the wild ignorant groping, the blind hunt, the desperate baffled desire was now to be ruddered, guided, controlled. The way through the passage to India, that he had never been able to find, would now be charted for him. Before he went away she had given him a fat volume of nine hundred pages, shot through with spirited engravings of love and battle, of the period he loved best. He was drowned deep at midnight in the destiny of the man who killed the bear, the burner of windmills and the scourge of banditry, in all the life of road and tavern in the Middle Ages, in valiant and beautiful Gerard, the seed of genius, the father of Erasmus. Eugene thought The Cloister and the Hearth the best story he had ever read.

Well…it’s whether you want to face certain death by taking a risk on the other route or almost certain death by scaling the walls?” she replied. “Therefore, for me, considering our options, it’s a no brainer.

Well, the man who first translated the bible into English was burned at the stake, and they've been at it ever since. Must be all that adultery, murder and incest. But not to worry. It's back on the shelves.

Well…I’m sorry to burst your human bubble, but I’m living proof that they do,” I reply, “although, if you don’t believe me, then by all means give the ‘Ghostbusters’ a call. I’m sure they will confirm everything, but make sure you remind them not to cross the streams!

We lusty bibliophiles know that reading, unlike just about anything else, is both good for you and loads of fun.

Well, you know, I love to read. Actually, I'm looking at a book, I'm reading a book, I'm trying to get started.

We love to buy books because we believe we're buying the time to read them. [Inside Out (VH1)]

We need knew knights, but without swords.

We ought to know the history of our ancient ancestors.

We read to know we’re not alone. We read because we are alone. We read and we are not alone. We are not alone.

We're all entitled to our different likes and dislikes. Imagine the world if we all liked the same things.

We really learn only from those books that we cannot judge. The author of a book that we were able to judge would have to learn from us.

We read in slow, long motions, as if drifting in space, weightless. We read full of prejudice, malignantly. We read generously, making excuses for the text, filling gaps, mending faults. And sometimes, when the stars are kind, we read with an intake of breath, with a shudder... as if a memory had suddenly been rescued from a place deep within us--the recognition of something we never knew was there...

we're just paper on a shelf, in the end

Wer niemals ganze Nachmittage lang mit glühenden Ohren und verstrubbeltem Haar über einem Buch saß und las und las und die Welt um sich her vergaß, nicht mehr merkte, daß er hungrig wurde oder fror - Wer niemals heimlich beim Schein einer Taschenlampe unter der Bettdecke gelesen hat, weil Vater oder Mutter oder sonst irgendeine besorgte Person einem das Licht ausknipste mit der gutgemeinten Begründung, man müsse jetzt schlafen, da man doch morgen so früh aus den Federn sollte - Wer niemals offen oder im geheimen bitterliche Tränen vergossen hat, weil eine wunderbare Geschichte zu Ende ging und man Abschied nehmen mußte von den Gestalten, mit denen man gemeinsam so viele Abenteuer erlebt hatte, die man liebte und bewunderte, um die man gebangt und für die man gehofft hatte, und ohne deren Gesellschaft einem das Leben leer und sinnlos schien - Wer nichts von alledem aus eigener Erfahrung kennt, nun, der wird wahrscheinlich nicht begreifen können, was Bastian jetzt tat.

We spend our lives waiting for our book and it never comes.

We spend great sum of money to buy good books, so that we can satisfy our pleasure of reading.

We like to admit to only that which already glows, although it is nobler to support brightness before it glows, not afterwards.

Well… Actually, just read any books you find interesting will do. Even books that seem boring aren’t actually that dull. It’s just that the reader couldn’t find the interesting parts.

Well…I like your attitude,” he told me, smiling. “Although I don’t like yours Mr Lewiston,” he added, his voice suddenly going harsh. “Try to bring a whoopie cushion into my class again and you’ll find that your end of term Maths paper might just be mysteriously downgraded.