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Bookstore Quotes

Browse 40 quotes about Bookstore.

Bookstore Quotes

“I thought of the cool, fresh air of the city I'd always dreamed of living in. The art museums and trolleys and the mysterious fog that blanketed it. I could almost smell the cappuccinos I'd planned to drink in bohemian cafes or hear the indie music in the bookstores I would spend my free time in. I pictured the friends I'd make, my kindred art people, and the dorm room I was supposed to move into.”

“Being a bookseller meant helping people find their moments of escape or enlightenment. Helping people fill a void in themselves to find a sense of wholeness and happiness. It could be through discovering new knowledge, being carried away by adventure, or having a good fright over a horror story. It could be something as simple as curing someone of mind-numbing boredom. There was a right book for everyone whenever they needed it. Lizzy wanted to be there for those readers to help them find their way, and as always, books would be her friend and teacher.”

“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.”

“Yes, we know you are a graduate with PhD. But when was the last time you chase after a book shop to buy and read a book at your own volition to obtain an information for your self-development? Knowledge doesn't chase people; people chase knowledge and information.”

“Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours.” K.K.”

“Save your soul, acquire print books (Sonnet 2434) I once wrote, save trees, buy ebooks; since then a couple of things have come to light. You can lose access to the ebooks you purchase, anytime the platform decides to remove them. However, the most heinous case of all is that, it's only a matter of time that platforms quietly start altering existing literature, like they are already doing to streaming. Nature will endure the loss of a few trees in the sacred cause of mind expansion, but no amount of energy conservation can make up for doctored consciousness. The minor dent on nature for literature is nothing compared to the species level damage that looms, once existing literature starts getting doctored by crooks. Ebooks, audiobooks, the choice is yours, but always acquire print copies of your cherished books.”

“Perhaps what I liked far more was the evening. Everything about it thrilled me. Every glance that crossed my own came like a compliment, or like an asking and a promise that simply lingered in midair between me and the world around me. I was electrified — by the chaffing, the irony, the glances, the smiles that seemed pleased I existed, by the buoyant air in the shop that graced everything from the glass door to the petits fours, to the golden ochre spell of plastic glasses filled with scotch whiskey, to Mr. Venga's rolled up sleeves, to the poet himself, down to the spiral staircase where we had congregated with the babe sisters — all seemed to glow with a luster at once spellbound and aroused.”

“I paused at the top of the spiral staircase, and soaked in the view. In the daylight, the bookstore took on a new life. Motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. It looked a lot cozier, as the colored glass window ornaments threw rainbows across the bookshelves and pirouetted across the hardwood floors like flecks of dappled sunlight on sand. Bookcases, filled to the brim, reached up to the ceiling, cluttered with so many colors and kinds of books, short and fat, long and wide, that it almost felt like an assault on the senses. The center of the bookstore was open to the second floor, where tall bookshelves towered so high you had to reach them with ladders. Heavy oak beams supported the roof. Planetariums and glass chimes and other ornaments hung from the rafters, catching the morning's golden light and throwing it across the store. The shelves were made from the same deep oak as the ceiling beams and the banisters on the second floor, signs hanging from the eye-level shelves detailing the different sections of the store: MEMOIR, FANTASY, SCI-FI, ROMANCE, SELF-HELP, NATURE, HOW-TO... This place was beautiful. I wondered, briefly, what it would be like to own a place like this. It was magical. A shop that sold the impossible inked onto soft white paper.”

“I take a breath, indulging in that distinct book smell. There's only one thing I love more than the smell of fresh-baked bread and that's the smell of books. Max's store is a combination of used and new books, and I find the scent intoxicating. There's something about the aroma of paper at every possible stage for a book: brand new, hot off the printing press, decades old, covered in dust and moisture. Yeah, it's probably a little weird. But I don't care. To me, it's divine.”

“Yorick's Used and Rare Books had a small storefront on Channing but a deep interior shaded by tall bookcases crammed with history, poetry, theology, antiquated anthologies. There was no open wall space to hang the framed prints for sale, so Hogarth's scenes of lust, pride, and debauchery leaned rakishly against piles of novels, folk tales, and literary theory. In the back room these piles were so tall and dusty that they took on a geological air, rising like stalagmites. Jess often felt her workplace was a secret mine or quarry where she could pry crystals from crevices and sweep precious jewels straight off the floor. As she tended crowded shelves, she opened one volume and then another, turning pages on the history of gardens, perusing Edna St. Vincent Millay: "We were very tired, were very merry, / We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry..." dipping into Gibbon: "The decline of Rome was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness. Prosperity ripened the principle of decay..." and old translations of Grimm's Fairy Tales: "They walked the whole day over meadows, fields, and stony places. And when it rained, the little sister said, 'Heaven and our hearts are weeping together...”

“Stevens Books SF 49 Ocean Avenue San Francisco, CA 94112 (415) 859-5371 Stevens Books in San Francisco is the only bookstore in the Excelsior District and serves as a hub for the community for book clubs, children’s story time and resource of used books. Centrally located within the Excelsior and Mission Terrace neighborhoods, it is only blocks away from City College and Balboa Park. The book store stocks a broad range of categories, especially featuring current bestsellers, children's books, fiction, mysteries, sci-fi, and fantasy. The non-fiction includes biographies, travel, African-American, Spanish language, cooking, graphic design, art, fashion, history, politics and more. We are also known for the extensive collection of children’s books and hard to find out of print titles. Our main specialty is Christian religious books. We buy back textbooks and resell them. For buy back textbooks we offer cash. If you don’t see what you’re looking for, just ask and the staff will get it for you – and at a discount!”

“Elle avait pris l’habitude de laisser la porte entrouverte afin que l’air humide de l’automne se mêle au parfum des livres. Elle avait toujours pensé que l’air automnal et les livres allaient bien ensemble, que les uns comme les autres se mariaient bien avec des plaids, des fauteuils confortables et de grandes tasses de café ou de thé.”

“Where's your church?" "We're standing in it." "But this is a bookstore and it's a Friday." "Yes, but you might also choose to see it as a cathedral of the human spirit-a storehouse consecrated to the full spectrum of human experience. Just about every idea we've ever had is in here somewhere. A place containing great thinking is a sacred space.”

“Walt's father had been shopping with his son on a Sunday afternoon when he'd wandered into All Saints' Passage and found the bookshop. A silent boy, Walt still hadn't spoken, so there was no reason to think he'd be interested in reading yet. But when Walt snuck through the door, under his father's arm, he let out a gasp of delight. He had stepped into a kingdom: an oak labyrinth of bookshelves, corridors and canyons of literature beckoning him, whispering enchanting words Walt had never heard before. The air was smoky with the scent of leather, ink and paper, caramel-rich and citrus-sharp. Walt stuck out his small tongue to taste this new flavor and grinned, sticky with excitement. And he knew, all of a sudden and deep in his soul, that this was a place he belonged more than any other.”

“Read good books to improve yourself.”

“Desire for books, desire to read.”

“They ended up at the Old Corner Bookstore, which Brian had read about in a tour guide to Boston. "Longfellow and Hawthorne and Oliver Wendell Holmes used to read here. Let's go in." Brian nudged the girls until they obeyed. It was a regular bookstore, less history-minded than Brian had expected. In fact, the local history shelves were quite mangeable. I'll buy one book, he thought. This will get me launched in actual reading. Out of the zillions of choices, I'll find one here. Brian picked out Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. It was thick and somehow exciting, with its chapter headings and scholarly notes and bibliography.”