Ourshelves : September 2017

Ourshelves

I am a collection of thoughts and memories and likes and dislikes. I am the things that have happened to me and the sum of everything I've ever done. I am the clothes I wear on my back. I am every place and every person and every object I have ever come across. And I am part of everything that I have ever read. 💕

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Monday, 4 September 2017

That's me!

Posted by Maree Clarkson

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Labels: born in may, loves books, old woman, thats me

Friday, 1 September 2017

What do you do NOW?!

Posted by Maree Clarkson

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Labels: book hangover

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Good books are friendly things to own. If you are busy they will wait. They will not call you on the phone Or wake you if the hour is late. They stand together row by row, Upon the low shelf or the high. But if you're lonesome this you know: You have a friend or two nearby.

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I admit, I'm a bit of a Lexophile.
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There’s more to life than books, you know. But not much more.

“Handle a book as a bee does a flower, extract its sweetness but do not damage it.”

Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom.

Let us remember: One book, one pen, one child, and one teacher can change the world.

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore? –Henry Ward Beecher

Look in a book and you will see words and magic and mystery.

Look in a book and you will find sense and nonsense of every kind.

Look in a book and you will know all the things that can help you grow.

A book is a dream that you hold in your hand. Powered by Blogger.

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Shhhhhh... I'm reading

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Rest, nature, books, music… such is my idea of happiness.
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I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on in the world between the covers of books, such sandstorms and ice blasts of words ... such staggering peace, such enormous laughter, such and so many blinding bright lights, splashing all over the pages in a million bits and pieces, all of which were words, words, words, and each of which were alive forever in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.

I keep collecting books I know I'll never, never read; My husband and daughter tell me so, And yet I never heed. "Please make me," says some wistful tome, "A wee bit of yourself." And so I take my treasure home, And tuck it in a shelf.

And now my very shelves complain; They jam and over-spill. They say: "Why don't you ease our strain?" "some day," I say, "I will." So book by book they plead and sigh; I pick and dip and scan; Then put them back, distrest that I Am such a busy woman.