The Lost For Words Bookshop Quotes

I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself, but books gave me an unflinching sense of stability and groundedness. That because words survived, somehow I would too.

Archie says books are our best lovers and our most provoking friends.

My husband claims I have an unhealthy obsession with secondhand bookshops. That I spend too much time daydreaming altogether. But either you intrinsically understand the attraction of searching for hidden treasure amongst rows of dusty shelves or you don't; it's a passion, bordering on a spiritual illness, which cannot be explained to the unaffected. True, they're not for the faint of heart. Wild and chaotic, capricious and frustrating, there are certain physical laws that govern secondhand bookstores and like gravity, they're pretty much nonnegotiable. Paperback editions of D. H. Lawrence must constitute no less than 55 percent of all stock in any shop. Natural law also dictates that the remaining 45 percent consist of at least two shelves worth of literary criticism on Paradise Lost and there should always be an entire room in the basement devoted to military history which, by sheer coincidence, will be haunted by a man in his seventies. (Personal studies prove it's the same man. No matter how quickly you move from one bookshop to the next, he's always there. He's forgotten something about the war that no book can contain, but like a figure in Greek mythology, is doomed to spend his days wandering from basement room to basement room, searching through memoirs of the best/worst days of his life.) Modern booksellers can't really compare with these eccentric charms. They keep regular hours, have central heating, and are staffed by freshly scrubbed young people in black T-shirts. They're devoid of both basement rooms and fallen Greek heroes in smelly tweeds. You'll find no dogs or cats curled up next to ancient space heathers like familiars nor the intoxicating smell of mold and mildew that could emanate equally from the unevenly stacked volumes or from the owner himself. People visit Waterstone's and leave. But secondhand bookshops have pilgrims. The words out of print are a call to arms for those who seek a Holy Grail made of paper and ink.

Wouldn't you be spooked? If you were in my position - oh, never mind, you wouldn't be in my position.

The details were fed to me like bread soaked in milk given to a Victorian invalid. A little at a time. Gentle, soft. Like that made a difference.

One thing I was realizing from seeing Rob was that, if you don't talk about your past, and you work in a bookshop, then your topics of conversation are basically 1. Books I've read and liked and why. 2. Books I've read and not liked and why. 3. Books I want to read, but haven't yet, and why. 4. Books I have decided not to read and why.

You make me – valid. You

It had been a heaven of a place to grow up: seagulls, beach, and nooks and crannies; the feeling, when the town was full of tourists, that you were lucky because this place was your home.

Senor sempere and I were friends for almost forty years, and in all that time we spoke about God and the mysteries of life on only one occasion. Almost nobody knows this, but Sempere had not set foot in a church since the funeral of his wife Diana, to whose side we bring him today so that they might lie next to one another forever. Perhaps for that reason people assumed he was an atheist, but he was truly a man of faith. He believed in his friends, in the truth of things and in something to which he didn't dare put a name or a face because he said as priests that was our job. Senor Sempere believed we are all a part of something, and that when we leave this world our memories and our desires are not lost, but go on to become the memories and desires of those who take our place. He didn't know whether we created God in our own image or whether God created us without quite knowing what he was doing. He believed that God, or whatever brought us here, lives in each of our deeds, in each of our words, and manifests himself in all those things that show us to be more than mere figures of clay. Senor Sempere believed that God lives, to a smaller or greater extent, in books, and that is why he devoted his life to sharing them, to protecting them and to making sure their pages, like our memories and our desires are never lost. He believed, and made me believe it too, that as long as there is one person left in the world who is capable of reading them and experiencing them, a small piece of God, or of life, will remain. I know that my friend would not have liked us to say our farewells to him with prayer and hymns. I know that it would have been enough for him to realsie that his friends, many of whom have come here today to say goodbye, will never forget him. I have no doubt that the Lord, even though old Sempere was not expecting it, will recieve our dear friend at his side, and I know that he will live forever in the hearts of all those who are here today, all those who have discovered the magic of books thanks to him, and all those who, without even knowing him, will one day go through the door of his little bookshop where, as he liked to say, the story has only just begun. May you rest in peace, Sempere, dear friend, and may God give us all the opportunity to honour your memory and feel grateful for the priviledge of having known you.

Blythe's favorite shelf near the coffee area. She'd labeled it W.O.W. (WORDS OF WISDOM) and it was stocked with her perennial favorites with bookmarked passages. Natalie used to love browsing that shelf. A book would never betray you or change its mind or make you feel stupid. She took down The Once and Future King and found a marked passage: "The best thing for being sad," replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails."

they rarely spoke. They didn’t need to, because they knew each other’s hearts without words.

The other bay window has a little window seat, which is about as comfortable as it looks. That is, not comfortable at all. Although people who grew up on Anne of Green Gables can’t help but sit in it.They never manage it for long. I think window seats are one of those things that are always better in books. Like county shows held in fields on bank holiday Mondays, and sex, and travel, and basically anything you can think of.

The sommelier had given them a lesson about the stomach-settling qualities of grappa, a humble liqueur made from something called pomace. "A fancy word for what's left after the juice is squeezed out of the grapes," Natalie explained.

The readings and tributes were followed by a song, and they were all invited to join in. The lyrics were printed in the program. "No Rain" by Blind Melon had been a favorite of Blythe's, expressing the glory of escaping into a pages of a book. The woman playing guitar was a frequent patron of the shop. She had contacted Natalie and Frieda as they were organizing the program and asked to perform in Blythe's honor. As the lyrics of the song came out of Natalie on a shaky breath, she wished she could do exactly as the words expressed---Escape, escape, escape.

Books were my mother's world, but she was mine. We lived in the apartment above the shop, and every day with my mom was an adventure. We didn't travel far on vacations because of the shop." Natalie used to beg to travel the world the way her friends did on school holidays---Disneyland, Hawaii, London, Japan. Instead, her mom would take her on flights of the imagination to Prince Edward Island, to Sutter's Mill, to Narnia and Sunnybrook Farm, to outer space and Hogwarts. She tried her best to bring her mother back to life with a few key anecdotes and memories smeared by tears. And then she looked down at the page she'd read many times growing up---from The Minpins by Roald Dahl. "The first time my mother read this book to me was after a visit to the Claymore Arboretum. I was five years old, and I believed the dragonflies were fairies, and that tiny sprites rode around on the backs of songbirds. She let me go on thinking that for as long as I pleased. And as far as I'm concerned, that's the best parenting advice ever." She breathed in, imagining the comfortable scent of her mother's bathrobe as they snuggled together for their nightly story. She breathed out, hoping her words would somehow touch her mother one more time. "And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

I noticed that there was a word painted on the riser of each step. found are things strange lost called place a In

Madame Bowden’s words returned to me. If you’re not scared, you’re not living. Up to now, I had never associated fear with anything positive. But maybe there were different kinds of fear.

Lost For Words bookshop feels different. Partly because it’s already been through another set of hands, which have softened its edges, made it relax because it has been understood once already. And partly because the bookshop’s years of experience in giving the right book to the right person means that you can be sure that the volume that ends up with you, is for you.

books were more than words on paper; they were portals to other places, other lives.

He always said that books were more than words on paper; they were portals to other places, other lives.

Hope’ is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –

I didn’t want to push, and sometimes found that if you gave people enough space, they would say the words that haunted them from within.

Hope’ is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all

Not that I minded, exactly, but the trouble with meeting new people is that they ask you a lot of questions and when it comes to answering those questions, I just don’t have many options.

Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,’ he agreed.

was me, but I wasn’t, because my surroundings had changed and my life had taken what a blurb writer might describe as ‘an unexpected twist’. And then another one.

Nobody bothers children who read. I read.

A bookshop is not magic, but it can steal away your heart.

My story was silence, a secret.

like the present (mostly) – I’ve constructed it carefully, like my little home library – and that’s where I try to stay.

who likes her own company and doesn’t say much. I was the non-participative teenager, the self-sufficient loner.

If I was better at social stuff I would be able to do that chatty, deflecty, ‘oh let’s talk about you’ thing that I’ve seen others do, but the fact is, I don’t like most people, and it shows if I try to do anything clever.

It’s just that – when I’m with you – I’m me. I don’t feel as though I have to pretend or show off. I feel as though I can trust you. You make me – valid. You make me real.

I hadn't really bothered with men since I got rid of my hymen...' Loveday Cardew, The Lost for Words Bookshop

There was a biography of J. S. Bach in the box, and when I opened it up I found a piece of greaseproof paper, carefully folded to enclose a rose. The paper crackled as I unbent it, but didn’t break; the rose seemed more brittle than the wrapping, and I held my breath over it, not wanting to touch it with anything at all, in case I broke it apart. The petals might have been pink, once, but they had become a dusty grey, tucked away from air and light. I refolded it in the paper and pinned it on the ‘Found in a Book’ noticeboard at the front of the shop, wondering who had saved it, and why; whether it had been pressed on an impulse and forgotten, or whether it was a symbol of something more significant. I find the fact that I’ll never know quite comforting. It’s good to be reminded that the world is full of stories that are, potentially, at least as painful as yours.

The other bay window has a little window seat, which is about as comfortable as it looks – that is, not comfortable at all, although people who grew up on Anne of Green Gables can’t help but sit in it. They never manage it for long. I think window seats are one of those things that are always better in books, like county shows held in fields on bank holiday Mondays, and sex and travel and basically anything you can think of.

Thank you, Loveday. Nathan Avebury.’ His wrists were slim, straight. ‘No problem,’ I said. This is why I don’t like talking to people. I never think of anything interesting to say. I need time to find words, and that’s hard when people are looking at me. Also, I don’t like people much. Well, some are okay. But not enough to make it a given.

I think I felt empty, then. I’d decorated the flat and it was exactly as I wanted it. I had a long-term lease on my home and a job that was just right for me. My life was sorted. I was twenty-two. I liked everything I’d found, or made, and I was comfortable; but I didn’t need to think about another fifty years of the same.

He’s just at ease. I’m not. Well, not with new people. It takes me a while to get comfortable with them, and in the bit when I’m getting comfortable I don’t say much, and what I do say is pretty everyday. Archie says I keep all my interesting bits well hidden and getting to know me is an exercise in faith rewarded. I think he thinks he’s being nice.

I wanted to be safe,’ she said, ‘and Loveday too. That’s all.’ Mum was sitting on the floor, hands spread out in front of her, palms up, head down. I could hear her crying. I don’t think the word ‘despair’ was in my vocabulary then, but when I come across it now, I think of that sound, I see my mother sitting on the floor, crying, my father pulling on his coat.

she gave me a hug, but I stood stiff in her arms. I didn’t know what to think. Well, maybe it’s more accurate to say that that was the beginning of not knowing what to think; I’m probably much the same now. I mean, I have thought things – a lot of things – about my mother, and my father, since, but nothing really sticks. I wish something would.

So I did what I used to do, although I haven’t had to do it for years. I sat in the chair by the fire escape and I closed my eyes and I imagined a dial where my heart should be. The dial was set to how much I was hurting. It could go anywhere from 1 to 10, but I had to be honest about where it was set. Today it was a 6.

So I did what I used to do, although I haven’t had to do it for years. I sat in the chair by the fire escape and I closed my eyes and I imagined a dial where my heart should be. The dial was set to how much I was hurting. It could go anywhere from 1 to 10, but I had to be honest about where it was set. Today it was a 6. I took a deep breath and I imagined the dial clicking down, from 6 – breathe; 5 – breathe; 4 – breathe; 3 – breathe. I let it be at 3; that’s probably my default. I don’t think there could ever be a zero. And yes, I do know it’s not really any way of dealing with things properly, but it can get you through the next couple of hours, and sometimes that’s all you need.

He was dead the way a character in a book is dead: I was sad, but at the same time sure it wasn’t real. I hadn’t realised that I couldn’t close the covers and go back to life the way it used to be.

I started to focus on close-up magic, because then you have an audience of five or six.’ ‘Makes sense,’ I said. Make a world that suits you. Maybe Nathan and I had more in common than I thought.

Our pasts are as unfixed as our futures, if you think about it. And I like the freedom I have to tell a different story.

put it back where you found it, treat it with respect, don’t be an arse to the people who work here. It’s not that hard. You’d think.

He always said that books were more than words on paper; they were portals to other places, other lives. I fell in love with books and the vast worlds they held inside, and I owed it all to my father.

Dad called her ‘butterball

The nights by the little bookshop on the Seine, spent with word lovers, and other lost souls, this is for you. Paris swept us up, and made us whole, may we never wander alone no matter where we are.

I hate saying stuff. That’s why I like poetry, I think. Minimum words. You can’t argue with a poem. And it’s rude to interrupt it.

Even feeling the book under my fingertips calmed me. I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself, but books gave me an unflinching sense of stability and groundedness. That because words survived, somehow I would too.

me

But I couldn’t be in love, because that was just a stupid thing to be. My parents had been in love, and look where that led. And no, I don’t think that all men are my father (or Rob) or all women are my mother (or me). But I am clever enough to see that anyone who takes me on is going to be either weird or very, very nice and kind and patient. I don’t like weird, and as I am not nice, or kind, or patient, so sooner or later, it will crash and burn. That’s not cynicism. That’s logic.

So many of my memories are happy ones.