Bookshop And Bonedust Quotes

Because I’m headed down the hill, and you’re headed up it. I’m just glad we chanced to meet on the way.

Never trust a writer who doesn’t have too many books to read. Or a reader, for that matter,” said Zelia.

I don't know if I can explain it, but watching you read what I give you, putting a book in your hands and seeing what happens to you once you put it back down... I can't make you understand how that gives me something I didn't know I had to have.

You do something for years and years, and the only reason you continue is because once you stop, you won't really have anything.

See you in the story past the story.

Every book is a little mirror, and sometimes you look into it and see someone else looking back.

You know, there’s a lot of people out there. Lot of noise. I love what I do, love it every day, but none of us sees more than a tiny piece of all the world, like we’re lookin’ out a little-bitty window. And I saw you through mine, and somethin’ inside me said, ‘That’s somebody you oughta know.’ Simple as that.

You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then …

Viv stayed quiet. Sometimes, that was just what you had to do.

Well,” breathed Fern, surveying the interior with both brows raised. “Fuck me.” Satchel drew back from her in alarm, and his eyes seemed to widen as the flames within them burned brighter. Viv leaned down near his skull and whispered, “It’s just a figure of speech, not a request.

The glow in The Perch dimmed, her corner untouched by the blast of light and heat from the hearth across the room, so she asked for a lantern to read by. The kid obliged, and despite the uncomfortable chair and the ache in her leg and the backwater in which she’d been abandoned, she was absorbed. She was transported. She was elsewhere.

Besides, total ignorance never stopped me from trying anything before.

Because I’m headed down the hill, and you’re headed up it. I’m just glad we chanced to meet on the way.

And as Tandri laughed, waiting for the full story, Viv was grateful for all the wrong times that had led to this right one.

At this point, she figured that if enemies from across the sea lay siege to the fortress walls, there would still be a line at Sea-Song. And some of the besiegers would probably be in it.

She slept hard. She slept late. And when she woke, she wanted to eat the whole world.

Moist books?

Well, this is a gods-damned surprise,” puffed Gallina. “When you said you served your Lady, I gotta say, I thought you meant, like . . . tea.

I gotta ask, is that the same mug you're always cleaning or they all get a chance?

I guess I haven’t had much time for … acquaintances the past few years. I’m out of practice.” Cracking an eye at her, Viv said, “You’re in the tunnel. I know how it goes.” “The tunnel?” “You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then …

You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then

Having you here is connecting me to why I do this. To why I used to love it. I don’t know if I can explain it, but watching you read what I give you, putting a book in your hands and seeing what happens to you once you put it back down … I can’t make you understand how that gives me something I didn’t know I had to have.

What is this?” she asked. “Gin,” replied the baker, sipping her own. “Smells like winter. Tastes like summer.

She lay with the book facedown and open across her chest as the sounds of the storm crossed over the boundaries of sleep and colonized her dreams. Swords flashed on the foredeck of a frigate lashed with rain under a bruised sky. The keening of wind twinned in her slumber, and Viv voyaged through seas unknown.

Never trust a writer who doesn’t have too many books to read. Or a reader, for that matter,

Many wonders. Perfect beauties. Great seas set aflame by sunsets. Endless underground lakes in soundless caverns. The winter light on mountain snow that has never thawed.

Brand was a blur beyond her vision, and the noise piled up against the walls, leaving her alone in the center of a perfect sphere of story.

only seconds later, thunder growled like potatoes down a washboard and licks of lightening flashed through the mist.

She nursed a second beer while she tried not to race through the last three chapters of The Lens and the Dapplegrim. Brand was a blur beyond her vision, and the noise piled up against the walls, leaving her alone in the center of a perfect sphere of story. Each word tumbled into the next, a rockslide of prose that would end in a dramatic confrontation between Investigator Beckett and the deliciously devious Aramy, with Leena’s life in the balance. At least that’s where she expected things to go. The book had a way of confounding her expectations, and every time it did, she experienced a thrill of delight.

She smelled of ginger and sunlit skin.

Viv said, “You’re in the tunnel. I know how it goes.” “The tunnel?” “You’re just trying to make it to the other end, and while you’re in it, there’s nothing to either side. Only the way forward. You know, the tunnel. Maybe when you find a way out, you can look around, but until then …

A big, stone hearth crouched cold along one wall, yawning like a disappointed mouth. An iron chandelier hung askew, entombed in candlewax. Glass floats and storm lanterns were strung or nailed up in the rafters, alongside netting and weathered oars with names carved into them. The handful of scarred tables were unoccupied.

You do something for years and years, and the only reason you continue is because once you stop, you won’t really have anything.

Anxious?” asked Viv as she approached. “Mmm. About whether the crates full of books that I spent most of my remaining funds on are actually going to show up at my door? Not at all.” She put down her mug. “By which I mean to say, fuck, yes.

Never trust a writer who doesn't have too many books to read. Or a reader, for that matter.

The smell of leather and cloth and ink nearly overpowered the piney scent. Fern bent over and ran her paws along the covers, inhaling deeply. “Gods, that smell.” She sighed. “Have you ever smelled anything so good?