What I say is, a town isn’t a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it’s got a bookstore, it knows it’s not foolin’ a soul.
I love walking into a bookstore. It's like all my friends are sitting on shelves, waving their pages at me.
It is clear that the books owned the shop rather than the other way about. Everywhere they had run wild and taken possession of their habitat, breeding and multiplying, and clearly lacking any strong hand to keep them down.
I have gone to [this bookshop] for years, always finding the one book I wanted - and then three more I hadn’t known I wanted.
Jake went in, aware that he had, for the first time in three weeks, opened a door without hoping madly to find another world on the other side. A bell jingled overhead. The mild, spicy smell of old books hit him, and the smell was somehow like coming home.
Standing there, staring at the long shelves crammed with books, I felt myself relax and was suddenly at peace.
Reality doesn’t always give us the life that we desire, but we can always find what we desire between the pages of books.
In a second-hand bookshop head to the back, find the old books with dust undisturbed and worn off covers for these clothe true treasures.
I just love the smell of an old book store and the feel of the crisp pages along my fingertips.
A place is not really a place without a bookstore.
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!
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.
Bookstores are wondrous places, are they not?
You are more likely to find three TVs inside a randomly selected house than you are to find a single book that is or was not read to pass an exam, to please God, or to be a better cook.
I worked in a bookstore in Oslo, importing the English-language books.