Life — her own life anyway, Sophie had come to think, as it grew longer — was like one of those many-storied houses of dreams she had once been able to build, where the dreamer, with a slow or sudden rush of understanding like a wash of cool water, knows himself to have been merely asleep and dreaming, to have merely invented the pointless task, the grim hotel, the flight of stairs; they go away, tattered and unreal; the dreamer awakes relieved in his own bed (though the bed for a reason he can’t quite remember is laid in a busy street or afloat in a calm sea), and rises yawning, and has odd adventures, which go on until (with a slow or sudden rush of understanding) he awakes, he had only fallen asleep here in this desert place (Oh I remember) or (Oh I see) in this palace antechamber, and it’s time to be up and about life’s business; and so on and on: her life had been of that kind. […] But life is wakings-up, all unexpected, all surprising.
I have suddenly realized the perfect answer to the question which I had never before been able to think of a good answer to:
If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would it be?
Douglas Adams. No question about it.
I’m currently reading “The Salmon of Doubt” and I find myself with actual tears running down my face at the injustice of this beautiful, brilliant, kind, funny, silly man having died so early… or at all. To think there will never again be new books written by him. As a matter of fact, I haven’t read “…And Another Thing”, the continuation of the Hitchhiker’s Guide trilogy written by Eoin Colfer, and I’m apprehensive about picking it up…
**EXCLUSIVE FIRST REVEAL**
We’re ridiculously excited to bring you the first look at the 40th Discworld Novel - RAISING STEAM.
Raising Steam will be published on 24th October.
(via Sir Terry’s Facebook page)
He found himself reflecting—-not for the first time—-on the peculiarity of adults. They took laxatives, liquor, or sleeping pills to drive away their terrors so that sleep would come, and their terrors were so tame and domestic: the job, the money, what the teacher will think if I can’t get Jennie nicer clothes, does my wife still love me, who are my friends. They were pallid compared to the fears every child lies cheek and jowl with in his dark bed, with no one to confess to in hope of perfect understanding but another child. There is no group therapy or psychiatry or community social services for the child who must cope with the thing under the bed or in the cellar every night, the thing which leers and capers and threatens just beyond the point where vision will reach. The same lonely battle must be fought night after night and the only cure is the eventual ossification of the imaginary faculties, and this is called adulthood.
―from “Salem’s Lot” by Stephen King
Understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings.
Haruki Murakami, “Sputnik Sweetheart”
A computer does not smell … if a book is new, it smells great. If a book is old, it smells even better… And it stays with you forever. But the computer doesn’t do that for you. I’m sorry.
Reblog if you’ve ever smelled a book. My mom thinks I’m crazy.