From
@debzworld:
From 1955-60 Amma was appointed as the Head Librarian of The
Library of Alexandria. Our favourite campfire story. Converging at her funeral,
from all around the world, our memories ebb and flow about our extraordinary
grandmother, inhabiting a house twice as decrepit; last seen sitting stone cold
clutching on to a tattered copy of Antigone.
From @The
Humerus:
"You're in my good books, while you, right there, don't
even deserve to be here. I clearly don't get what sort of tragedy brought you
to this place!" She kept on mumbling for some time. "Hey bibliophile,
talking to your imaginary books again?", her brother said as he entered
the ward. She didn’t look up.
From
@dude_macha:
She got out of the metro, took the 20 odd steps down to the ground
level, and waited to cross the road. Over on the other side, past the hawkers
perched on the street corner selling their cheap jewellery, through the passage
between buildings and a few shops to the right lay her paradise. Blossoms.
From @WickdWeirdWitch:
As she was packed off to an
old-age-home by her children, her life – "her books" were sent
to the library. She cried hard, whether at the inhuman treatment at the hands
of her children or for parting from her beloved books, no one would know.
On reaching the old-age-home, a gift
awaited her – a kindle!
From @Psilosophy
His illusions of order were shattered. The quiet confidence
that stemmed from the knowledge that he had what he wanted, no longer enveloped
him. He thought his world was sorted; that his plans proceeded as imagined. All
it took was one sentence, “George R R Martin confirms there won't be a new book
coming out in 2015.”
From @meetumeetu:
She liked how the word sounded when said aloud,
“bibliophile”. It had a texture of naughtiness about it. It allowed her to
cheat on her lover without being unfaithful - an acceptable form of adultery.
After all, she loved words more than stories, for what are books without words?
Another word she loved - meta.
From @TheBigDowg:
Bibliophilia or bibliophilism
From
@auspicee:
She narrowed her
eyes on his unconventional choice. Although it was only reason she fancied him.
He was a quaint reader. He smelled papers like Gabrielle Zevin, he romanced
like Waller’s Madison country, and he dusted off the life’s dissonance like
Mitch Albom.
“But seriously? A
Librarian? Just because you want to save obsolete bookshelves.”
From @vivekisms:
He hadn’t stepped out of his house in years. Words were all
that he needed. Books lay everywhere, like forgotten children on a picnic.
Half-opened, half-read, but there, breathing life into him. Watching every move
of his. Silently. He spoke with them. Read them. Remembered them and then he
was gone. Books wept for him.
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