“I go about here. I don’t get tired of it. I never should—it suits me so. I adore the place. …I don’t want in the least to give it up.”
“…Should you positively like to live here?”
“I think I should like,” said poor Milly after an instant, “to die here.”
"Hilarious list by Open Salon for anyone who has ever thought about owning their own bookstore (eg. ALL of Bookshelf Porn’s readers).
#5. #16/17. #21. #22.
(via Norwegian Vennesla Library Designed As a Modern Retreat | Freshome)
Of course the Norwegians built this. A little too “hangar”-ish for me, but I like the light wood, the sunlight, the bookshelf shapes, and the reading nooks.
gregg chadwick
Reminds me of Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.
No. 72
Don’t say you want love.
Say you want the morning light through a painted-flecked window; say you want the distance and the ache that foretells it; say you want the autumn air always arriving that never arrives; a gust of wind scraping leaves along the pavement; hills rolling toward the sea; a forest clearing at twilight; say you want the inadequate glow of a lamp hidden behind a stack of books; a glance sufficient unto itself; a memory that comes suddenly; say you want to notice, in a tree you walk past every day, a nest exposed as the leaves fall away; say you want to learn the etymology of the word “leave” and that you want to apply that knowledge somehow (but how?); say you want the sea, the sea, always the sea; clouds lowering upon the day; a meander; a slow afternoon of conversation in a shadowy bar; say you want postcards and letters, that you want to write everything, to divest yourself of words in the hope that it leaves you feeling empty in a new way; say you want to give it all up, but keep clinging; say you want a narrow path and a mountain close and a mountain faraway; a pit to fall into; the smell of bread baking; say you want lists that never end; say you’ll settle for a landscape of words; maps over which to compose voyages; say, fuck it, I want to daydream.
Say you don’t want love.
ELEGY
in memory of Kim Zorn Caputo
(1952-2004)
This water is surface, glittering
with light. The eye glances level
seeing mere light. Beneath, the tricky
depths you can’t navigate.
Is there a bottom? Is there any-
thing beyond light?—the sheerest
membrane dividing.
Joyce Carol Oates
23 December 2004
the perfect reading nook.
Could probably use more cushions, but yes, pretty much there.
I’m pretty sure The Husband would not be as thrilled as I would be to sleep surrounded by vampire books, with the occasional copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes. But I think this is a brilliant idea.
Holy shit, sleeping in a safe little haven made out of my books? Yes please!
Ugh, I need this so bad. I sleep better in enclosed spaces.
WANT THIS!
Were I rich, I’d totally be building this.
