i read, much of the night, and go south in the winter

And you read one page of it or even one phrase of it, and then you gobble up all the rest and go about in a dream for weeks afterwards, for months afterwards -- perhaps all your life, who knows? -- surrounded by those six hundred and fifty pages, the houses, the streets, the snow, the river, the roses, the girls, the sun, the ladies' dresses and the gentlemen's voices, the old, wicked, hard-hearted women and the old, sad women, the waltz music -- everything. What is not there you put in afterwards, for it is alive, this book, and it grows in your head.

Jean Rhys, Tigers are Better Looking: With a Selection from the Left Bank


My home is where my books are.

Ellen Thompson, A Book of Hours, 1909

(Each day this week I am posting on something I am grateful for. Today - books. )

Post title from this. First quote originally discovered here. Painting (a favorite): The Green Book, by Harold Knight.