reader

If you truly love a book, you should sleep with it, write in it, read aloud from it, and fill its pages with muffin crumbs.

Books. They are lined up on shelves or stacked on a table. There they are wrapped up in their jackets, lines of neat print on nicely bound pages. They look like such orderly, static things. Then you, the reader come along. You open the book jacket, and it can be like opening the gates to an unknown city, or opening the lid of a treasure chest. You read the first word and you're off on a journey of exploration and discovery.

For when I trace back the years I have liv'd, gathering them up in my Memory, I see what a chequer'd Work Of Nature my life has been. If I were now to inscribe my own History with its unparalleled Sufferings and surprizing Adventures (as the Booksellers might indite it), I know that the great Part of the World would not believe the Passages there related, by reason of the Strangeness of them, but I cannot help their Unbelief; and if the Reader considers them to be but dark Conceits, then let him bethink himself that Humane life is quite out of the Light and that we are all Creatures of Darknesse.

I began to write because of love. I wrote to understand what I felt and what I knew.

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.

We want books that make our hearts beat harder... that relieve us of the agonizing burden of everyday life

Reading is only a pretext for our bodies to stick together, like a sculpture, fused in a way that when trying to separate one from other, or the work remains intact or is completely lost

Sometimes, when inspiration runs dry, I drink classical music until my words spill out.

If you can't write, read.If you can't read, walk.Or walk and read, then write.

I am not a speed reader. I am a speed understander.

I don't have a disregard for my reader in humor pieces.

Writing is a gift to both the writer and the reader.

Though the immediate impression of rebellion may obscure the fact, the task of authentic literature is nevertheless only conceivable in terms of a desire for fundamental communication with the reader.

The pale organisms of literary heroes feeding under the author's supervision swell gradually with the reader's lifeblood; so that the genius of a writer consists in giving them the faculty to adapt themselves to that - not very appetizing - food and thrive on it, sometimes for centuries.

Reading is an act of resistance. Against what? Against all constraints.

Better to work for yourself alone. You do as you like and follow your own ideas, you admire yourself and please yourself: isn__ that the main thing? And then the public is so stupid. Besides, who reads? And what do they read? And what do they admire?

The good, the admirable reader identifies himself not with the boy or the girl in the book, but with the mind that conceived and composed that book.

So who is cruel? You, cruel reader, you are.