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Quote by Bex Hogan

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Owl King

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Bex Hogan

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“You're not the kind of girl who'd be in a place like this at a time like this. Not the kind of girl who'd sit next to a guy who's the kind of guy who'd be in Bright Lights, Big City II and be so [spaced out/coked up/polypharmaceutically prepositioned/ (Add/delete as appropriate)] that he thinks he's the kind of guy who'd be in a pastiche of Calvino's If on a winter's night a traveler. It was pre-assigned seating.”

HumorBooksAndroids
Book:Your Name Here
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“Hören Sie, Corso: Es gibt keine unschuldigen Leser. Wir alle übertragen unsere persönlichen Perversitäten auf die Texte, die wir lesen. Ein Leser ist die Summe dessen, was er vorher gelesen und im Fernsehen und Kino gesehen hat. Zu den Anhaltspunkten, die der Autor gibt, wird der Leser immer noch seine eigenen hinzufügen. Und genau hier lauert die Gefahr: Das Übermaß an Literaturkenntnissen könnte auch Sie dazu verleitet haben, sich ein falsches oder irreales Bild von Ihrem Gegner zu machen.”

ReadingBooksInterpretationReaders
Book:The Club Dumas
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“He had been a reader of imperturbable voracity during the respites after battles and the rests after love, but a reader without order or method. He read at any hour, in whatever light was available, sometimes strolling under the trees, sometimes on horseback under the equatorial sun, sometimes in dim coaches rattling over cobbled pavements, sometimes swaying in the hammock as he dictated a letter. A bookseller in Lima had been surprised at the abundance and variety of works he selected from a general catalogue that listed everything from Greek philosophers to a treatise on chiromancy. In his youth he read the Romantics under the influence of his tutor, Simón Rodríguez, and he continued to devour them as if he were reading himself and his own idealistic, intense temperament. They were impassioned readings that marked him for the rest of his life. In the end he read everything that came his way, and he did not have a favorite author but rather many who had been favorites at different times. The bookcases in the various houses he lived in were always crammed full, and the bedrooms and hallways were turned into narrow passes between steep cliffs of books and mountains of errant documents that proliferated as he passed and pursued him without mercy in their quest for archival peace. He never was able to read all the books he owned. When he moved to another city he left them in the care of his most trustworthy friends, although he never heard anything about them again, and his life of fighting obliged him to leave behind a trail of books and papers stretching over four hundred leagues from Bolivia to Venezuela.”

ReadingBooksSimon Bolivar
Book:The General in His Labyrinth
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