I was perpetually grief-stricken when I finished a book, and would slide down from my sitting position on the bed, put my cheek on the pillow and sigh for a long time. It seemed there would never be another book. It was all over, the book was dead. It lay in its bent cover by my hand. What was the use? Why bother dragging the weight of my small body down to dinner? Why move? Why breathe? The book had left me, and there was no reason to go on.
I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
4:30 Thankful (by MamaOwlPhoto)
How Books are Made
i’ll just read a book instead (by ieatcake)
BOOK SCENTS. If I could bottle all the scents of books—the new smell and the I-kept-this-book-for-years smell—I would. Book-smelling is one of my quirks, and I consider the scent as my own version of marijuana. ;)
Always. (get it?) :D
All good and true book-lovers practice the pleasing and improving avocation of reading in bed … No book can be appreciated until it has been slept with and dreamed over.