“You want tangible, social benefits to writing fiction? There are people walking around today because other people wrote words that spoke to them. That’ll do.”  Warren Ellis (via annie-hall)

(Source: jennirl, via wenchingwithshakespeare)

“Why do I read?
I just can’t help myself.
I read to learn and to grow, to laugh
and to be motivated.
I read to understand things I’ve never
been exposed to.
I read when I’m crabby, when I’ve just
said monumentally dumb things to the
people I love.
I read for strength to help me when I
feel broken, discouraged, and afraid.
I read when I’m angry at the whole
world.
I read when everything is going right.
I read to find hope.
I read because I’m made up not just of
skin and bones, of sights, feelings,
and a deep need for chocolate, but I’m
also made up of words.
Words describe my thoughts and what’s
hidden in my heart.
Words are alive—when I’ve found a
story that I love, I read it again and
again, like playing a favorite song
over and over.
Reading isn’t passive—I enter the
story with the characters, breathe
their air, feel their frustrations,
scream at them to stop when they’re
about to do something stupid, cry with
them, laugh with them.
Reading for me, is spending time with a
friend.
A book is a friend.
You can never have too many.” ― Gary Paulsen, Shelf Life: Stories by the Book (via redeyegirl)

(via dropitlikefscottt)

“It is hard to build a body out of words. I have tried.” “Postcards” by Sarah Kay

“and that’s the beauty of books. In so many ways, they never really end.” Markus Zusak, http://zusakbooks.tumblr.com/ 

“Books have a unique way of stopping time in a particular moment and saying: Let’s not forget this.” Dave Eggers (via petrichour)

(Source: memereve, via keep-calm-and-go-on-an-adventure)

“

How often it is that we turn each other
into metaphors, months into men, this summer a summer
that belongs to us and us alone.

And you, had we not been somewhat in love that May,
all those years ago, would the post office still equate a
secret, would a yellow taxi still mean leaving, and would
a train platform still make me cry when dusk hits in Manhattan?

Mark Doty’s partner died after AIDS and everything he has seen since
has looked like loss. Sylvia Plath killed herself and afterwards, people
could only approach ovens with apologies and remorse.

The flowers in our common room keep dying. The
fruit in the bowl is always barely there.

How many times do we say goodbye before we leave? How
many times do we pretend that absence makes the heart grow
fonder?

Once, I believed in you like a poem, turned your heart
into a metaphor for my heart, turned our months into honey and
caramel lozenges,

But metaphors come, and metaphors go, and
not even seasons have the courtesy to stay till dawn.

” “For Something I Know Too Well To Name,” Shinji Moon (via commovente)

(via keep-calm-and-go-on-an-adventure)

“We read, if we love books, because there is no one among us who hasn’t had a book or a character in a book pick up the fragmented pieces of our broken hearts and glue them back together just by being like us.” Cassandra Clare (via jdesk)

(via dropitlikefscottt)

“Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure only death can stop it.” Ernest Hemingway (via writingquotes)

(via dropitlikefscottt)