She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible

For if we're destroyed, the knowledge is dead...We're nothing more than dust jackets for books...so many pages to a person...

Once you can write an alphabet, you can write a book of 100 million pages. It's just a matter of believing it as possible, and taking the cross millimetre by millimetre.

There is only as much space, only as much time, Only as much desire, only as many words, Only as many pages, only as much ink To accept all of us at light-speed Hurrying into the Promised Land Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.

Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will.

Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?

In any of my pages in any of my books may life a perfect account of my secret experience of the world.

I'm an open book. But some of the pages are stuck together.

Inconveniently, books are all the pages in them, not just the ones you choose to read.

Books required no interchanges of thoughts and feelings, no trading of expectations, no traffic of words, no menace of real loss. Reading books required far less energy than reading people; the pages seldom disappointed him and they never died.

Know that blank pages feel the urge of the ink as much as tears paint a different pain, changes

Do not go to my grave. Mary knows, I am not there. Look for me in between pages and on people’s lips.Do not go to my old school. Do not go to my old house —I am not in any of those places. Look for me in your hearts and greet me there.

IN the book of my heart, pages keep falling out, many of them marked "Mom and Dad.

Action is the ink that writes what you think on the pages of life!

Are we not all books waiting for someone to pick us up and read the pages that people missed?

We are living out the drama of a pathetic story whose pages are smeared with our own handwriting.

Life's a book filled on pages Just awaiting to be written.Some don't open it for ages,Maybe afraid of being bitten.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

At first, all is black and white.Black on white.That's where I'm walking, through pages.These pages.Sometimes it gets so that I have one foot in the pages and the words, and the other in what they speak of.

Words come alive from a page or script because both the writer and actor were brave enough to neither deny or invent their truth

Wake up to think of words… want to walk through pages of meanings, the links in assonance, alliteration, or just simple sense that moves the eye to leap that way to the next-door play of sound and resonance.

I'm the cover of a book,Whose pages are still being written

Loosers want it but only through the easy way. If action taking were like reading a story book, loosers would only love to open the picture pages

Pages entertain me more than pictures do.

Stella scribbledin thick black textaacross half the pagesof my best storybook,filled with people who venturedwhere their hearts took them.Beautiful worlds beyond mine.

Like Desserts, books come in all kinds of tasty treats!

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.Hi, I'm Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don't think there's a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.

Wherever you see an empty life, or an empty page or an empty mind, add something good to it!

But it has often happened that I have found the most seductive depictions of sin in the pages of those very men of incorruptible virtue who condemned their spell and their effects.

When left alone with her, I ignored her and kept my eyes on my book, though I confess I turned over more pages than I read.

Like a forgotten old photograph, this dream will stay pressed, between the pages of a book you don’t feel like reading anymore.

love was never meant to bejust a metaphorbetween the pages of poetry.

Every story needs some sort of secret that impels it forward. Otherwise why would the reader bother to keep on turning the pages?

On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.

Beginning a novel is always hard. It feels like going nowhere. I always have to write at least 100 pages that go into the trashcan before it finally begins to work. It's discouraging, but necessary to write those pages. I try to consider them pages -100 to zero of the novel.

I write for pages,get lost in the mezzaninehidden from stages.

I guess you can call me "old fashioned". I prefer the book with the pages that you can actually turn. Sure, I may have to lick the tip of my fingers so that the pages don't stick together when I'm enraptured in a story that I can't wait to get to the next page. But nothing beats the sound that an actual, physical book makes when you first crack it open or the smell of new, fresh printed words on the creamy white paper of a page turner.

Well, this is basically the end, so the answers should be in these next few pages. I doubt they will surprise you, but you never know. I don't know how smart or thick you are. You could be Albert Einstein for all I know, or some literary prizewinner, or maybe you're just middle of the road like me.