Quotes Tagged "books"

I live in two worlds. One is a world of books. I’ve been a resident of Faulkner’s Yoknapatowpha County, hunted the white whale aboard the Pequod, fought alongside Napoleon, sailed a raft with Huck and Jim, committed absurdities with Ignatius J. Reilly, rode a sad train with Anna Karenina, and strolled down Swann’s Way.

Are there not books that can make us live more in one single hour than life can make us live in a score of shameful years?

For someone who is hungry for the wisdom of the past, the smell of books in a bibliopole is more beautiful than the smell of the world's finest dishes!

Itself a product of the great extension of intellectual activity to classes in which it was formerly bounded by narrow limits, the library is bound to widen those limits wherever they can be stretched, and every movement of them reacts to help it. Surely advertisement on its part is an evangel—a bearing of good intellectual tidings into the darkness. We are spiritualistic mediums in the best sense—the bearers of authentic messages from all the good and great of past or present time; only with us, no turning on of the light, no publicity however glaring, will break the spell or do otherwise than aid, for whether we succeed or fail, whether we live or die, those messages, recorded as they are in books, will stand while humanity remains.

Every wall was covered with shelves, packed tightly with books on every subject under the sun, and a few best unmentioned in polite company.

Wie viele Bücher habe ich als Literaturkritiker rezensiert, deren Katastrophe dadurch hätte vermieden werden können, dass die Protagonisten über den Konflikt, der ihnen am Ende um die Ohren fliegt, einfach einmal gesprochen hätten. Erst wenn alles zu spät ist werden die Fragen gestellt, die immer schon hätten gestellt werden müssen und plötzlich wird alles licht und leicht, die Mauer des Schweigens ist gebrochen

Late into the night she reads, and the lamplight falls in a soft circle across her tented knees, across the warm blankets, across Luca's casting breath. In their new home, Lydia rereads Amor en los tiempos del colera, first in Spanish, then again in English. No one can take this from her. This book is hers alone.

Re-examine all you have been told,' Whitman tells us, 'and dismiss whatever insults your own soul.' Full disclosure: what insults my soul is the idea—popular in the culture just now, and presented in widely variant degrees of complexity—that we can and should write only about people who are fundamentally 'like' us: racially, sexually, genetically, nationally, politically, personally. That only an intimate authorial autobiographical connection with a character can be the rightful basis of a fiction. I do not believe that. I could not have written a single one of my books if I did. But I feel no sense of triumph in my apostasy. It might well be that we simply don’t want or need novels like mine anymore, or any of the kinds of fictions that, in order to exist, must fundamentally disagree with the new theory of 'likeness.' It may be that the whole category of what we used to call fiction is becoming lost to us. And if enough people turn from the concept of fiction as it was once understood, then fighting this transformation will be like going to war against the neologism 'impactful' or mourning the loss of the modal verb 'shall.' As it is with language, so it goes with culture: what is not used or wanted dies. What is needed blooms and spreads.

It’s impossible not to laugh when codes are jammed up.

Yes, one has read; but this is beyond any book.

Every Saturday I would go to the library and choose my books for the week. One late-autumn morning, despite menacing clouds, I bundled up and walked as always, past the peach orchards, the pig farm and the skating rink to the fork in the road that led to our sole library. The sight of so many books never failed to excite me, rows and rows of books with multicolored spines. I’d spent an inordinate amount of time choosing my stack of books that day, with the sky growing more ominous. At first, I wasn’t worried as I had long legs and was a pretty fast walker, but then it became apparent that there was no way I was going to beat the impending storm. It grew colder, the winds picked up, followed by heavy rains, then pelting hail. I slid the books under my coat to protect them, I had a long way to go; I stepped in puddles and could feel the icy water permeate my ankle socks. When I finally reached home my mother shook her head with sympathetic exasperation, prepared a hot bath and made me go to bed. I came down with bronchitis and missed several days of school. But it had been worth it, for I had my books, among them The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, Half Magic and The Dog of Flanders. Wonderful books that I read over and over, only accessible to me through our library.

Choosing to buy a particular book over others only or mainly because it is the cheapest is excusable only if you are learning to read.

Oh, she could get lost for days in here, Irena thought as she took in the towering shelves of the library. If only she could.

Irena had taken to exploring the library at night to keep from going mad.

Writing, he'd said, is the most dangerous thing there is. Because when you write, you're only creating half the ideas. The reader brings the other half. And when you have two people involved in a plot, what's that called? Her answer: boring . His response: a conspiracy.

I know why some books live on forever while others struggle for breath, forgotten on shelves and in basements. the authors . . . hadn’t bled. They hadn’t cut themselves open and given up a part of themselves that they would dearly miss. They hadn’t lost anything in the writing. That’s the difference between the books that I could never aptly explain to Dawt Pi and the ones I let The Professor shred. That’s the difference between the dead and the living.

No Mr. West, it was not a choice New children’s chapter book disputes the notion that 400 years of slavery was a result of “mental imprisonment” Cleveland, OH, —.In the words of the great Stan Lee, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” When icons make erroneous statements, often they do so with out recognizing the long reaching effects their thoughtless statements may have. When Kanye West made his very controversial statements regarding slavery, describing it as a choice, an entire generation of young minds were watching and absorbing as inaccurate picture of history was painted for them and presented as fact. Author Michelle Person, former teacher, elementary school principal, and founder of Just Like Me Books (JLM) could not stand by and allow that fallacy to linger unchecked. Committed to promoting a love of reading and increasing literacy rates among high risk readers through an interactive platform that prominently features characters of color, JLM’s newest release Leaders of the Revolution tells the story of Toussaint L’Ouverture and the first successful slave uprising in the western world. The third book in the Nathaniel English series, aimed at children ages 6-11, follows 5th grade Nathaniel as he searches for solutions to his present day problems by learning about important historical figures of the past. Thanks to his mother’s extensive at home library, Nathaniel is exposed to information that his teachers don’t share, helping him to develop a strong sense of self and determine his place in this world. Inspired by the actions of Toussaint, Nathaniel and his friends fight to make their voices heard on the timeless and ever important issue of school lunch. Leaders of the Revolution tells the story of the Haitian Revolution and the importance of standing up for what you believe in!“Michelle has her own unique voice and writing style that makes it feel fresh and exciting that children will easily relate to.” -Goodreads Readers looking to laugh, learn, and diversify their libraries will find a lot to love here. Leaders of the Revolutioncan be found on Amazon. ### If you would like more information about Just Like Me Books and their full catalog of products and services please call Michelle Person at 216.323.8951, or send an email to [email protected].

Whereever a poet is born enduring depends on the frailest of chances: Who listened to your murmuring over your little rubbish who let you be who gave you the books who let you know you were not alone

Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.

This is what you learn to see, when you sit alone in a forbidden place, reading faster than you can turn the pages You learn how very strange and lovely the world is and can be. How there is always more to find out, how there is nothing new under the sun - and that you are not alone, not really, not ever, with a book.