The Bookshop Of Yesterdays Quotes

Every family has its unspoken stories.

(T)hat's the thing about probability, however unlikely. There is always a chance.

Every day has a past. Every day has a tomorrow.

Sadness is like a maze. You make some mistakes along the way, but eventually you find your way out.

It helps, knowing we’re still happy somewhere.

It's difficult seeing parents for who they are rather than who we want them to be.

You don’t have to like your family, you only have to love them.

People sell aging as graceful. Because the process happens slowly, we’re encouraged to embrace it as we would an aria. You can accept aging with dignity and civility, but the daily injustices of growing old have very little music to them.” The Bookshop of Yesterdays, Chapter 22.

Every time I came home, Dad’s hair had grown more salt than pepper, his olive skin more leathered, his blue eyes grayer. It made me want to clutch his hand and beg him to stop getting old.

To the nights we’ll never remember with friends we’ll never forget,

I needed to give myself a chance, too. ...not to be burdened by the past but to know it farther, to prepare for the future.

Understanding prepares us for the future.

Maybe we couldn’t return to what we always were to each other because we’d never been as close as I’d assumed we were.

Billy always knew what book you needed. He had this power, like he was some sort of book doctor—like books were a remedy.

The law’s a profession of the written word. Do you know what most lawyers want to be? Writers.

I remember that time when your mom stops being a parent and becomes a person,” she said as we crossed the road toward the parking lot. “It’s difficult seeing parents for who they are rather than who we want them to be.

Charlie sang as he filled the display case with muffins. The scene reminded me of Mom, how her song commenced with the opening of the cookbook and continued until the meal was plated. If I asked her what she was humming, she’d quiet, surprised that the sound existed outside her head. I’d stopped pointing out the melodies of her meals. It was the only time I got to hear her sing.

I watched my oldest friend, the friends I’d recently made, the people who knew me before I knew myself. Yesterday’s Bookshop belonged to them as much as it did to me, but Prospero Books was Billy’s. Evelyn’s. We were giving the store a chance to survive. I needed to give myself a chance, too. It’s what Prospero had wanted for his Miranda, not to be burdened by the past but to know it farther, to prepare for the future.

It didn’t matter whether or not it was sad.

Billy never completely grasped that other people were as real as he was.

Sobreviver significava renascer uma e outra vez. Não era fácil, e era sempre doloroso. Mas não havia outra opção senão a morte.

As you from your crimes would pardon’d be, Let your indulgence set me free.

Most of all, I missed Prospero Books, how it was love, job, place and—my addition to Lee’s list—family.

a pet, like any relationship, was about accountability, not love.

I deprived my love of the thing she wanted most. Growing up, Evelyn never had family dinners, holidays, movie nights. I took the possibility of that from her when I failed to make the house safe. When I failed to keep her safe. I told myself that I didn’t know how to keep you safe, either, that I didn’t deserve to create a family without Evelyn.

Here, in the city, associations tend to be strangely uniform: An association by similarity (especially an inner, essential similarity) is rare and almost unachievable. Here the barbershops all trim moustaches the same way, dress shops all button women into much the same styles, bookshop windows display all the same book covers - all billed as THE LATEST THING! From nine to ten every morning four-fifths of the total number of eyes are hidden behind newssheets identical down to the last misprint. No, here in the city, if you make associations by similarity, you're bound to confuse everything (the familiar with the unfamiliar, today with yesterday), to grow melancholy, and to even go mad.

What exactly is it you'd like to know? [the book store manager asked]. He had an odd expression, like he was asking her a trick question. [Katherine] thought a minute. What DID she want to know? Why had she taken the trouble to come out in the cold to learn about a woman she'd never heard of until yesterday? She had that feeling she got when she was doing her art and suddenly discovered the missing piece that ties everything together: a tingling in the back of her neck, a crazy buzzed-rush of a feeling that spread through her whole body. She didn't understand the role that Sara Harrison Shea, the ring Gary had given her, or the book he had hidden would play, but she knew that this was important, and that she had to give herself over to it and see where it might lead.

A tristeza é como um labirinto. Cometemos alguns erros ao longo do percurso, mas a verdade é que acabamos por encontrar a nossa saída.

There are hard days at the bookshop, too – days with few visitors, and none of them worth writing home about, the kind who’ll hear about us and trek all the way up here just for a selfie. Yesterday, two girls monopolised the Adirondacks for over two hours, chatting and reading, then they left the books on the chairs and their cigarette ends in a plant saucer. One of them didn’t even go in; the other had a quick look but evidently found nothing to her taste.

he asked them. “Too long. Don’t be such a stranger. Stop by if you’re in our neighborhood. We would love to sit and chat. We can talk about the good old days and we got lots of pictures and stories from Tuscany.” “Will do. Enjoy the evening.” Jack turned and was face to face with their daughter, Patti. “Hi, Jack,” she whispered. “Great to see you again,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “It was so good to talk with you the other day. It meant a lot to see you.” He watched her as she started to walk away and turned to him and say, “I wanted to let you know that after we talked I gave my husband a phone call. Eric and I decided to get back together. We’ve shared a lot of history, and we’re at least going to give it one last try to see if we can make it work. Thanks for everything, Jack. Bye.” She kissed him on the cheek. Jack saw Hope walking across the floor. “She’s pretty. Who was that?” glancing at Patti walk away. “An old and dear friend. Both Charley and I had a crush on her when we were younger. I’ll introduce you to her and her mom and dad later. You’ll like her.” More people filed inside to an already full hall. Soon it was standing room only. Jack turned to Hope and whispered, “I can’t believe this. We’ve had over twenty businesses make donations to the veterans’ fund to help support job training and for overseas servicemen’s wives and families. We also got money from the Yankee Bookshop, the Woodstock Inn, the Billings Farm Museum, the bank, and Bentleys Restaurant. They all donated money.” “That’s great,” she said excitedly. “And we’ve received over thirty new membership requests for the Veterans Post and that’s just yesterday. This is better than I ever expected. And four companies have committed to hiring more vets locally, including King Arthur Flour Company. They’re planning to build a new distribution center just west of town. I can’t believe all of this is happening.” “You should,” Hope said. “I remember you sat down right over there at that table and laid out what you wanted to see happen and you kept working on it until it did. I’m so proud of you.” He hugged her close and kissed her. He never wanted to let her go. The distinct fragrance of fresh balsam, pine, and holly filled

Every bookshop is a condensed version of the world. It is not a flight path, but rather the corridor between bookshelves that unites your country and its language with vast regions that speak other languages. It is not an international frontier you must cross but a footstep--a mere footstep--you must take to change topography, toponyms and time: a volume first published in 1976 sits next to one launched yesterday, which has just arrived; a monograph on prehistoric migrations cohabits with a study of the megalopolis in the twentieth-first century; the complete works of Camus precede those of Cervantes (it is in that unique, reduced space where the line by J.V. Foix rings truest: "The new excites and the old seduces"). It is not a main road, but rather a set of stairs, perhaps a threshold, maybe not even that: turn and it is what links one genre to another, a discipline or obsession to an often complementary opposite; Greek drama to great North American novels, microbiology to photography, Far Eastern history to bestsellers about the Far West, Hindu poetry to chronicles of the Indies, entomology to chaos theory." - Jorge Carrión, Bookshops: A Reader's History

I hate movie tie-in covers.

I reached for the mug he held out to me and took a sip. The coffee was black and strong, but I drank it, anyway. Adding milk or sugar seemed like admitting weakness.

Baseball is like the rest of life, he told me. You have to decide how you want to be.

We sat on the couch in our pajamas, eating Thai food from the container. It felt like old times, before she moved in with Chris, before I moved in with Jay, when we would stay up all night talking about the small injustices of our jobs, the ways our bodies had and would continue to betray us, the people from high school who had become inexplicably successful, all the faraway parts of the world we planned to visit together,

Elijah said he’d had the apartment prepared for me. Logical enough, yet there was so much I could have discovered if the fridge had been stocked with Billy’s food, the trash can cluttered with his waste.

I hugged Lee and he hesitated before putting his arms around me. It was the closest I’d get to hugging Billy. The closest I’d get to hugging Evelyn, too.

My parents had gone out, and Billy was babysitting. We stayed up late to watch Return to Oz. I wasn’t allowed to watch the movie, but I didn’t tell Billy, not that he’d asked whether shock treatments and a demonic Oz were appropriate for a four-year-old. From the entrance of the menacing score, I knew I was in for a sleepless night. When Billy put me to bed, I didn’t tell him to leave a light on, even though the shadows from the floodlights etched the monstrous shapes of the Nome King across my walls. I tossed and turned, and soon the floor began to vibrate. The trophies on my bookshelf rattled. The Nome King had overtaken my room, shifting the walls into stone gargoyles and goblins that wanted to eat me. I screamed. The room didn’t stop shaking. I screamed louder. By the time Billy opened the door, the bookshelves had stopped moving but the Nome King’s minions remained in the shadows across my walls.

but before she could turn on the air-con, she needed to expel the stale air of yesterday and let fresh air in. When will I escape from the past, or is that a futile task? An unbreakable habit, the negativity reared its ugly head to drag her down, but she quickly pushed back with happier thoughts.