I love books. My bookshelf is large…and full. It needs more shelves. i need more books. and a new bookshelf. colorful. the books. i like ’em black. the modern ones are amazing. i can’t help feel like they’re gonna be a big part of my life.
It went on as far as I could see. And it had everything. It had leather spines three inches thick with ornate silver clasps. It had the newest chick lit. It had forgotten favorites from my childhood. It had that secret love I thought I had hidden forever.
the bookshelf was old and dusty but still the smell of old books made her remember all the good times she had with her dad. she remembered that this was the place was where her dad used to bring her to tell all kinds of stories.
fenris set the book back on the shelf, resting his fingers on the leather binding fondly. it had been several years since hawke had given him the memoirs of shartan. the gesture, though misguided, had surprised fenris, and through his surprise, had somehow agreed to let hawke teach him. with the mage’s help, he had managed to finish it, twice even. he had struggled through every word, every difficult passage of it, yet each page was lovingly dog-eared, his favorite parts highlighted, and notes to remember written in the margin. the book held more memories than just the tale within. the elf paused, thinking, as he traced circles in the dust that lined the shelves.
I wonder, often, if all the voices in my head actually took shape and became real people, what would they look like? I imagine mostly loud, obnoxious jerks with a tendency to criticize mercilessly. I wouldn’t want to hang out with them, so what are they doing in my head?
I already talked about this same bookshelf in the last portion of this experiment. I love my bookshelf and I would love to purchase another one. My bookshelf is stuffed with books, mainly contemporary literature by authors such as Dan Chaon, Aimee Bender, and Stacey Richter.
a boolshelf is more than a place where you store books. It is the place that keeps that stories, the ones that make you cry, laugh, fear. I wish I could have a bookshelf but instead of putting books in it,memories will be well-kept and organized by alphabetical order, or date. Who knows, Things i never want to forget would be safe there.
When I think of a bookshelf, I think of things I need to do, read, organize, get rid of. It’s not all about books to me, because I don’t really read. I’m a bit of a sentimental pack rat and it shall be the death of me. Maybe I should buy a bookshelf so I’ll start reading.
You came over to poke around my hidden cabinets. You soon discovered that I kept Borges, Whitman, Butler, Asimov, Sedaris, Moore, among many others, in no particular order. They were shelved like talking heads only to be brought out for my amusement or when I need to invoke a little wisdom. But when you reached into the deepest cabinet of them all I stopped you. Those are the books I’ve written in, and those are the books you may not read let alone touch.
I pulled off the book, An Abundance of Katherines off the bookshelf. It was a little dusty, but not terrible. Although, it was terrible to the point where I didn’t entirely want to touch it with my fingers. But I did anyways. I was too lazy to find a dust..thing. My fingers stroked the side of the paperback cover and I opened the book to start reading.
There were exactly three hundred and eighty four books on the shelf.
Only four have been read.
But they have been reread over and over until the pages fell out and crumbled to dust.
On to book number five.
Each page was devoured time and time again, until the secrets were committed to memory.
It was the only way to keep the sentences from getting away from her.
It’s where I keep my books, but their’s never enough room! Always an untidy mess, but a constant source of entertainment and diversion, I wish I had a bunch more fully loaded
it makes me think of my basement. there’s a bookshelf that is full of books my mom has read. this means it’s mostly cheap romance novels. we’re talking cheap… like, less than a dollar. my grandma would give some to my mom, too. my grandma’s not alive anymore, but i bet she’s given my mom over a hundred terrible romances. stories of the night.
I hate bookshelves.
I always seem to hit my head on them.
Don’t ask me how or why.
I just do.
It’s unpleasant and I would rather not hit my head on them.
That’s all I have to say.
As I look around the room, I realize we don’t have a bookshelf. What would I put on it if we did? What has been sitting on my mental bookshelf? I know my untapped potential is in there somewhere. Probably card catalogued somewhere between my hopes and dreams. Sounds like some of those books are long overdue….
my bookshelf os to the left of me. it hold good books and bad ones, ones ive read and ones i havent. they mean something to me, especially the ones from my mom. she had no idea how much they mean to me
a bookshelf contains many things. it may be full of ideas and creativity. it is open to change. you can put anything on it. not only books. a book shelf is a really good reflection of who a person is.
the dust that covers the literary material on my bookshelf has its own private history. i see my finger prints left behind on the books i grab from the lowest shelf.
my bookshelf doesnt have all the books i want, i cant wait to add more, when I have money, and I am rich, I am going to fill an entire wall with books. I LOVE LOVE LOOOOOOVVVEEE books and reading(: and of course inorder to have the entire wall I will need my own house. and so I wait!
they are something i put books on. They rock my socks. I love bookshelves. i kind of wish i had more in my room… better yet, I want a library in my house someday, just like belle.
when i was six years old a bookshelf fell on my baby sister. she was four months old, and completely helpless. i can still remember the look on her face. i’m sure she didn’t know what was happening, or what was about to happen, but her face showed exactly what we were all thinking. almost a blank stare, yet far from blank. she was terrified. i wonder if it’s possible to see your life flash before your eyes, when you haven’t even learned how to remember. it crushed her body, and that was the last time i saw my baby sister.
oh, the word is bookshelf! books and books and crowded dust between covers making small histories among the stories. second to last shelf is sad and no one pays attention to it. a little significance vibrates off of the sturdiness of the goodwill wood.
there are books on a bookself. small books. big books. long books. short books. my favorite book? i dont think i have one but right now i’m reading “Heaven is for Real”. I hear it going to be a very eye opening experience to read it but im only on page 56.
when i was six years old a bookshelf fell on my younger sister. she was four months old, and completely helpless. i can still remember the look on her face. i’m sure she didn’t know what was happening, or what was about to happen, but her face showed exactly what we were all thinking. almost a blank stare, yet far from blank. she was terrified. i wonder if it’s possible to see your life flash before your eyes, when you haven’t even learned to remember.
there aren’t any books on his shelf.
if you were to look, you’d see glass jars filled with tears, laughter, and hearts.
there might be boxes of memories with their lids stuck, and perhaps a vase of withered flowers tucked away in a corner.
so i guess you couldn’t really consider this a bookshelf, can you?
there was once a bookshelf in the south of Rome that everyone in town went to to deposit their dreams and pick up their favorite pieces of literature. over time everyone seemed to forget about it. Things change, people change, but bookshelves remain the same.
books are really fun to read and we get them from bookshelves. bookshelves are usually big, wooden pieces of furniture. we have one in our basement. ours is light wood and most people who come to see it think we should paint it white because that’s how they do it in Pottery Barn. but we like it wooden. i really like to read books because they educate me and it is good to be educated.
I remember like it was yesterday. I had just gotten home from the beach with my grandmother and I went into my room and I wanted to display the bear that I just got there on my bookshelf. Everything that I treasure I would find a place for it on that shelf.
the dust settles atop it. No one knows exactly whats inside the shelf floats above the ideas as the exist but no one reads them. can they exist ever more if they are never processed how can they survive when they never breathe forever trapped within the chamber of the vinyled wood. We await to unlock the mysteries.
My bookshelf holds my heart, and those things that I heart most: books; which hold what I heart even more: words. And words are the conduit, the expression of my innermost vulnerabilities and triumphs, and protectors and purveyors of the landscape of my soul. (Though I also totally think more books should punctuate their sentences with the word ‘fuck’…sometimes it’s the only word that matters.
books, rows of them. all different colors. spines of colors, words. the bookshelf is a magical place, and each book holds a journey- mysterious, frightening, or heart-warming. it’s a way to live a thousand lives. each book on the bookshelf is imbued with life.
I remember an old bookshelf that I had when I was a little girl. I had placed all my little treasure on it that I had collected over the years. I would never remove what I put up there only looked upon them when I wanted to reminiss. Years later
I love books. My bookshelf is large…and full. It needs more shelves. i need more books. and a new bookshelf. colorful. the books. i like ’em black. the modern ones are amazing. i can’t help feel like they’re gonna be a big part of my life.
I collect these things. These things that stand as terrible testaments to my obsession with pedantry. No, not that pedantry.
They live as my pedantry pantry. my Ped-antry.
I turn to them when i want to feel like i have room for myself on them.
It went on as far as I could see. And it had everything. It had leather spines three inches thick with ornate silver clasps. It had the newest chick lit. It had forgotten favorites from my childhood. It had that secret love I thought I had hidden forever.
the bookshelf was old and dusty but still the smell of old books made her remember all the good times she had with her dad. she remembered that this was the place was where her dad used to bring her to tell all kinds of stories.
fenris set the book back on the shelf, resting his fingers on the leather binding fondly. it had been several years since hawke had given him the memoirs of shartan. the gesture, though misguided, had surprised fenris, and through his surprise, had somehow agreed to let hawke teach him. with the mage’s help, he had managed to finish it, twice even. he had struggled through every word, every difficult passage of it, yet each page was lovingly dog-eared, his favorite parts highlighted, and notes to remember written in the margin. the book held more memories than just the tale within. the elf paused, thinking, as he traced circles in the dust that lined the shelves.
A beautiful bookshelf always inspires me./
es una cosa muy importante de mi casa, tengo muchos libros, biblioteca de mi casa, me gusta leer mucho y a mi padres les gusta también.
keeps your books in place. storage. i like bookshelves. they are very organized. i don’t know what else to say about bookshelves.
I wonder, often, if all the voices in my head actually took shape and became real people, what would they look like? I imagine mostly loud, obnoxious jerks with a tendency to criticize mercilessly. I wouldn’t want to hang out with them, so what are they doing in my head?
I already talked about this same bookshelf in the last portion of this experiment. I love my bookshelf and I would love to purchase another one. My bookshelf is stuffed with books, mainly contemporary literature by authors such as Dan Chaon, Aimee Bender, and Stacey Richter.
a boolshelf is more than a place where you store books. It is the place that keeps that stories, the ones that make you cry, laugh, fear. I wish I could have a bookshelf but instead of putting books in it,memories will be well-kept and organized by alphabetical order, or date. Who knows, Things i never want to forget would be safe there.
When I think of a bookshelf, I think of things I need to do, read, organize, get rid of. It’s not all about books to me, because I don’t really read. I’m a bit of a sentimental pack rat and it shall be the death of me. Maybe I should buy a bookshelf so I’ll start reading.
You came over to poke around my hidden cabinets. You soon discovered that I kept Borges, Whitman, Butler, Asimov, Sedaris, Moore, among many others, in no particular order. They were shelved like talking heads only to be brought out for my amusement or when I need to invoke a little wisdom. But when you reached into the deepest cabinet of them all I stopped you. Those are the books I’ve written in, and those are the books you may not read let alone touch.
I pulled off the book, An Abundance of Katherines off the bookshelf. It was a little dusty, but not terrible. Although, it was terrible to the point where I didn’t entirely want to touch it with my fingers. But I did anyways. I was too lazy to find a dust..thing. My fingers stroked the side of the paperback cover and I opened the book to start reading.
There were exactly three hundred and eighty four books on the shelf.
Only four have been read.
But they have been reread over and over until the pages fell out and crumbled to dust.
On to book number five.
Each page was devoured time and time again, until the secrets were committed to memory.
It was the only way to keep the sentences from getting away from her.
It’s where I keep my books, but their’s never enough room! Always an untidy mess, but a constant source of entertainment and diversion, I wish I had a bunch more fully loaded
it makes me think of my basement. there’s a bookshelf that is full of books my mom has read. this means it’s mostly cheap romance novels. we’re talking cheap… like, less than a dollar. my grandma would give some to my mom, too. my grandma’s not alive anymore, but i bet she’s given my mom over a hundred terrible romances. stories of the night.
there needs to be one. filled with every genre. wood. daydreams.
I hate bookshelves.
I always seem to hit my head on them.
Don’t ask me how or why.
I just do.
It’s unpleasant and I would rather not hit my head on them.
That’s all I have to say.
As I look around the room, I realize we don’t have a bookshelf. What would I put on it if we did? What has been sitting on my mental bookshelf? I know my untapped potential is in there somewhere. Probably card catalogued somewhere between my hopes and dreams. Sounds like some of those books are long overdue….
my bookshelf os to the left of me. it hold good books and bad ones, ones ive read and ones i havent. they mean something to me, especially the ones from my mom. she had no idea how much they mean to me
a bookshelf contains many things. it may be full of ideas and creativity. it is open to change. you can put anything on it. not only books. a book shelf is a really good reflection of who a person is.
the dust that covers the literary material on my bookshelf has its own private history. i see my finger prints left behind on the books i grab from the lowest shelf.
my bookshelf doesnt have all the books i want, i cant wait to add more, when I have money, and I am rich, I am going to fill an entire wall with books. I LOVE LOVE LOOOOOOVVVEEE books and reading(: and of course inorder to have the entire wall I will need my own house. and so I wait!
I love book shelfs they have a lot of books. Books equal tranquility thus bookshelves equal tranquility as well. I don’t knwo
they are something i put books on. They rock my socks. I love bookshelves. i kind of wish i had more in my room… better yet, I want a library in my house someday, just like belle.
I have put myself up on a bookshelf
and I will not come down
Until someone takes me out by hand
and annotates me
when i was six years old a bookshelf fell on my baby sister. she was four months old, and completely helpless. i can still remember the look on her face. i’m sure she didn’t know what was happening, or what was about to happen, but her face showed exactly what we were all thinking. almost a blank stare, yet far from blank. she was terrified. i wonder if it’s possible to see your life flash before your eyes, when you haven’t even learned how to remember. it crushed her body, and that was the last time i saw my baby sister.
oh, the word is bookshelf! books and books and crowded dust between covers making small histories among the stories. second to last shelf is sad and no one pays attention to it. a little significance vibrates off of the sturdiness of the goodwill wood.
there are books on a bookself. small books. big books. long books. short books. my favorite book? i dont think i have one but right now i’m reading “Heaven is for Real”. I hear it going to be a very eye opening experience to read it but im only on page 56.
when i was six years old a bookshelf fell on my younger sister. she was four months old, and completely helpless. i can still remember the look on her face. i’m sure she didn’t know what was happening, or what was about to happen, but her face showed exactly what we were all thinking. almost a blank stare, yet far from blank. she was terrified. i wonder if it’s possible to see your life flash before your eyes, when you haven’t even learned to remember.
there aren’t any books on his shelf.
if you were to look, you’d see glass jars filled with tears, laughter, and hearts.
there might be boxes of memories with their lids stuck, and perhaps a vase of withered flowers tucked away in a corner.
so i guess you couldn’t really consider this a bookshelf, can you?
Holds books…words… Hundreds of thousands of beautiful, incredible words. Words that hold the binds of the books together like literate glue.
there was once a bookshelf in the south of Rome that everyone in town went to to deposit their dreams and pick up their favorite pieces of literature. over time everyone seemed to forget about it. Things change, people change, but bookshelves remain the same.
books are really fun to read and we get them from bookshelves. bookshelves are usually big, wooden pieces of furniture. we have one in our basement. ours is light wood and most people who come to see it think we should paint it white because that’s how they do it in Pottery Barn. but we like it wooden. i really like to read books because they educate me and it is good to be educated.
I remember like it was yesterday. I had just gotten home from the beach with my grandmother and I went into my room and I wanted to display the bear that I just got there on my bookshelf. Everything that I treasure I would find a place for it on that shelf.
the dust settles atop it. No one knows exactly whats inside the shelf floats above the ideas as the exist but no one reads them. can they exist ever more if they are never processed how can they survive when they never breathe forever trapped within the chamber of the vinyled wood. We await to unlock the mysteries.
My bookshelf holds my heart, and those things that I heart most: books; which hold what I heart even more: words. And words are the conduit, the expression of my innermost vulnerabilities and triumphs, and protectors and purveyors of the landscape of my soul. (Though I also totally think more books should punctuate their sentences with the word ‘fuck’…sometimes it’s the only word that matters.
books, rows of them. all different colors. spines of colors, words. the bookshelf is a magical place, and each book holds a journey- mysterious, frightening, or heart-warming. it’s a way to live a thousand lives. each book on the bookshelf is imbued with life.
I remember an old bookshelf that I had when I was a little girl. I had placed all my little treasure on it that I had collected over the years. I would never remove what I put up there only looked upon them when I wanted to reminiss. Years later