This book was written using 100% recycled words.
Sometimes words need music too. Sometimes the descriptions are not enough. Books should be written with soundtracks, like films.
It looked like the sort of book described in library catalogues as “slightly foxed”, although it would be more honest to admit that it looked as though it had beed badgered, wolved and possibly beared as well. – Ah, but has it been hedgehogged?
In theory it was, around now, Literature. Susan hated Literature. She’d much prefer to read a good book.
He helped the Librarian up. There was a red glow in the ape’s eyes. It had tried to steal his books. This was probably the best proof any wizard could require that the trolleys were brainless.
These weren’t cheap modern books; these were books bound in leather, and not just leather, but leather from clever cows who had given their lives for literature after a happy existence in the very best pastures.
And he dreamed the dream of all those who publish books, which was to have so much gold in your pockets that you would have to employ two people just to hold your trousers up.
It was, according to the history books, the fastest coronation since Bubric the Saxon crowned himself with a very pointy crown on a hill during a thunderstorm, and reigned for one and a half seconds.
The librarians were mysterious. It was said they could tell what book you needed just by looking at you, and they could take your voice away with a word.
Or – and this she knew was a far more accurate way of looking at it – the book was true and reality was lying.
But the purpose of the book is not the horror, it is horror’s defeat.
There are many horrible sights in the multiverse. Somehow, though, to a soul attuned to the subtle rhythms of a library, there are few worse sights than a hole where a book ought to be.
Rings try to find their way back to their owner. Someone ought to write a book about it.
It was written in some holy book, apparently, so that made it okay, and probably compulsory.
While a book has got to be worthwhile from the point of view of the reader it’s got to be worthwhile from the point of view of the writer as well.
Go anywhere you wish, talk to everyone. Ask any questions; you will be given answers. When you want to learn, you will be taught. Use the library. Open any book.
Words mean more than we mean to express when we use them: so a whole book ought to mean a great deal more than the writer meant.
If only I could manage, without annoyance to my family, to get imprisoned for 10 years, “without hard labour,” and with the use of books and writing materials, it would be simply delightful!
There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought!
What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.