Posted in book, books, quotes

51 book quotes ft. YOU!

Come in.

I’m so glad that you could make it. This party is a tad more livelier with you here. Who else is here? Oh, just 50 other bloggers. No big deal.



It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever.


Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.


Do you know why books such as this are so important? Because they have quality. And what does the word quality mean? To me it means texture. This book has pores. It has features. This book can go under the microscope. You’d find life under the glass, streaming past in infinite profusion.


 In summer the cemetery was rich and thick as syrup wit the funeral- parlour perfume of the planted peonies, dark crimson and wallpaper pink, the pompous blossoms hanging leadenly, too heavy for their light stems, bowed down with the weight of themselves and the weight of the rain, infested with upstart ants that sauntered through the plush petals as though to the manner born.


Push yourself. Don’t Settle. Just live well. Just LIVE.


It is likely I will die next to a pile of things I was meaning to read


Stories never really end…even if the books like to pretend they do. Stories always go on. They don’t end on the last page, any more than they begin on the first page.


8-  I have little left in myself — I must have you. The world may laugh — may call me absurd, selfish — but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.


“But what if it doesn’t work out?” When I answered her, I could hear the hope in my voice. “But what if it does?”


Perhaps there is some secrecy sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.

  • The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer
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Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.


  Build a man a fire, and he’ll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.


It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.


There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.


We are not quite novels. We are not quite short stories. In the end, we are collected works.


“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”


“This is a fairy tale with teeth and claws.”


How did this happen? their descendants will ask, stumbling upon the evidence, the ruins. The ruinous evidence. Who made these things? Who lived in them? Who destroyed them?…Perhaps they’ll say, These things are not real. They are phantasmagoria. They were made by dreams, and now that no one is dreaming them any longer they are crumbling away.


Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.


Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.


You can’t re-create the first time you promise to love someone or the first time you feel loved by another. You cannot relive the sensation of fear, admiration, self-consciousness, passion, and desire all mixed into one because it never happen twice. You chase it like the first high for the rest of your life. It doesn’t mean you can’t love another or move on; it just means that the one spontaneous moment, the split second that you took the leap, when your heart was racing and your mind was muddled with what ifs? That moment will never happen the same way again. It will never feel as intense as the first time.


Maybe I’ll post a consumer review. “Brought product to surface of Mars. It stopped working. 0/10.


To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.


The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.


But here, in Bulikov, every piece of history feels lines with razors, and the closer I try and look at it, the more I wound myself.


The Moor laughed, a raucous cough of a laugh, then said, “No, fool, there are no gods in my philosophy. I learned my way of looking on the world from an old slave I was chained to on the galley. “He taught me that as I suffer, so do all, and if any suffer, so do I, that we are all part of one, that in any moment my dark skin connects me to all things, light and dark, and all things, light and dark, are part of me, so to do harm to any man, any creature, is to be ignorant of my own nature, to do harm to myself and all other things. That is what I believe.”

“Really? How did that work as a pirate?”

“Reality is oft uncooperative.”


It was not just the drink, though, that was making me happy, but the tenderness of things, the simple goodness of the world. This sunset, for instance, how lavishly it was laid on, the clouds, the light on the sea, that heartbreaking, blue-green distance, laid on, all of it, as if to console some lost suffering wayfarer. I have never really got used to being on this earth. Sometimes I think our presence here is due to a cosmic blunder, that we were meant for another planet altogether, with other arrangements, and other laws, and other, grimmer skies. I try to imagine it, our true place, off on the far side of the galaxy, whirling and whirling. And the ones who were meant for here, are they out there, baffled and homesick, like us? No, they would have become extinct long ago. How could they survive, these gentle earthlings, in a world that was meant to contain us?


“Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.” 


When we held Owen Meany above our heads, when we passed him back and forth — so effortlessly — we believed that Owen weighed nothing at all. We did not realize that there were forces beyond our play. Now I know they were the forces that contributed to our illusion of Owen’s weightlessness: they were the forces we didn’t have the faith to feel, they were the forces we failed to believe in — and they were also lifting up Owen Meany, taking him out of our hands. O God — please give him back! I shall keep asking You.”

  •  A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
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People come in and out of your life. For a time they are your world; they are everything. And then one day they’re not. There’s not telling how long you will have them near you.


I keep wondering if it’ll ever hurt less. This…this hole in our lives.” “Oh, I imagine it’ll hurt less eventually. I think there will always be a hole, though. But lace is one of the most beautiful fabrics, you know. All those holes and gaps, but it’s still complete somehow- still lovely.


And then one day you will look for you in the mirror and you’ll no longer be able to identify yourself – you’ll only see everyone else. You’ll know that you did what they wanted you to do. You will have assimilated. And you will hate yourself for it, because it will be too late.


 It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.


When it is over we will go quietly among the living and we will not tell them.

We will talk and sleep and go about our business like human beings.

We will seal what we have seen in the silence of our hearts and no words will reach us.

-Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks.

This is from the main character Stephen Wraysford and he is reflecting on the horror of what he has seen and done in France during WW1. I find it a very poignant passage and feel it reflects what many soldiers probably felt after the war.

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  “Why is it all Mr. Dibbler’s films are set against the background of a world gone mad?” said the dwarf.

Soll’s eyes narrowed. “Because Mr. Dibbler,” he growled, “is a very observant man.”


You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view … until you climb into his skin and walk around in it”


If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.


 I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice. Not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God. I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.





“How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?”

“I was ninety percent sure.”

“I see,” Clary said.

There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put a hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. “What the hell was that for?”

The other ten percent,” she said, and they rode the rest of the way down to the street in silence.


It amazes me what humans can do, even when streams are flowing down their faces and they stagger on, coughing and searching, and finding.


You’re given the form but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.


A self is not something static, tied up in a pretty parcel and handed to the child, finished and complete. A self is always becoming.


What she was finding also was how one book led to another, doors kept opening wherever she turned and the days weren’t long enough for the reading she wanted to do.


That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you are not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.


 …when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth…


We who survive must go on in the names of those who fall, but if we dwell too much on the vivid details of what we’ve witnessed of man’s inhumanity to man, we simply can’t go on. Perseverance is impossible if we don’t permit ourselves to hope.


 You’ll never find anyone that loves you like I do.


We live and breathe words.


“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.

It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”


A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And the child is afraid of bees and declares that bees exist to sting people. A poet admires the bee sucking from the chalice of a flower and says it exists to suck the fragrance of flowers. A beekeeper, seeing the bee collect pollen from flowers and carry it to the hive, says that it exists to gather honey. Another beekeeper who has studied the life of the hive more closely says that the bee gathers pollen dust to feed the young bees and rear a queen, and that it exists to perpetuate its race. A botanist notices that the bee flying with the pollen of a male flower to a pistil fertilizes the latter, and sees in this the purpose of the bee’s existence. Another, observing the migration of plants, notices that the bee helps in this work, and may say that in this lies the purpose of the bee. But the ultimate purpose of the bee is not exhausted by the first, the second, or any of the processes the human mind can discern. The higher the human intellect rises in the discovery of these purposes, the more obvious it becomes, that the ultimate purpose is beyond our comprehension.

I had to ask my siblings.


So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief. – Quran [ 94:5]

It is the Islamic month of Ramadan, and sharing a verse from Quran, our Holy book, was essential.




Whew! Thank you so much to everyone who participated 🙂 Even though it was a lot of work, I had great fun collecting new quotes and meeting new bloggers. I really hope you liked this, as I plan on having more posts like these. Let me know if you’d like to be part of my next project, or/and have ideas on what it should be about.

📌 I apologize in advance for any flaws that this post may have. I tried my best to organize it!

📌  Bookstagram 🙂 Help me find even more book lovers!

📌 Visit my Introduction page for a special discount code on yureka books (a monthly subscription box).

Assalamualaikum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu (May Peace Be Upon You).

Stay fantastic folks,






aspire to inspire

43 thoughts on “51 book quotes ft. YOU!

  1. Such a great collection of quotes! I’m glad I got to be a part of this and am interested to see what you do next 🙂 I just followed you on bookstagram also–I’m @beachesnbooks there!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks again for letting me take part in this! I loved the idea when you pitched it and everyone else’s quotes were great ☺ I look forward to more opportunities like this! Good job!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yay! I’m so glad it can be of benefit to you 😀 Would you like to be a part of my project next time?


  3. What a beautiful collection of quotes you have compiled! I have spent the last half hour copying my favourites into my small journal of inspiration – where, I know, they will serve me well on a day of storm and darkness. Thank you for sharing this spot of light, love. It is the most wondrous gift. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hello, you. Thank you so much for making me feel accomplished. I hope that all your hard days are followed by good days, and that you find what is right and good, inshAllah (if God wills). Have a wonderful day.


      1. I would love you to give me your favourite book – it can be from an author or from a book.

        I also would like three words to describe your blog, and two sentences on why you book blog 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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