Best 4184 quotes in «books quotes» category

Nor can I throw a book away. I have given many away and ripped a few in half, but as with warring nations, destruction shows regard: the enemy is a power to reckon with. Throwing a book out shows contempt for an effort of the spirit. Not that I haven't tried.

Nor did I forget what is the natural pleasure of every man who has been a reader;… filling the shelves of a tolerably large library.

No," said Dina. "We don't burn books." "Who's we?" "People with an ounce of brain.

No soy la misma persona, realmente, de un libro a otro, porque cada mundo cambia quien soy, incluso mientras anoto su historia. Y este mundo más que ningún otro.

Not all days in the field were unhappy ones. You had to have fun sometimes or you would go crazy.

Not all fairy tales come from the books.

Note to self: don’t throw things at girls.

Not everybody is looking for a boyfriend with a sports car.

Note: When reading dry political theory, such as the texts you will find on the following pages, it may be useful to apply the Exclamation Point Test from time to time, to determine if the material you are reading is actually relevant to your life. To apply this test, simply go through the text replacing all the punctuation marks at the ends of the sentences with exclamation points. If the results sound absurd when read aloud, then you know you're wasting your time.

Nothing can compare to the feeling evoked by turning the page in a great book.

Nothing could ever matter again but the things that were eternal... There are so many stories already in the world, and so many are splendid and great, that it is difficult to believe it can be worth the telling. But if only I can tell it under direction, it will carry at least one quality of clear, running water- sincerity.

Nothing is inanimate; what is the rest is our interpretation.

Nothing is more disconcerting, it seems to me, than to enter a home or apartment in which there are no books and no place for books, no sign a book had ever been there. It always seems like a kind of desecration to me, even though I am perfectly aware that bookless people can also save their souls and can have much practical wisdom, something Aristotle himself recognized.

Nothing...They're from nothing,' he said. 'They came in the book...I found the book and inside were these flowers...They were in the book when I bought it... I bought it used...Because they meant something." 'To someone else.' 'To someone.

Nothing that is written is of the least importance.

Nothing threatens a corrupt system like a free mind.

No truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow.

Not that length and weight alone indicate excellence; many epic tales are pretty much epic crap.

No two stories are the same. They may seem the same at first glance, but, once you take a closer look, give the story some of your time, you realise its unique qualities.

Novels are what I know, and the novel door in my personality is always open.

No two readers can or will ever read the same book, because the reader builds the book in collaboration with the author.

Novelists,’ said Ivo, ‘are to the nineties what cooks were to the eighties, hairdressers to the seventies and pop-stars to the sixties… Merely, you know, an expression of the Zeitgeist, Nobody actually reads novels any more, but it’s a fashionable thing to be a novelist – as long as you don’t entertain people of course. I sometimes think,’ said Ivo, his eyes like industrial diamonds, ‘that my sole virtue is, I’m the only person in London who has no intention of writing any kind of novel, ever.

Nowadays, people read too many books to appreciate any.

Nowadays we got dog porn books… Book collection of the whole life of 20 years meat breathing… shitting, eating, drinking, sleeping… walking… ruining…

Now and then there are readings that make the hairs on the neck, the non-existent pelt, stand on end and tremble, when every word burns and shines hard and clear and infinite and exact, like stones of fire, like points of stars in the dark—readings when the knowledge that we shall know the writing differently or better or satisfactorily, runs ahead of any capacity to say what we know, or how. In these readings, a sense that the text has appeared to be wholly new, never before seen, is followed, almost immediately, by the sense that it was always there, that we the readers, knew it was always there, and have always known it was as it was, though we have now for the first time recognised, become fully cognisant of, our knowledge.

Now, his hair is white and he no longer understands anyone's need to love, for he has lost everything, not to love, but to his games of love; and when you love as a game, you lose everything, as he lost his home and wife, and now he clings to me, afraid of loss, afraid of solitude.

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.