Shop for books. Read books. It’s that easy.

Shop for books. Read books. It’s that easy.

slightlyignorant:

This should come with every book as a dust cover.

slightlyignorant:

This should come with every book as a dust cover.

I have that same problem.

I have that same problem.

It’s not about the words. It’s about the memories lost inside the words.
Virginia Woolf, from Congenial Spirits: The Selected Letters of Virginia Woolf (Harcourt, 1990)
Try to learn to let what is unfair teach you.
David Foster Wallace; Infinite Jest

Stephen King: 'I Think Books Are Going To Be Here For A Long, Long Time'

I will always prefer a physical copy of a book. Call me an idealist, a romantic, call me whatever, I simply prefer actual books. 

Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.
George Carlin  (via whenthepawn-hits)
slightlyignorant:

Happy to oblige!

Me too!

slightlyignorant:

Happy to oblige!

Me too!

vintageanchorbooks:

Celebrate Banned Books Week by reading a banned book.

Amen!

vintageanchorbooks:

Celebrate Banned Books Week by reading a banned book.

Amen!

Always!

Always!

bibliolectors:

Lecturas para el verano (ilustración de Shell Sherree)

bibliolectors:

Lecturas para el verano (ilustración de Shell Sherree)

When You Love Someone

When you love someone you’ll do anything
You’ll do all the crazy things that you can’t explain
You’ll shoot the moon, put out the sun
When you love someone

You’ll deny the truth, believe a lie
There’ll be times that you’ll believe that you could really fly
But your lonely nights have just begun
When you love someone

When you love someone you’ll feel it deep inside
And nothing else could ever change your mind
When you want someone, when you need someone
When you love someone…

When you love someone you’ll sacrifice
Giving everything you got and you won’t think twice
You’d risk it all no matter what may come
When you love someone.

Yeah
You’ll shoot the moon, put out the sun
When you love someone

Bryan Adams

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming.”

I find myself thinking about Yeats’ “rough beast” a lot of late. Yeats thought a shared apocalypse was nigh. But it seems to the beast comes for us one at a time.

(via fishingboatproceeds)