“It may sound dorky, but I love books--the feel of the paper, the old, musty smell, and especially the way the words roll over you and take you somewhere altogether different. They've been my escape as long as I can remember. Whether I need a break from schoolwork or my brother or just life in general, there's always a books that can take me someplace far away.”

“I am a writer.I have been a writer my whole life. Words are the only things I have ever believed in. These words… They are a part of me. And they always will be. You can take away everything I own. You can take away my money, my friends and family and strangers I have met once. You can take away my love, my hate, my happiness and sorrow. You can take away my memories, my past and present and future. You can take away my life. You can take away everything.But you can never take away these words. You can never take away the fact that I am a writer.”

“As far back as I can remember I would escape from my humdrum world by burying myself in books--the one true love of my life when growing up.”

“I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of language-love from a long-ago reading, something I hoped to remember. I love book plates, and inscriptions in gifts from loved ones, I love author signatures, and I love books sitting around reminding me of them, being present in my life, being. I love books. Not just for what they contain. I love them as objects too, as ever-present reminders of what they contain, and because they are beautiful. They are one of my favorite things in life, really at the tiptop of the list, easily my favorite inanimate things in existence, and ... I am just not cottoning on to this idea of making them ... not exist anymore. Making them cease to take up space in the world, in my life? No, please do not take away the physical reality of my books.”

“I just love the smell of an old book store and the feel of the crisp pages along my fingertips.”

“We live and breathe words. It was books that kept me from taking my own life after I thought I could never love anyone, never be loved again. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them.”