Quotessence
Home / Topics / Books Quotes

Books Quotes

Browse 4343 quotes about Books.

Books Quotes

“Poetry isn’t an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn’t a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn’t swimming. Poetry is water.”

“The Author To Her Book Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, Where errors were not lessened (all may judge). At thy return my blushing was not small, My rambling brat (in print) should mother call. I cast thee by as one unfit for light, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could. I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw. I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.”

“I only wrote prose before I met you. My musings were superfluous and serious as well. But now the words dance with me. I sing with them and we create poetry.”

“I left the bank because they wouldn’t deposit my cheque of poems. So I went to the store, but they didn’t accept my currency of words. So I boxed all my stories and took them to charity. But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead. I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?”

“Під час війн і переворотів читач залишає вдома цілу бібліотеку. Улюблену книжку бере в мішку в дорогу, але і її мусить невдовзі покинути в придорожній корчмі чи в лісі на роздоріжжі. Бібліотека контрабандистів була живим свідченням цього процесу й пересторогою. Воєнний читач має розраховувати передовсім на свою пам'ять. У кінці шляху в нього залишиться тільки те, що він винесе в пам'яті.”

“Holding a precious book meant to Mendel what an assignment with a woman might to another man. These moments were his platonic nights of love. Books had power over him; money never did. Great collectors, including the founder of a collection in Princeton University Library, tried in vain to recruit him as an adviser and buyer for their libraries—Jakob Mendel declined; no one could imagine him anywhere but in the Café Gluck. Thirty-three years ago, when his beard was still soft and black and he had ringlets over his forehead, he had come from the east to Vienna, a crook-backed lad, to study for the rabbinate, but he had soon abandoned Jehovah the harsh One God to give himself up to idolatry in the form of the brilliant, thousand-fold polytheism of books. That was when he had first found his way to the Café Gluck, and gradually it became his workplace, his headquarters, his post office, his world. Like an astronomer alone in his observatory, studying myriads of stars every night through the tiny round lens of the telescope, observing their mysterious courses, their wandering multitude as they are extinguished and then appear again, so Jakob Mendel looked through his glasses out from that rectangular table into the other universe of books, also eternally circling and being reborn in that world above our own.”

“Sometimes I come up here at night, even when I'm not fixing the clocks, just to look at the city. I like to imagine that the world is one big machine. You know, machines never have any extra parts. They have the exact number and type of parts they need. So I figure if the entire world is one big machine, I have to be here for some reason. And that means you have to be here for some reason, too.”

“Books have always been my best companions. They have not only provided entertainment but also served as wise, nonjudgmental mentors whenever I needed advice. The problem with my situation was that I had not come across a single book to guide me or at least accompany me as I laid out the roadmap for the rest of my life. In fact, I had no idea how I had arrived at this unfamiliar crossroad. I certainly did not deserve to be in this predicament.”

“The only advice, indeed, that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions. If this is agreed between us, then I feel at liberty to put forward a few ideas and suggestions because you will not allow them to fetter that independence which is the most important quality that a reader can possess. After all, what laws can be laid down about books? The battle of Waterloo was certainly fought on a certain day; but is Hamlet a better play than Lear? Nobody can say. Each must decide that question for himself. To admit authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read, what value to place upon what we read, is to destroy the spirit of freedom which is the breath of those sanctuaries. Everywhere else we may be bound by laws and conventions-there we have none.”

“When we read, we decide when, where, how long, and about what. One of the few places on earth that it is still possible to experience an instant sense of freedom and privacy is anywhere you open up a good book and begin to read. When we read silently, we are alone with our own thoughts and one other voice. We can take our time, consider, evaluate, and digest what we read—with no commercial interruptions, no emotional music or special effects manipulation. And in spite of the advances in electronic information exchange, the book is still the most important medium for presenting ideas of substance and value, still the only real home of literature.”

“The only way to make a library safe is to lock people out of it. As long as they are allowed to read the books 'any old time they have a mind to,' libraries will remain the nurseries of heresy and independence of thought. They will, in fact, preserve that freedom which is a far more important part of our lives than any ideology or orthodoxy, the freedom that dissolves orthodoxies and inspires solutions to the ever-changing challenges of the future. I hope that your library and mine will continue in this way to be dangerous for many years to come.”

“You have cancer." Three words. The heaviest, darkest words I'd ever heard in my life. "What are my options?" I asked. Numb. That's what I felt. Cold. Numb. Empty. All adjectives to describe this feeling racing through me after hearing those three words. "We could begin chemo followed by radiation. It would prolong life by at least a year." A year. One year filled with hospital visits, pain, and frequent visits to the porcelain throne. Do I want that? "A year with treatment? How long if I choose nothing?" A cold stare was my response before she replied. "Honestly?" I nodded. "Shoot it to me straight." "With no treatment, you'd be lucky to see another year." It was early spring in the United States. So, nine months? I'd have just under a year to prepare my husband and children, family and friends, to live without me. Could I? Should I? With treatment I'd gain maybe one more year. But, what would be the quality? "So with or without treatment, the best I'm looking at is a year and a half?" She learned forward before replying, "Yes. Best case scenario, with aggressive treatment, a year and a half." I nodded. How am I supposed to act when given a death sentence? (Will They Remember Me - by Ashlee Shades, coming soon)”

“Joy isn’t just an outcome; it’s a strategy. The happiest and most impactful individuals cultivate habits that feed their soul. From practicing gratitude and fostering authentic relationships to pursuing work that lights them up.”