I stumbled across an article on the internet today about a book called How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read by Pierre Bayard. It was a fascinating article, and it made me want to check out Mr. Bayard’s book at some point. The article used a few quotes that I just had to share:
For we are more than simple shelters for our inner libraries; we are the sum of these accumulated books. Little by little, these books have made us who we are, and they cannot be separated from us without causing us suffering…
The books we love offer a sketch of a whole universe that we secretly inhabit…
Happy reading, everyone.
Me, last summer.
I’m a big fan of the blog Letters of Note, described as “correspondence deserving of a wider audience” and curated by Shaun Usher. It’s a great place to while away some time reading other people’s stories. And there are so many great letters out there (some of my favorites: from F. Scott Fitzgerald, from John Steinbeck, from Harper Lee, from J. R. R. Tolkien).
Yesterday Letters of Note posted a letter written by Lafcadio Hearn to one of his editors, in which he rhapsodizes eloquently about the beauty of words. It’s too great not to share again.
For me words have colour, form, character; they have faces, ports, manners, gesticulations; they have moods, humours, eccentricities;—they have tints, tones, personalities…Surely I have never yet made, and never expect to make any money. Neither do I expect to write ever for the multitude. I write for beloved friends who can see colour in words, can smell the perfume of syllables in blossom, can be shocked with the fine elfish electricity of words.
May your October be full of syllables that blossom in perfume.