dreaming away

fragments of feeling, learning, loving, expressing, sharing, changing, growing, questioning and ...living.

Karen, 31, United States

avid reader, coffee, tea, classic film, classic vocal jazz, but most of all God and is son Jesus who died for us so that we can live with him forever

 

I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield (via allshallfade)

People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale (via anexcellentlibrary)

“She remembered one of her boyfriends asking, offhandedly, how many books she read in a year. “A few hundred,” she said. “How do you have the time?” he asked, gobsmacked. She narrowed her eyes and considered the array of potential answers in front of her. Because I don’t spend hours flipping through cable complaining there’s nothing on? Because my entire Sunday is not eaten up with pre-game, in-game, and post-game talking heads? Because when I am waiting in line, at the gym, on the train, eating lunch, I am not complaining about the wait/staring into space/admiring myself in reflective surfaces?

I am reading!