A Pressed Flower Between Pages

As I read a brand new or a book weathered by time I love the smell of the pages. There is something special about the smell of a book. There is also something much more special about how the book gets thicker each time you read it. It almost seems that you leave something in the pages. Memories or dreams, maybe. You leave something in between those precious pages just as the words from the pages leave something in you. As you read you spill out your thoughts. You are reminded of things you have forgotten or have not thought about. Sometimes it is even things you have wished to forget that once again come to the surface of your mind. You think of your dreams and aspirations in life as the glorious words of a good book flash across your eyes. The book may be left with a crease in the spine, a few wrinkled pages, or is simply left thicker than it was before. You learn something. You love the characters. The words of the books bring only the most vivid images to your mind. You are once again allowed to imagine. Now that I am no longer a child it is harder and harder for me to use my imagination. Books help. They always help. In reading, the book changes you, but you also change the book. This is similar for movies, but it is not quite the same. You watch and a story is brought to life. In watching, time folds upon itself and flies by or is drawn out. In both situations, I take in as much as I can. The colors. The sounds. The life. So far this summer I have watched many movies and read a few books. Gone with the Wind, The Fault in Our Stars and The Book Thief have left their impressions, and I have left mine. Years later when I see these books I will also see myself there, a younger and slightly different self that the books have preserved like a pressed flower between the pages, and I hope I remember this strange yet familiar version of myself. 

--Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

• “Usually we walk around constantly believing ourselves. "I'm okay" we say. "I'm alright". But sometimes the truth arrives on you and you can't get it off. That's when you realize that sometimes it isn't even an answer--it's a question. Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.” 
• “People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.” 

--John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

• “My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.” 
• “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.” 
• “You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.” 
• “Without pain, how could we know joy?' This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.” 

--Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind

• “Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them.” 
• “After all, tomorrow is another day!” 
• “Never pass up new experiences. They enrich the mind."