Reading Haven Quotes

One of the most constant and sustaining truths of my life has been this: I love the library.

Booksellers are the bartenders of the reading world. People share thoughts and interests they keep private from others in their lives.

I'm the sort of person who would be perfectly happy spending an entire day in a rare books room.

The library was like a second home. Or maybe more like a real home, more than the place I lived in. By going every day I got to know all the lady librarians who worked there. They knew my name and always said hi. I was painfully shy, though, and could barely reply.

I got hit by the bug of reading - not via a person, but via the one-room library in our small town. I remember that the children's books were in the right-hand corner near the floor. Often when I went there, I was the only visitor.

I decided if I couldn't be a writer, my life would be miserable. I had this imaginary room of references to all the books I had read, a kind of bubble, in which I lived.

To me, the nicest luxury would be to have a room where I could keep all my books in one place - and have space for more.

I long for, not a writer's retreat - I can write in any situation - but a reader's retreat.

I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I belonged. This was where I lived.

We should all miss bookstores. They let you discover things.

Now I'll read anytime, anywhere. I love reading in front of the space heater. Isn't that a sad confession? But it's like my substitute for the roaring fireplace of yore.

The old fiction room at my high school was a small box of wonders, and no matter how long I spent investigating its seven and a half overstuffed shelves, I never stopped discovering treasures.

I smiled at the stacks, inhaling again. Hundreds of thousands of pages that had never been turned, waiting for me. The shelves were a warm, blond wood, piled with spines of every color. Staff picks were arranged on tables, glossy covers reflecting the light back at me. Behind the little cubby where the cashier sat, ignoring us, stairs covered with rich burgundy carpet led up to the worlds unknown. 'I could just live here,' I said.