What we read and why we do so defines us in a profound way. You are what you read, I suppose. Browsing through someone’s library is like peeking into their DNA.
I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door.
I’ve liked boxes since childhood. I kept my wretched treasures in them, scraps, bits of glass. Then letters, family keepsakes. But now there’s nothing good enough. Can you fit love into a box? Even the final box can’t hold a person.
“Animals don’t behave like men. If they have to fight, they fight; and if they have to kill they kill. But they don’t sit down and set their wits to work to devise ways of spoiling other creatures’ lives and hurting them. They have dignity and animality.”
[Literature] is not a thing that you can nail down and use as you want. You have to let it use you, too.
Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country
People ask a lot of their books. They want them to be amazing, they want them to be cheap, they want them the moment they walk through my door. I often feel like a kind of carnival showman, flashing bright colors in front of the customer, hoping something catches their eye.
Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body