Elizabeth Kostova Quotes

It didn’t matter where you were, if you were in a room full of books you were at least halfway home.

I wanted to get that sense of peace and even boredom that comes with long familiarity.

An ordinary man can surround himself with two thousand books and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy.

Because of Iowa, I like being in a different state that doesn't even have grass and think that I smell fresh-cut grass. It brings me home.

If peace had a smell,it would be the smell of a library full of old, leather-bound books.

Although I don't know Oslo at all, there is something about the feel or the smell of the place that feels like home, which is quite interesting.

Seek home for rest, for home is best.

Oh, to be home again, home again, home again! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill!

Every time I come home, it is the same great pleasure to lie down in my bed. That's when I think, 'home sweet home.'

It always just feels good going back home. It feels like nothing has changed. Seeing my room, the views. It, like, grounds you.

I love coming home.

Home is where I'm most comfortable.

Prada Infusion d'Iris perfume - my mother wears it, so it feels like home away from home. It's lovely to smell her scent at all times.

To be honest, there is no place like home.

Nothing will make a place feel unlike home like chaos.

When I got inside, I just sort of stood there. There's nothing stranger than the smell of someone else's house. The scent goes right to your stomach. Mary's house smelled like lemon furniture polish and oatmeal cookies and logs in a fireplace. For some reason it made me want to curl up in the fetal position. I could have slept right there on their kitchen table.

The pillow smells like the sunlight, a precious smell.

It's good to touch the green, green grass of home

As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.

Some books are so familiar that reading them is like being home again.

In any library in the world, I am at home, unselfconscious, still and absorbed.

I like libraries. It makes me feel comfortable and secure to have walls of words, beautiful and wise, all around me. I always feel better when I can see that there is something to hold back the shadows.

I always feel a certain sense of reverence in libraries, even small city ones that smell like homeless internet users.

The library was home away from home to my mom, and my family. We had spent every Sunday afternoon there since I was a little boy, wandering around the stacks, pulling out every book with a picture of a pirate ship, a knight, a soldier, or an astronaut. My mom used to say, "This is my church, Ethan. This is how we keep the Sabbath holy in our family.

Round and round the questions flew, until finally I found myself standing at the open door of a bookshop. It’s natural in times of great perplexity, I think, to seek out the familiar, and the high shelves and long rows of neatly lined-up spines were immensely reassuring. Amid the smell of ink and binding, the dusty motes in beams of strained sunlight, the embrace of warm, tranquil air, I felt that I could breathe more easily.