Love. Pure and simple. I can make a table out of cinder blocks and some ply-wood. But my book shelves, oh, they are temples and should withstand the thoughts that are placed on them.
My bookshelf is quite nice. I’m amazed at how many I have, because all the book I have, I have read. And that’s a lot of books. Not all of them can even fit on to it. I love it, it’s just shows how important reading is to me. It’s nice.
I love bookshelves. I have two in my room. It’s a student house and only came with one, but I bought too many books this year and had to buy another one. I’m now moving out and have packed the contents of one bookshelf away now, this makes me sad and my room now looks bare and empty.
a bookshelf is a painting of ones character and interests. Imagine you had a bookcase with every book you have ever read. In order. From your early years reading childrens books till today. A little museum of what inspired you.
a holy ground where all my hopes, memories, dreams, characters and wishes reside in the covers of beloved books. A private place, arranged by me, containing mementos placed amoung the books, : my teak suitcase from hawaii, my dogs ashes, childhood ceramics, little things my children made in school
i am my own person. i will love myself completely, it takes time to do that. i am reaching what i think i need to however it becomes vague sometimes. i am confused about life, love and myself in general. i wish i knew myself better. i wish i knew alot of things better. i wish i were more clear about the things i say. i wish i could let go. i want to be better.
There is a lyric that begins, “you say that I treat you like a book on a shelf.” It took me a very long time to understand what that meant — only to be taken down occasionally, and then put away again when unneeded. It’s heartbreaking to know that you’re not always wanted. That pain never fades.
I sit watching the people pass me by, seeking out technology much younger than me. I suffer from mildew, dust, and loneliness, even with my brothers on my side. They speak of different adventures that mine – dragons, magic, love, hate – but I can’t relate. What’s a philosopher going to do?
a bookshelf is a storehouse of mystery. from just the binding, you never know what you may find. Is is a story? is it an encyclopedia? one never knows unless one takes that first step toward the shelf, reaches out her hand, and grasps that first book. It’s coming…
the bookshelves i keep my memories on are full of fiction. they make me feel like i was every character and every story feels so personal. the bookshelf holds up these ideas keeping them safe for when i want to peak again. oh the memories change every time. they feel invincible.
growing up I had a few books on my bookshelf. Each year i was able to add to my collection of books on the bookshelf and with time it became too small so my collection. In some measure I can thank my mother for my interest in books as she was responsible for the interest i developed. I was able to read many books in my life.
bookshelf
books upon books
line up
spine against spine
waiting for my searching fingers
to fall upon one
stories and stories
contrasting, but the same
as they pull you in
to the characters’ feelings
emotions
lives
I love my bookshelf. It collects things that are important to me. My plays, my music, my collectibles. I love my bookshelf. It came from the Container Store during the last Elfa sale. It looks so good, I went and bought another matching one. I love my bookshelf.
I just had this word. My last answer was crappy so I will try and do it again. I love books. I guess the library that I go to is my home away from home. So my bookshelf is kind of like a summer beach house. It is where I can go to dive into any book and relax.
i like books, they go on bookshelfs. i have a yellow bookshelf in my living room and a black one downstairs. I think there are diet books on them, and some dr. phil stuff. awesome… i need a bookshelf in my room because i have a lot of school books but have no where to put them. maybe ill buy one.
A place where I keep all of my books. Especially my harry potter books. And one called Watership downs that I used to write a c=school project right now. I am at school right now and should probably bieng doing something more productive then this now that I think about it i sould go to the gym today.
My bookshelf contains unusual books. Books that contain many stories. Stories from the past, stories from the present, and yes even stories from the future. My books tell the stories of people’s lives, and they can decide someones fate within a single sentence. And I am their keeper.
A bookshelf is something that is usually placed on or against a wall. It is used to hold books when they are not in use. Why the hell am I having to write about a bookshelf. They are usually pretty useful. Not only books are placed on them. I like to paint them different colors to make them pretty.
there was an old bookshelf that was barely sitting on the wall. I say it was sitting, but it wasn’t really – it was wobbly, uneven and unsightly. To be honest, it was just a piece of crap that was poorly made, rotten, old, worn-out and ugly. Everytime the light shines on it I remember how much time it actually took me to make the thing. I hadn’t spent a lot of time on it, wasn’t going to actually use it for anything – I mean, it was just an excuse to get my hands dirty and build something. Isn’t that what always seems to happen? You have a little time on your hands, but you fail at the attempt and end up with something distastefull.
One glance and you can tell the history of someone. From picture books, to course guides of the classics, Austen Dickens, Bronte. To how their reading is shaped now. Mine? Post-colonial wonders, magical realism, me.
There it lay, stories untold. She gazed at them with awe, until a tear slowly slipped down…she couldn’t believe it was true. The legends, the myths, the fruitless quests had taken all of the hope of its existence. But now, here she was. Here it was. She was ready.
Schilfbücher waren im alten Bangladesh sehr verbreitet. Es gab sogar eine Schilfblattbibliothek. Während in den Palmblattbibliotheken das Schicksal jedes einzelnen Menschen aufgezeichnet war, bezogen sich die Schilfblätter auf Tiere und Pflanzen. Da die Tier- und Pflanzenwelt wesentlich zahlreicher ist als die Menschenwelt, musste dafür eine Pflanze mit einem zahlreicheren Vorkommen gewählt werden.
This is my favorite part of my apartment. The place where when I need something new, something inspirational, or something comforting that I go to. My home never quite feels like home without this little set of cheap wood, supporting more than its fair share of books and stories.
The bookshelf was empty and dust covered; neglected in more ways than one. She walked about the attic for some time before it caught her eye in the corner and by then she knew what to do.
A place of dreams and magic, an escape. Back to the summers I read a book a day. My spot on the hill overlooking the undulating sea of wheat and those beautiful blue mountains, the sound of the train in the distance and the scent of crisp mountain air mingled with the scent of book, yummy.
My bookshelf has many colors–the reds, oranges, blues, and blacks of thousands of pages read over the course of my education. They stand as testament, but so few notice. Not like I was when I was a student, in awe of the collection of words gracing my mentors’ walls. My books are unsung heroes of the battle for knowledge, heroes I wish my students would emulate.
infinite potential. words on top of words that do well to intrigue, offer hope. bookshelf: home to many worlds. divulgence. beauty. truth. exploration.
simple things are better than anything else.i love my boyfriend,he is the cutest thing ever.flowers are beautiful.I love spring and coffees.oh no,not again!the sun is shining and I want an ice cream.I also want a yellow dress with white dots.and a hat
cluttered, cosy, colorful
a measure of intellect, wealth, and class
put the Dickens and Austen in the foreground
hide the trashy romance novels in the cabinet
pause frequently to admire the masterpiece
I’ve always wanted a good bookshelf. Sturdy, strong, pine… something boxy, plenty of cubbies, compartments, spaces for alphabetized, annotated collections of Russian, English, US fiction. It’ll be as big as a wall, and built like one, too.
I love my bookshelf – it has books on it . good books that i have read and one or two that i haven’t. strictly speaking it isn’t a bookshelf at all – when I first moved here it was in the house that i moved to – left by the former occupantsts – I don’t know what they used it for, but we put it in the hallway and put our shoes on it. it was very good at this, but the living room seemed to lack a certain something, so we moved it in there and started putting other stuff on it as a display type thing. we had few books then as we had put them all into boxes in my parents attic as we couldn’t bring much when we moved over here – in fact we came with a suitcase each. that was three years ago and I have accumulated more books and slowly the nick nacks are being replaced with more books and I suppose it is more of a bookshelf now.
They stood in front of the bookshelf. He looked over at her and their eyes met. She reached forward and pulled the red book, just as she had seen the man do earlier. There was a soft click and the bookshelf swung off its hinges.
My bookshelf is so full that I have rooms with books in them. I need to sort out the ones I am keeping and give the others away. There must be a library someplace that could use them. I’d hate to see them go to waste. Books were meant to be shared. I need another bookshelf.
It was gone! Just like that I had lost the last fifteen years of my life to someone I had never even met. I was so horrified that it took me at least five minutes to realize where I was and why exactly all this was happening. But to explain that to you, I’ll have to explain everything that happened before that also.
The bookshelf was full. And while it looked lovely, she knew she was lying to herself. How many of those books had she actually read? Very few. Her intentions were good. They were always good. But the books had piled up on the floor for so long that she thought putting them “away” on the bookshelf was the answer.
Instead, they just seemed to mock her even more.
Oh, why didn’t I just get a Kindle…
Ah, my collection of little worlds. Little memories, stacked beside one another on the shelf, their spines longing to be stroked, bindings longing to be worn down by constant stretching and cracking. A bookshelf. A multiverse in and of itself. So many lives kept between the bookends, so much misery and so much happiness. Everything I’ve ever dreamed to be, every life I could ever imagine… and it’s like no one will ever notice.
Love. Pure and simple. I can make a table out of cinder blocks and some ply-wood. But my book shelves, oh, they are temples and should withstand the thoughts that are placed on them.
My bookshelf is quite nice. I’m amazed at how many I have, because all the book I have, I have read. And that’s a lot of books. Not all of them can even fit on to it. I love it, it’s just shows how important reading is to me. It’s nice.
I love bookshelves. I have two in my room. It’s a student house and only came with one, but I bought too many books this year and had to buy another one. I’m now moving out and have packed the contents of one bookshelf away now, this makes me sad and my room now looks bare and empty.
a bookshelf is a painting of ones character and interests. Imagine you had a bookcase with every book you have ever read. In order. From your early years reading childrens books till today. A little museum of what inspired you.
a holy ground where all my hopes, memories, dreams, characters and wishes reside in the covers of beloved books. A private place, arranged by me, containing mementos placed amoung the books, : my teak suitcase from hawaii, my dogs ashes, childhood ceramics, little things my children made in school
i am my own person. i will love myself completely, it takes time to do that. i am reaching what i think i need to however it becomes vague sometimes. i am confused about life, love and myself in general. i wish i knew myself better. i wish i knew alot of things better. i wish i were more clear about the things i say. i wish i could let go. i want to be better.
There is a lyric that begins, “you say that I treat you like a book on a shelf.” It took me a very long time to understand what that meant — only to be taken down occasionally, and then put away again when unneeded. It’s heartbreaking to know that you’re not always wanted. That pain never fades.
I sit watching the people pass me by, seeking out technology much younger than me. I suffer from mildew, dust, and loneliness, even with my brothers on my side. They speak of different adventures that mine – dragons, magic, love, hate – but I can’t relate. What’s a philosopher going to do?
a bookshelf is a storehouse of mystery. from just the binding, you never know what you may find. Is is a story? is it an encyclopedia? one never knows unless one takes that first step toward the shelf, reaches out her hand, and grasps that first book. It’s coming…
the bookshelves i keep my memories on are full of fiction. they make me feel like i was every character and every story feels so personal. the bookshelf holds up these ideas keeping them safe for when i want to peak again. oh the memories change every time. they feel invincible.
On my shelf are books about self. Learning, creating and growing of self. A shelf of self and creative self is now the elf upon my shelf.
growing up I had a few books on my bookshelf. Each year i was able to add to my collection of books on the bookshelf and with time it became too small so my collection. In some measure I can thank my mother for my interest in books as she was responsible for the interest i developed. I was able to read many books in my life.
bookshelf
books upon books
line up
spine against spine
waiting for my searching fingers
to fall upon one
stories and stories
contrasting, but the same
as they pull you in
to the characters’ feelings
emotions
lives
I love my bookshelf. It collects things that are important to me. My plays, my music, my collectibles. I love my bookshelf. It came from the Container Store during the last Elfa sale. It looks so good, I went and bought another matching one. I love my bookshelf.
I just had this word. My last answer was crappy so I will try and do it again. I love books. I guess the library that I go to is my home away from home. So my bookshelf is kind of like a summer beach house. It is where I can go to dive into any book and relax.
i like books, they go on bookshelfs. i have a yellow bookshelf in my living room and a black one downstairs. I think there are diet books on them, and some dr. phil stuff. awesome… i need a bookshelf in my room because i have a lot of school books but have no where to put them. maybe ill buy one.
A place where I keep all of my books. Especially my harry potter books. And one called Watership downs that I used to write a c=school project right now. I am at school right now and should probably bieng doing something more productive then this now that I think about it i sould go to the gym today.
My bookshelf contains unusual books. Books that contain many stories. Stories from the past, stories from the present, and yes even stories from the future. My books tell the stories of people’s lives, and they can decide someones fate within a single sentence. And I am their keeper.
A bookshelf is something that is usually placed on or against a wall. It is used to hold books when they are not in use. Why the hell am I having to write about a bookshelf. They are usually pretty useful. Not only books are placed on them. I like to paint them different colors to make them pretty.
there was an old bookshelf that was barely sitting on the wall. I say it was sitting, but it wasn’t really – it was wobbly, uneven and unsightly. To be honest, it was just a piece of crap that was poorly made, rotten, old, worn-out and ugly. Everytime the light shines on it I remember how much time it actually took me to make the thing. I hadn’t spent a lot of time on it, wasn’t going to actually use it for anything – I mean, it was just an excuse to get my hands dirty and build something. Isn’t that what always seems to happen? You have a little time on your hands, but you fail at the attempt and end up with something distastefull.
One glance and you can tell the history of someone. From picture books, to course guides of the classics, Austen Dickens, Bronte. To how their reading is shaped now. Mine? Post-colonial wonders, magical realism, me.
There it lay, stories untold. She gazed at them with awe, until a tear slowly slipped down…she couldn’t believe it was true. The legends, the myths, the fruitless quests had taken all of the hope of its existence. But now, here she was. Here it was. She was ready.
Schilfbücher waren im alten Bangladesh sehr verbreitet. Es gab sogar eine Schilfblattbibliothek. Während in den Palmblattbibliotheken das Schicksal jedes einzelnen Menschen aufgezeichnet war, bezogen sich die Schilfblätter auf Tiere und Pflanzen. Da die Tier- und Pflanzenwelt wesentlich zahlreicher ist als die Menschenwelt, musste dafür eine Pflanze mit einem zahlreicheren Vorkommen gewählt werden.
This is my favorite part of my apartment. The place where when I need something new, something inspirational, or something comforting that I go to. My home never quite feels like home without this little set of cheap wood, supporting more than its fair share of books and stories.
The bookshelf was empty and dust covered; neglected in more ways than one. She walked about the attic for some time before it caught her eye in the corner and by then she knew what to do.
A place of dreams and magic, an escape. Back to the summers I read a book a day. My spot on the hill overlooking the undulating sea of wheat and those beautiful blue mountains, the sound of the train in the distance and the scent of crisp mountain air mingled with the scent of book, yummy.
My bookshelf has many colors–the reds, oranges, blues, and blacks of thousands of pages read over the course of my education. They stand as testament, but so few notice. Not like I was when I was a student, in awe of the collection of words gracing my mentors’ walls. My books are unsung heroes of the battle for knowledge, heroes I wish my students would emulate.
infinite potential. words on top of words that do well to intrigue, offer hope. bookshelf: home to many worlds. divulgence. beauty. truth. exploration.
simple things are better than anything else.i love my boyfriend,he is the cutest thing ever.flowers are beautiful.I love spring and coffees.oh no,not again!the sun is shining and I want an ice cream.I also want a yellow dress with white dots.and a hat
cluttered, cosy, colorful
a measure of intellect, wealth, and class
put the Dickens and Austen in the foreground
hide the trashy romance novels in the cabinet
pause frequently to admire the masterpiece
a world, a museum, a lawn, a forest, a tree, a playground, an archive, a discovery land
I’ve always wanted a good bookshelf. Sturdy, strong, pine… something boxy, plenty of cubbies, compartments, spaces for alphabetized, annotated collections of Russian, English, US fiction. It’ll be as big as a wall, and built like one, too.
I love my bookshelf – it has books on it . good books that i have read and one or two that i haven’t. strictly speaking it isn’t a bookshelf at all – when I first moved here it was in the house that i moved to – left by the former occupantsts – I don’t know what they used it for, but we put it in the hallway and put our shoes on it. it was very good at this, but the living room seemed to lack a certain something, so we moved it in there and started putting other stuff on it as a display type thing. we had few books then as we had put them all into boxes in my parents attic as we couldn’t bring much when we moved over here – in fact we came with a suitcase each. that was three years ago and I have accumulated more books and slowly the nick nacks are being replaced with more books and I suppose it is more of a bookshelf now.
They stood in front of the bookshelf. He looked over at her and their eyes met. She reached forward and pulled the red book, just as she had seen the man do earlier. There was a soft click and the bookshelf swung off its hinges.
My bookshelf is so full that I have rooms with books in them. I need to sort out the ones I am keeping and give the others away. There must be a library someplace that could use them. I’d hate to see them go to waste. Books were meant to be shared. I need another bookshelf.
It was gone! Just like that I had lost the last fifteen years of my life to someone I had never even met. I was so horrified that it took me at least five minutes to realize where I was and why exactly all this was happening. But to explain that to you, I’ll have to explain everything that happened before that also.
The bookshelf was full. And while it looked lovely, she knew she was lying to herself. How many of those books had she actually read? Very few. Her intentions were good. They were always good. But the books had piled up on the floor for so long that she thought putting them “away” on the bookshelf was the answer.
Instead, they just seemed to mock her even more.
Oh, why didn’t I just get a Kindle…
Bookshelf: “I’m hungry and lonely!”
Kindle: “I’m happy and full.”
Bookshelf: “How do you like my candles and pictures?”
Kindle: “Nice.”
Bookshelf: “Don’t you know there’re using you?”
Kindle: “Feels so good.”
Bookshelf: “Hey, I didn’t know I could talk.”
Kindle: “We were meant for each other.”
Bookshelf: “Will you rest yourself on me and do as I say?”
Kindle: “Yes my dear love.”
your ashes fell from the bookshelf. the cat. new to the house and restlessly afraid.
Ah, my collection of little worlds. Little memories, stacked beside one another on the shelf, their spines longing to be stroked, bindings longing to be worn down by constant stretching and cracking. A bookshelf. A multiverse in and of itself. So many lives kept between the bookends, so much misery and so much happiness. Everything I’ve ever dreamed to be, every life I could ever imagine… and it’s like no one will ever notice.