The Bookshop On The Shore Quotes

CUSTOMER: I don’t know why she wants it, but my wife asked for a copy of The Dinosaur Cookbook. BOOKSELLER: The Dinah Shore Cookbook?

It was a very odd concept - that you could become friends with someone simply by examining their bookshelves - but nevertheless, Zoe believed it fervently.

When you look at things the same way you've always done, nothing changes. When you change perspective, everything changes.

It’s also a story too about how if you love books, well, then I always think you have a layer of protection against the world, which sounds strange, but that is what I truly believe.

once when this woman was going on and on about how she would never read on download, that there was nothing like a real book and – I promise I normally am never rude to people but she was being truly insufferable – I said, ‘Well, they’re really only for people who read a lot’ which was mean of me but quite satisfying also.

Books are absolutely the thing in my opinion, or as the old saying goes: whatever gets you through the night (which I should say is also books. Books get you through the night).)

still believe reading is the best form of direct brain-to-brain communication humans have yet figured out,

The loch was the worst kind of dangerous: beautiful and tempting.

In short, she self-medicated with books. (By the way, as the author of this novel, and one who has herself always self-medicated with books, I cannot rightfully attest or deny whether this is a better way of dealing with 'real life' than any other. In fact, as a reader (all writers are just readers one step to the side), I'm not actually sure I believe in this 'real life'. I know it is a terrible betrayal to say this, but come on, aren't books - whisper it - quite a lot better in real life? In books, baddies get blown up or chopped up or sent to prison. In real life, they're your boss or your ex. In books, you get to know what happened. In real life, sometimes you don't get to know what happened ever. They're not even sure they've found Amelia Earhart. So. Books are absolutely the thing in my opinion, or as the old saying goes: whatever gets you through the night (which I should say is also books. Books get you through the night).)

When you change perspective, everything changes.

When you look at things the same way you’ve always done, nothing changes. When you change perspective, everything changes.

People get up every day and walk about with smiles on their faces who have been through things you and I could never imagine.

Щойно ви починаєте читати, усі двері перед вами відчиняються, все інше - лише додаткові відтінки.

I had hardly left England's shores and already I was succumbing to the charms of a foreign accent like some ingénue. I had to get a hold of myself.

love whatever you read. Enrich your life with books, of any type. If you aren’t enjoying a book, try another – life is far too short.* I’m still trying to read every book in the world. You’re a reader. You understand.

(By the way, as the author of this novel, and one who has herself always self-medicated with books, I cannot rightfully attest or deny whether this is a better way of dealing with ‘real life’ than any other. In fact, as a reader (all writers are just readers one step to the side), I’m not actually sure I believe in this ‘real life’. I know it is a terrible betrayal to say this, but come on, aren’t books – whisper it – quite a lot better in real life? In books, baddies get blown up or chopped up or sent to prison. In real life, they’re your boss or your ex. In books, you get to know what happened. In real life, sometimes you don’t get to know what happened ever. They’re not even sure they’ve found Amelia Earhart. So. Books are absolutely the thing in my opinion, or as the old saying goes: whatever gets you through the night (which I should say is also books. Books get you through the night).)

The view from up here is different,’ said Robert Carrier, extending his wing. ‘When you look at things the same way you’ve always done, nothing changes.

could happen two or three times a week – the sun would appear, simply to confound and delight you, breaking across the wet dawn dew, popping its head up over the purple mountains ahead, and once again you would forgive Scotland all its wet mornings and dark evenings for the utter glory of how perfect a perfect day could be.

know, you’ll say anything is possible. But don’t you think the polis would have been all over him? There’d have been search parties and petitions and pictures on lamp-posts and appeals and T-shirts and so on and so forth? A beautiful young mother disappears?’ ‘Mrs Murray reckons it was hushed up.’ ‘Mrs Murray reckons 9/11 was done by lizards.

Now it was rare to lose a parent or lose a child; and people wouldn’t discuss it, in case it invited bad luck in. In case it was tempting fate, or superstition. She thought of how many people wouldn’t talk about Hari’s speechlessness in case drawing attention to it would somehow visit it upon their own children.

struck her that these days that remorse was very thin on the ground. It seemed nobody had to be sorry any more for anything they did; instead they doubled down, were proud of it, never ever admitted to being in the wrong about anything.

I drew the things of nature, leaves and berries, shore grasses and nuts and long fronds of fern. I drew a curlew perched at the end of a pier, and a cormorant with wings outstretched to catch the breeze. Drawing is a way to make sense of the world in my heart and mind. I speak through my drawing and sometimes I discover my own feelings that were hidden from me.

It had never occurred to her that other mothers, whatever their situations, might be feeling exactly the same way.

It seemed nobody had to be sorry any more for anything they did; instead they doubled down, were proud of it, never ever admitted to being in the wrong about anything.

There was an excuse for everything these days. Except it meant someone else picking up the pieces.

Around lunchtime on 28 March 1941, by the river Ouse, Leonard Woolf saw a walking stick. Hers. Virginia had drowned herself. She was lying on the riverbed, her pockets full of rocks. First, however, she’d planted her cane on the shore, firmly erect. As if to say, I cannot carry on, but you must. We do our best, Virginia. We do our best.

if she could, she’d have gone back to being pregnant, absorbed him right back into her body where she could keep an eye on him.

I had hardly left England's shores and already I was succumbing to the charms of a foreign accent like some ingénue. I had to get a hold of myself.

speaking.

It seemed nobody had to be sorry any more for anything they did; instead they doubled down, were proud of it, never admitted to being in the wrong about anything.

there was absolutely nothing she could do. About anything. And there was something about that that felt oddly freeing.

Oh and I also got cross at a dinner once when this woman was going on and on about how she would never read on download, that there was nothing like a real book and – I promise I normally am never rude to people but she was being truly insufferable – I said, ‘Well, they’re really only for people who read a lot’ which was mean of me but quite satisfying also.