Quotes About Reading

Many books are longer than they seem. They have indeed no end. The boredom that they cause is truly absolute and infinite.

If there were nothing else, reading would--obviously--be worth living for.

In any case, I would prefer to read something I don't enjoy than do almost anything else. I like the act of reading in itself. Following the lines of something — not just the story but the rhythm, the tone, the feel of what has accumulated from before and what is beginning to impend — becoming surefooted on the high-wire of the author's intention.

Kitap okumakla, manav?n beni aldatmas?na engel olam?yorum bir türlü. Manava inanmad???m halde beni aldat?yor namussuz.

Otuz alt? saattir gene aç?m. Ölümü bekliyorum. Bu arada vaktimi bo? geçirmemek için, okuyorum, yabanc? dil çal???yorum; hiçbir ?ey anlam?yorum. Fakat eskiden de -karn?m?n tok oldu?u zaman da- anlam?yordum.

?nsan beyninin böyle farkl? güçte olmas?, birinin yazd???n?, ötekinin okuyacak kadar bile bir zekâya sahip olmamas? çok üzücü.

Kitap okumakla, manav?n beni aldatmas?na engel olam?yorum bir türlü. Manava inanmad???m halde beni aldat?yor namussuz. Ya inand???m dostlar?n beni aldatmas?n? önlemek: büsbütün imkâns?z bu.

Neler okudu?unu sordum. Surat?n? buru?turarak: 'Bir sürü macera roman?,' dedi. Sonra gururlanarak: 'Cyrano de Bergerac'? da okudum,' dedi. Durdu. 'Burnu sizinkine benziyor.' Bu ?akay? bana çok yapt?klar?n? söyledim. Bozuldu. 'Haberim yoktu,' dedi.

Ben de sayfalar?n?z? çevirebilecek kadar notadan anlamak isterdim." dedi Turgut.

Büyük Suçlular Ansiklopedisi"ni okumaya ba?lad?. L harfine kadar geldi. Kendinden büyük suçlu bulamad?.

?fadesi güç ?eyler dü?ünüyorum. ?eyler... ?eyler.' Durur, kafas?n? toparlama?a çal???rd?. 'Çok saçma ?eyler, çok önemsiz ?eyler de dü?ünüyorum. Kafam hiç durmadan çal???yor. Önemli, önemsiz: ben s?raya koymaya f?rsat bulamadan büyük bir h?zla geçiyorlar. Geriye yaln?z yorgunluk kal?yor. Okumal?y?m ve bütün bunlar? unutmal?y?m.

And the rule I gave myself was that I had to invent at least one thing new every day and also read a book everyday. For many years now that has been my fixed rule.

Read every day and learn from what you read.

My love of writing is an outgrowth of my love of reading. Both helped me to escape boredom, to perform thought experiments, and to deal with the daily news. I can create a world that makes more sense than this one.

They take the paper and they read the headlines. So they've heard of unemployment and they've heard of bread-lines. And they philanthropically cure them all by getting up a costume charity ball.

Skaitymas - gana sud?tingas psichologinis percepcijos procesas. <...> Tai reikalauja tam tikros intelektualin?s kompetencijos. Bet vis? pirma, reikalauja d?mesio ir susikaupimo - vis retesni? geb?jim? šiandieniniame pernelyg blaškan?iame pasaulyje

I love the idea of reading books as a brotherly, sisterly moral obligation to one's people.

Kto czyta, ?eby tylko zrozumie?, dopuszcza si? blasfemii. Czyta si?, ?eby prze?ywa? - to g??bszy, bardziej ca?o?ciowy rodzaj rozumienia.

One evening, when Stephen started to read out loud to her from one of his favorite authors, in an attempt to lure her inside the books, she told him good-naturedly, for goodness' sake not to spout any more of that dead, old-fashioned, high-brow stuff to her. It gave her the fidgets.

Her heart was bleeding for David Copperfield. Laurel never read David Copperfield when her mother was with her. Today the book, as usual, would be returned to its hiding place behind the cushion in the little parlor when she had finished with it.

Oh, it wasn't work. I love to read." "Do you really?" "I didn't used to so much. It just seemed to come this year—liking it so, I mean." She turned her face toward him. "When you read a book you like a lot," she went on, "do you try to stop between sentences and look around and think it over, like eating a piece of candy just as slowly as you can, so it will last longer?

Now, therefore, I began to associate with none but disappointed authors like myself, who praised, deplored, and despised each other. The satisfaction we found in every celebrated writer's attempts was inversely as their merits. My unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of comfort. I could neither read nor write with satisfaction; for excellence in another was my aversion, and writing was my trade.

My experience with public libraries is that the first volume of the book I inquire for is out, unless I happen to want the second, when that is out.

What refuge is there for the victim who is oppressed with the feeling that there are a thousand new books he ought to read, while life is only long enough for him to attempt to read a hundred?