I like bookshelves. Especially really cool lloking ones. I dont likebookselves that much. That actually sounds pretty weird. I guess what I meant was that I wish I could have a really cool bookshelf that looks like those ones I saw on that one site I found on stumble upon. But that probably costs money. Or lost of creativity. I dont know. Makybe I could make a cool one. But that would be a lot of work. Or I would have to think something up. And Maybe I would have to go find pictures or something because im not really sue what exactly I would make. I dont know. I neve know. WHy dont I ever know?! Gosh I suck. Hes right. Too much indecisdion. I need to learn to make dicisions better. I also need to learrn how to spell that word. And lots of othe words. I also need to fix that stupid r key. It fell off again. I guess Im typing too much. I wonde how much time I have left. I dont lklnow. I dont want to stop and mess this up. But I have hella typos! NOOOO! OMg. I dont know. Again. Whee is the timer on this thing? I dont know what to type anymoe so im jus doing whatever comes to mind CATAPILLAS. I dont really know. My mind went blank after that. I hear izzy making noise MY BIDS SMELL I have to clean their cage again. UG. I just did it! How can they be that messy?>! I mean I know thee ae two of them but WHAT IS THIS I DONT EVEN. Blank blank blank mind totally blank wtf. Oh telephone….I dont cae! I have to go to wok5. I think I should egt eady fist. What am I still doing on the compute5r? I DONT CAE HOW LONG YOU HAVE BEEN MAIED SHUT UP MOM YOU AE UINING THIS THING GET OFF THE PHONE. Blah blah blah andom stange5s DONT CA%RE ABOUT YOU PESONAL LIFE. They ae just being polite asking. Why dont you get it? AHHH MY HANDS! oo much typing. Oh. Appeently my time was up a long time ago. My bad.
i love a filled bookshelf, seeing all those books up there really fills me with a sense of joy. Will i be able to read every single book on every single bookshelf one day i hope to find out and one day i hope i will. i dont read as much as i once did but that is bc i watch too much tv and work too much and drink too much maybe i will stop drinking and read a lot more books.
Without the correct bookshelf in my life, I found it difficult to contain my passion without it spilling over onto the floor and into the normal world. More than one, two is better, which is always the case, and with two bookcases, I can live my life complete, or until I buy enough DVDs to fill up the shelves I own now.
i love bookshelves. i love looking at books crowded on a shelf. i love knowing the joy and wonderfulness the bookshelf contains. i love knowing i own the books and i’ve read them and can read them again. i wish i had a whole library for myself full of wonderful books.
The door open with a whining creak and Sandy stepped inside the darkened room. She felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Dozens of bookshelves lined the chamber, but Sandy was after one particular one. She walked over to the bookshelf at the far end. “There it is,” she whispered, pulling down the volume marked ‘How to commit a murder.’
The bookshelf tat sat in the corner of the room overflowed with books. They were even on the floor in front of it. That same wooden, paint chipped, worn bookshelf had been my great grandma’s. I can only imagine it holding classics as she liked. She always loved those best. Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and other authors like that.
I am a girl who reads. What more is there to know? I’d be satisfied with any sort of book as a present ever because books are powerful. They have the power to transport to another world, yet I always come back in the end, even if it is real to me for awhile. Where would I be without the shelves that hold my books? Those dusty, squished shelves which I love so much. It’s one of my favorite places. My bookshelf.
The bookshelf arched towards the ceiling, filled with odds and ends, ancient tomes and new technology mixed together in a graceless state of helter skelter. The bookshelf mirrored the style of the rest of the room, the rest of the house: utter disaster.
“This was a job that I can clearly handle.”
theres a bookshelf of a bunch of books i havent read in my garage. they are nothing im interested in so i just havent read them. it used to be in my living room but then my parents did some renovating before they got divorced and it just ended up sitting in our garage with all the books still in it. i like it better in the living room.
i love bookshelves. I love being in the bookshelves in libraries, they make me feel smart. they make me feel like im going to do something important with my life. they inspire me. all the knowledge they hold. i love the smell of them, and i love the fact that I am TOTALLY alone. its the only time i feel alone, but i dont feel sad about it.
where books are stored. usually made of wood. Ikea like to stack pretentious fake fruits and vases on their bookshelves. they can hang on the wall or stand on the floor. Some reach the ceiling while some just go a little off the ground. Some people stack their books horizontally and some vertically.
Memories that sit cold upon the bookshelf; long since forgotten, collecting dust of both the mind and heart. Until one day they are resurrected again, by chance, by luck, by fate, or by young hands once more.
It spun around to show my secret room. It was where i cast my spells and send my hexes. Now that I have told you this information, you will be a victim of one of them.
holy my secrets, hold my stories, hold my hopes, hold my inspirations
hold my heart in your sleek, crafted hands.
i will never love another
the way i love you
you know me best
and accept me anyway
the only thing that could make me happier is to see you grow.
I would like a bookshelf full of books that I like most. I would like to be able to take that bookshelf with me wherever I go. I love reading books and I would like to have them all with me at all times, have them with me mentally. Sometimes I explain the world around me through ause books mirror the world that I find myself in.
The aisles of books lay ahead of me like a long hallway that never ends. Stealing glances through the many levels of books as I walk silently into the midst of their essence
its a place where i can keep the books, the place that reflects what people read. i enter a room and see the bookshelf and I am intrigued and magnetized. i want to see and read the books that are in the bookshelf and wo
Overflowing. That’s what my bookshelf is. Overflowing with the words that have enriched, advanced, and made my life that much better. The words of so many authors, and some not, that have shaped and molded my mind in some way or another. Plath, Salinger, Fitzgerald, and so many more fill the tiny crammed shelves and brighten my life each and every day.
I look and I see so many things that have made a difference in my life. Material objects, all of which have persuaded me to take a disinterest in material objects. But they’re not just any material objects; between each hard side, hundreds of white, crisp papers are lined with words to fill the imagination.
I have two bookshelves in my room and they are full of books. I absolutely love books and I don’t know what I would do without them. I love the smell of them, the sound of pages turning.
the bookshelf fell on me and cut off my legs. Oh how I hate thet damned collection of wood and nails. I plan to take it out and burn it . I’ll roast marshmallows by its flames.
I remember standing before the bookshelf when I was a child, alone in a closed room, holding a doll and promising to take care of it. I remember being pushed into a bookshelf, the books showering down from the top shelf. I remember standing in front of a bookshelf at the library and looking to the side only to see her, the girl he told me in our math class that he liked, stroll by with her perfect black hair. I remember the pain of wanting something more, the physical and emotional pain of being hurt by someone you cared about, the pain of realizing too late that the boy sitting diagonally from you has caught more of your attention than you’d like to admit. I remember the pain, and I learn new forms of pain every day. I can smile at him now, that boy, and love him freely. I can protect myself now, from certain pains inflicted upon me by others. I can know now that one day, I will be bale to whisper promises to a real child, to hold something that really will love me unconditionally. My time will come.
i like bookselfs cause they store books the are good to pack small things on bookshel are for storage and learning the more you have the more books you can have book are power bookshelfs hold t
i like to put books in them. sometimes when they’re raw wood i like to get brightly coloured ones and line them up along the whitish wood so that the colours pop. books aren’t just for reading. bookshelves aren’t just for holding books. sometimes i put other things in them too, like small stone cats or little baubles.
my bookshelves in my room hold my life from when i was a baby. now i use my floor to store my ideas. it’s a lot easier and doesnt make my room as clean and perfect, i hate perfection. i need some mess so my mom remembers i exist and doesn’t forget that i’m downin my cave; when i was upstairs she always remmebered me becasue i was throwing up in my bathroom and now i don’t so she forgets me.
The bookshelf was long. It wasn’t laden with books, despite its name. Instead, it held an assortment of trinkets from every corner of the globe. Here, there was a glass from the British Isles, made especially for scotch whiskey. On the opposing end was a shell from Oceania, its sparkling curve radiant in the sunlight.
all i own are biographies. particularly those of comedians. russell brands, sarah silvermans, recently tina feys. when i’m not reading those i read blogs. i don’t want a fairytale, i want to know secrets.
I stared and frowned at the row of dusty books. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades, which wasn’t surprising considering the state of the rest of this ancient bookstore. The man who owned it was probably about 82, and he wasn’t exactly friendly.
A bookshelf holds books, but books aren’t just pieces of literature. Books give anyone the power to transport himself from the realm of reality to a new, unexplored world. Books hold ideas, opinions, words of someone else. Books are eternal, forever ingrained into a society.
My bookshelf. Filled with endless supplies of books… Yes. Thats it. If only you could count the dust motes that have collected on those books. Bound by leather. All of them are. To think of all the ideas that have been brought together onto this one shelf is like trying to stare into the heart of a dark star.
Books. The world of inception.
I should have one but I don’t. I use the rack in my bathroom because THAT’S where most of my literary activity takes place anyway. I suppose at some point, I’ll civilize myself, but not yet. Nope. Besides, it’ll the give the kids one more thing to mess up.
Over on my bookshelf sat that picture i turned faced down. i don’t want to look at his face, i don’t want to remember it. the bookshelf is empty. i emptied all those books he ever gave me. i hate him fro what he did to me. you can’t tell a person you love them and leave. that empty bookshelf was like the emptiness in my heart, a dull ache of a reminder of what used to be and what could have been. why was i stupid enough to believe all those lies he told. every single one, i believed. and what do i have to show for it? a broken heart…. i hate that bookshelf i hate it with all my heart. its a reminder of HIM!!! ugh… how i hate him.
A location for holding precious reading material. It is here where the prized sentences and masterpeices and beautifully crafted stories of prolific authors rest in their slumber.
Someday I hope to have a library with a plethora of bookshelves. Kind of like on Beauty and the Beast, when the Beast gives a gift to Belle of that beautiful library. So many books. But more importantly, the knowledge contained inside these books could potentially be in my head. That is what I desire.
The bookshelf in my grandmother’s house never ceased to hold my attention for such long periods of time. The cracked spines, the smell of dust, the old wrinkled and yellowing pages. There was never a time when I just walked right by it, for I couldn’t pass up the chance to enjoy the simple pleasures of a good, old book.
Where books be stored. No one likes books either, so this is a really pointless damn word. When you see this word, you just wanna write ‘poop’, because that’s what a bookshelf is – poop.
I wish my mind was like a bookshelf. I could neatly organize everything I know, all the pictures I’ve ever scene, the bits and baubles lovingly collected over the years. Everything would be right there at my finger tips, available for immediate use, free from the detrimental and frustrating fuckwittery of the ever present tip of the tongue phenomenon.
I like bookshelves. Especially really cool lloking ones. I dont likebookselves that much. That actually sounds pretty weird. I guess what I meant was that I wish I could have a really cool bookshelf that looks like those ones I saw on that one site I found on stumble upon. But that probably costs money. Or lost of creativity. I dont know. Makybe I could make a cool one. But that would be a lot of work. Or I would have to think something up. And Maybe I would have to go find pictures or something because im not really sue what exactly I would make. I dont know. I neve know. WHy dont I ever know?! Gosh I suck. Hes right. Too much indecisdion. I need to learn to make dicisions better. I also need to learrn how to spell that word. And lots of othe words. I also need to fix that stupid r key. It fell off again. I guess Im typing too much. I wonde how much time I have left. I dont lklnow. I dont want to stop and mess this up. But I have hella typos! NOOOO! OMg. I dont know. Again. Whee is the timer on this thing? I dont know what to type anymoe so im jus doing whatever comes to mind CATAPILLAS. I dont really know. My mind went blank after that. I hear izzy making noise MY BIDS SMELL I have to clean their cage again. UG. I just did it! How can they be that messy?>! I mean I know thee ae two of them but WHAT IS THIS I DONT EVEN. Blank blank blank mind totally blank wtf. Oh telephone….I dont cae! I have to go to wok5. I think I should egt eady fist. What am I still doing on the compute5r? I DONT CAE HOW LONG YOU HAVE BEEN MAIED SHUT UP MOM YOU AE UINING THIS THING GET OFF THE PHONE. Blah blah blah andom stange5s DONT CA%RE ABOUT YOU PESONAL LIFE. They ae just being polite asking. Why dont you get it? AHHH MY HANDS! oo much typing. Oh. Appeently my time was up a long time ago. My bad.
i love a filled bookshelf, seeing all those books up there really fills me with a sense of joy. Will i be able to read every single book on every single bookshelf one day i hope to find out and one day i hope i will. i dont read as much as i once did but that is bc i watch too much tv and work too much and drink too much maybe i will stop drinking and read a lot more books.
Without the correct bookshelf in my life, I found it difficult to contain my passion without it spilling over onto the floor and into the normal world. More than one, two is better, which is always the case, and with two bookcases, I can live my life complete, or until I buy enough DVDs to fill up the shelves I own now.
Don’t judge a book by its cover… the best ones are found off the bookshelves.
i love bookshelves. i love looking at books crowded on a shelf. i love knowing the joy and wonderfulness the bookshelf contains. i love knowing i own the books and i’ve read them and can read them again. i wish i had a whole library for myself full of wonderful books.
The door open with a whining creak and Sandy stepped inside the darkened room. She felt for the light switch and flipped it on. Dozens of bookshelves lined the chamber, but Sandy was after one particular one. She walked over to the bookshelf at the far end. “There it is,” she whispered, pulling down the volume marked ‘How to commit a murder.’
The bookshelf tat sat in the corner of the room overflowed with books. They were even on the floor in front of it. That same wooden, paint chipped, worn bookshelf had been my great grandma’s. I can only imagine it holding classics as she liked. She always loved those best. Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and other authors like that.
long and holding, knowledgable wood taken and giving and shelf of truth. too much shelf not enough book.
I am a girl who reads. What more is there to know? I’d be satisfied with any sort of book as a present ever because books are powerful. They have the power to transport to another world, yet I always come back in the end, even if it is real to me for awhile. Where would I be without the shelves that hold my books? Those dusty, squished shelves which I love so much. It’s one of my favorite places. My bookshelf.
The bookshelf arched towards the ceiling, filled with odds and ends, ancient tomes and new technology mixed together in a graceless state of helter skelter. The bookshelf mirrored the style of the rest of the room, the rest of the house: utter disaster.
“This was a job that I can clearly handle.”
theres a bookshelf of a bunch of books i havent read in my garage. they are nothing im interested in so i just havent read them. it used to be in my living room but then my parents did some renovating before they got divorced and it just ended up sitting in our garage with all the books still in it. i like it better in the living room.
i love bookshelves. I love being in the bookshelves in libraries, they make me feel smart. they make me feel like im going to do something important with my life. they inspire me. all the knowledge they hold. i love the smell of them, and i love the fact that I am TOTALLY alone. its the only time i feel alone, but i dont feel sad about it.
where books are stored. usually made of wood. Ikea like to stack pretentious fake fruits and vases on their bookshelves. they can hang on the wall or stand on the floor. Some reach the ceiling while some just go a little off the ground. Some people stack their books horizontally and some vertically.
Memories that sit cold upon the bookshelf; long since forgotten, collecting dust of both the mind and heart. Until one day they are resurrected again, by chance, by luck, by fate, or by young hands once more.
It spun around to show my secret room. It was where i cast my spells and send my hexes. Now that I have told you this information, you will be a victim of one of them.
holy my secrets, hold my stories, hold my hopes, hold my inspirations
hold my heart in your sleek, crafted hands.
i will never love another
the way i love you
you know me best
and accept me anyway
the only thing that could make me happier is to see you grow.
I would like a bookshelf full of books that I like most. I would like to be able to take that bookshelf with me wherever I go. I love reading books and I would like to have them all with me at all times, have them with me mentally. Sometimes I explain the world around me through ause books mirror the world that I find myself in.
The aisles of books lay ahead of me like a long hallway that never ends. Stealing glances through the many levels of books as I walk silently into the midst of their essence
its a place where i can keep the books, the place that reflects what people read. i enter a room and see the bookshelf and I am intrigued and magnetized. i want to see and read the books that are in the bookshelf and wo
Overflowing. That’s what my bookshelf is. Overflowing with the words that have enriched, advanced, and made my life that much better. The words of so many authors, and some not, that have shaped and molded my mind in some way or another. Plath, Salinger, Fitzgerald, and so many more fill the tiny crammed shelves and brighten my life each and every day.
I look and I see so many things that have made a difference in my life. Material objects, all of which have persuaded me to take a disinterest in material objects. But they’re not just any material objects; between each hard side, hundreds of white, crisp papers are lined with words to fill the imagination.
I have two bookshelves in my room and they are full of books. I absolutely love books and I don’t know what I would do without them. I love the smell of them, the sound of pages turning.
the bookshelf fell on me and cut off my legs. Oh how I hate thet damned collection of wood and nails. I plan to take it out and burn it . I’ll roast marshmallows by its flames.
I remember standing before the bookshelf when I was a child, alone in a closed room, holding a doll and promising to take care of it. I remember being pushed into a bookshelf, the books showering down from the top shelf. I remember standing in front of a bookshelf at the library and looking to the side only to see her, the girl he told me in our math class that he liked, stroll by with her perfect black hair. I remember the pain of wanting something more, the physical and emotional pain of being hurt by someone you cared about, the pain of realizing too late that the boy sitting diagonally from you has caught more of your attention than you’d like to admit. I remember the pain, and I learn new forms of pain every day. I can smile at him now, that boy, and love him freely. I can protect myself now, from certain pains inflicted upon me by others. I can know now that one day, I will be bale to whisper promises to a real child, to hold something that really will love me unconditionally. My time will come.
i like bookselfs cause they store books the are good to pack small things on bookshel are for storage and learning the more you have the more books you can have book are power bookshelfs hold t
i like to put books in them. sometimes when they’re raw wood i like to get brightly coloured ones and line them up along the whitish wood so that the colours pop. books aren’t just for reading. bookshelves aren’t just for holding books. sometimes i put other things in them too, like small stone cats or little baubles.
my bookshelves in my room hold my life from when i was a baby. now i use my floor to store my ideas. it’s a lot easier and doesnt make my room as clean and perfect, i hate perfection. i need some mess so my mom remembers i exist and doesn’t forget that i’m downin my cave; when i was upstairs she always remmebered me becasue i was throwing up in my bathroom and now i don’t so she forgets me.
The bookshelf was long. It wasn’t laden with books, despite its name. Instead, it held an assortment of trinkets from every corner of the globe. Here, there was a glass from the British Isles, made especially for scotch whiskey. On the opposing end was a shell from Oceania, its sparkling curve radiant in the sunlight.
all i own are biographies. particularly those of comedians. russell brands, sarah silvermans, recently tina feys. when i’m not reading those i read blogs. i don’t want a fairytale, i want to know secrets.
I stared and frowned at the row of dusty books. They looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades, which wasn’t surprising considering the state of the rest of this ancient bookstore. The man who owned it was probably about 82, and he wasn’t exactly friendly.
A bookshelf holds books, but books aren’t just pieces of literature. Books give anyone the power to transport himself from the realm of reality to a new, unexplored world. Books hold ideas, opinions, words of someone else. Books are eternal, forever ingrained into a society.
My bookshelf. Filled with endless supplies of books… Yes. Thats it. If only you could count the dust motes that have collected on those books. Bound by leather. All of them are. To think of all the ideas that have been brought together onto this one shelf is like trying to stare into the heart of a dark star.
Books. The world of inception.
I should have one but I don’t. I use the rack in my bathroom because THAT’S where most of my literary activity takes place anyway. I suppose at some point, I’ll civilize myself, but not yet. Nope. Besides, it’ll the give the kids one more thing to mess up.
Over on my bookshelf sat that picture i turned faced down. i don’t want to look at his face, i don’t want to remember it. the bookshelf is empty. i emptied all those books he ever gave me. i hate him fro what he did to me. you can’t tell a person you love them and leave. that empty bookshelf was like the emptiness in my heart, a dull ache of a reminder of what used to be and what could have been. why was i stupid enough to believe all those lies he told. every single one, i believed. and what do i have to show for it? a broken heart…. i hate that bookshelf i hate it with all my heart. its a reminder of HIM!!! ugh… how i hate him.
I have always wanted a room with every wall a bookcase.
A location for holding precious reading material. It is here where the prized sentences and masterpeices and beautifully crafted stories of prolific authors rest in their slumber.
Someday I hope to have a library with a plethora of bookshelves. Kind of like on Beauty and the Beast, when the Beast gives a gift to Belle of that beautiful library. So many books. But more importantly, the knowledge contained inside these books could potentially be in my head. That is what I desire.
The bookshelf in my grandmother’s house never ceased to hold my attention for such long periods of time. The cracked spines, the smell of dust, the old wrinkled and yellowing pages. There was never a time when I just walked right by it, for I couldn’t pass up the chance to enjoy the simple pleasures of a good, old book.
Where books be stored. No one likes books either, so this is a really pointless damn word. When you see this word, you just wanna write ‘poop’, because that’s what a bookshelf is – poop.
I wish my mind was like a bookshelf. I could neatly organize everything I know, all the pictures I’ve ever scene, the bits and baubles lovingly collected over the years. Everything would be right there at my finger tips, available for immediate use, free from the detrimental and frustrating fuckwittery of the ever present tip of the tongue phenomenon.