I love books. I love everything about a book. The way it smells, the way it feels. The sound the pages make when you run your fingers over them or the little crackle the spine of a brand-new paperback makes when you open it for the first time. I love the look of the black letters on the white page. I love the magic in a book. Not the fireworks, rabbits-appearing-out-of-hats sort of magic, of course, but the simple magic. The stuff that happens in your head. The way just a few words can transport you to some entirely different place, whether it be a different country or a different planet or a different universe. Whether it be somewhere real or imaginary.
I’m not ashamed to love books. I am not ashamed to be called a nerd. In fact, I think it’s something to be proud of. Thank you for realizing that I value intelligence over popularity - that I’d rather spend my money on books than booze - that I appreciate the written word with all its connotations and denotations and everything in between.
No matter how many Kindles or Kobos or eReaders are sold, the paper-and-ink book will never go out of style. You can’t lend someone your favourite eBook. You can’t feel the grain or smell the scent of the paper. You can’t even open an eBook. And so much magic is in the first time you open the cover of a book. So books will never go out of style. Books will always be that refuge, that one place that no one can ever take from you. After all, it’s all happening in your head.
But why on earth should that mean that it’s not real?
“If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it. If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach,if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad: She loves you, of course she loves you.”—Pasha Malla (via crumblingbones)
“It’s difficult to believe in yourself because the idea of self is an artificial construction. You are, in fact, part of the glorious oneness of the universe. Everything beautiful in the world is within you. No-one really feels self-confident deep down because it’s an artificial idea. Really, people aren’t that worried about what you’re doing or what you’re saying, so you can drift around the world relatively anonymously: you must not feel persecuted and examined. Liberate yourself from that idea that people are watching you”—Russell Brand (via 1011395)