Quotes About Library

I always wanted to grow up in a house full of books, English books, and I wanted the sort of fireplaces that worked, overstuffed chairs, that whole kind of fantasy of a bookish New England life. So the library gave me that; for the hours that I was there, I was surrounded by that atmosphere that I craved in my life.

I prefer a change of surroundings anyway, and I like to be around some energy and white noise, so I usually go to a Barnes & Noble cafe or to the library on 5th and 42nd. In the afternoons, I do research, reading, editing, and play with the kids.

However, I survived and started to read all chemistry books that I could get a hand on, first some 19th century books from our home library that did not provide much reliable information, and then I emptied the rather extensive city library.

I have a home-school group with a couple of my friends. We switch off going to each others' houses and going to the library to do art and stuff. It's almost like our own little school - a really little school.

My favorite language for maintainability is Python. It has simple, clean syntax, object encapsulation, good library support, and optional named parameters.

His eyes gravitated towards the wall-to-wall bookshelf at one end of the room. 'You folks like books, I see.

There are books that I own that somehow even without reading them they mean something to me. So I think people have a relationship with books in a library whether you've come specifically to read them or not.

And for the next long years of my life, I tried to remember only the reading, not the terrible things that happened to me as I came and went up and down the stairs. The library became my sanctuary. I loved the ways the precious stories took shape but always had room to be read again. I became fascinated with how writers did that. How did they make a story feel so complete and yet to open-ended? It was like painting a picture that changed each time you looked at it.

A man may debar nonsense from his library of reason, but not from the arena of his impulses.

One of the library occupants was Lawrence Beesley, a Dulwich College science master seeking new chances in America (his small son grew up to marry Dodie Smith, the author of The 101 Dalmatians).

I attempted in vain to calculate the size of the holdings on the shelves, floor on floor, only to boggle hopelessly, baffled by bibliographic boundlessness.

I heard the blood in Mr. Gruffydd voice and searched libraries of words in hot seconds of emptiness only to give him comfort.

The day the library was shut down, he thought, some maiden librarian had moved down the room, pushing each chair against its table. Carefully, with a plodding precision that was the cachet of herself.

The silence of the library was complete save for the thudding of his shoes as he walked along the second-floor hallway. Outside, there were birds sometimes and, even lacking that, there seemed to be a sort of sound outside. Inexplicable, perhaps, but it never seemed deathly still in the open as it did inside a building. Especially here in this giant, gray-stoned building that housed the literature of a world's dead.

And this knowledge you say you've acquired—are you conscious of an increase in it since your ill-fated visit to the library?" Fed nodded. "I know more than ever.

Miró hacia la biblioteca. Aquella sabiduría no calmaría nunca su fuego; siglos y siglos de palabras no podían satisfacer aquel deseo imperativo e irracional.

he went to clean up the library with a fellow janitor; but the moment he entered the huge room, he gasped, put his heads to his temples and fell down on one knee, gasping, "My head! My head!

The loss of a great library to fire is a tragedy. But the surreptitious introduction of thousands of untraceable errors into reliable books, errors picked up and distributed endlessly by tireless researchers, is a nightmare beyond measure.

He loved the benevolence that the stacks held out, their map of the known world. He loved the all-you-can-eat buffet of borrowing. He loved the lending histories stamped into the front of each book, the record of strangers who checked them out before him. The library was the best dungeon crawl imaginable: free loot for the finding, combined with the joy of leveling up.

When he thundered up the steep staircase [of the institute], two steps at a time, there were few of us younger ones that could keep pace with him. The peace of the library was often broken by a brisk game of pingpong, and I don't remember ever beating Bohr at that game.

Having come to the conclusion that there was so much to do that she didn't know where to start, Mrs Fowler decided not to start at all. She went to the library, took Diary of a Nobody from the shelves and, returning to her wicker chair under the lime tree, settled down to waste what precious hours still remained of the day.

What an extraordinary few hours—from Holloway first thing, to being assaulted and robbed on Regent Street, not to mention being recruited to spy on the notorious Cokers by Frobisher the previous day. The Library could not compete.

You have the hey to the library, he said. Only be careful what you read.

A library is the only place you can go--from cradle to grave--that is free, safe, democratic and no one will try to flog you anything. You don't have to part with a penny to travel the world. It's the heartbeat of a community, offering precious resources to people in need. It's a place just to be, to dream, and to escape -- with books. And what's more precious than that? So here's to all library workers. We need you.