"I’m stuffed with literature. I don’t talk to anyone."
Charles Baudelaire in a letter to Caroline Aupick. August 3rd, 1838 (via days-of-reading
"I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them."
"Lord! When you sell a man a book you don’t sell him just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue — you sell him a whole new life."
"But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands."
"Autumnal language: fullness and falling
away from the tree of self,"
Gregory Orr, from section 3 of “The Tree,” in The Caged Owl: New & Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
"This book, when I am dead, will be
A little faint perfume of me.
People who knew me well will say,
She really used to think that way."