I don’t think people cry reading ‘Midnight’s Children,’ but a lot of people seem to cry watching the movie.
The thing about literature is that, yes, there are kind of tides of fashion, you know; people come in and out of fashion; writers who are very celebrated fall into, you know, people you know stop reading them, and then it comes back again.
I read so ravenously that I would read through whole categories. I was crazy about reading biographies. I think biographies are very urgent to children.
Of course, you always think about how it will be read. I always aim for a reading in one sitting.
Life-transforming ideas have always come to me through books.
I never really liked poetry readings; I liked to read poetry by myself, but I liked singing, chanting my lyrics to this jazz group.
The act of reading is a partnership. The author builds a house, but the reader makes it a home.
Losing Chloe had been like reading a wonderfulook only to realize that all the pages past a certain point were blank.
He’s not your typical prince, more like a square peg in a round hole, kind of like me. He’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t mind reading side by side on a date.
This must be what an addict feels like, I think, trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.
How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone’s not reading your story right now?
Just because it’s fiction doesn’t mean it’s any less true.
When was the last time someone read aloud to you? Probably when you were a child, and if you think back, you’ll remember how safe you felt, tucked under the covers, or curled in someone’s arms, as a story was spun around you like a web.
If you read the first page of one of my novels, I can guarantee that you will read the last one. This isn’t just social commentary. This is also about writing good page-turners. I want people to keep reading.
Reading is an active, imaginative act; it takes work.
There is no scent so pleasant to my nostrils as that faint, subtle reek which comes from an ancient book.
I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.
Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning.
Her reputation for reading a great deal hung about her like the cloudy envelope of a goddess in an epic.
To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.