Word cloud made with WordItOut

Where are these words from?

Always loved a used book!

God understandably nervous to meet Terry Pratchett

God has expressed the fact that he was ‘very shaky’ today when he met creative genius Terry Pratchett for the first time. Speaking via an Angel so as not to blow up our minds, God said “You can probably understand where I’m coming from.” “This man inspired me to create the Earth after I read the creative masterpiece that is the Discworld series. They are the best books ever written, and I include my own in that.” “I’m kind of nervous to ask him what he thought of the world I created – I realise it’s a bit dull compared to his.” “You’re probably wondering how I read Terry’s books millions of years before he was born. Well, I am God, don’t forget.” “I’ve seen everything that has come and everything that is to come. So I’ve read pretty much everything you people have written, and nothing beats Pratchett for sheer force of imagination.” God meets Pratchett: Terry Pratchett’s death has provoked sadness amongst authors, book-lovers, and anyone who has ever used their imagination to dream of a world more colourful and interesting than our own. Sci-Fi and fantasy author, Ruth Wheeler, said “It’s almost pointless writing fantasy at all these days, Pratchett made up almost all of the good stuff ages ago.” “We’ll give it a bash, but don’t expect us to even get close.” “We’re all very jealous of God right now.” God and Pratchett first met at the pearly gates, God having put on his best suit and taken the Grim Reaper along, who was dying to shake Pratchett’s hand. “HE MADE ME POPULAR AGAIN,” said Death personified, “HE MADE ME SEEM ALMOST HUMAN, A LIKEABLE CHARACTER.” “THAT BIT WHERE HE HAD ME DRESS AS FATHER CHRISTMAS FOR A CHILDREN’S PARTY? SUBLIME.” “HE’S A TRUE GENIUS AND I CAN’T WAIT TO THANK HIM FOR SOME TERRIFIC PR WORK ON MY PART.” Terry Pratchett received a standing ovation from heaven’s residents when he entered the gates of heaven, and applause so loud as to provoke an enormous thunderstorm back on earth. http://newsthump.com/2015/03/13/god-understandably-nervous-to-meet-terry-pratchett/

Agora

VÓMITO
RAIVA
PRETENÇÃO
VAIDADE
ARROGÂNCIA
SALTAR POR CIMA DOS OUTROS
OLHAR POR CIMA, DE CIMA
IGNORAR OS GRITOS
PERDER A HUMANIDADE
A GLÓRIA DO PRESENTE!

Livros que nos acompanham...

Agrafos da nossa vida... embora o chocolate não me diga nada, a leitura, a água, o pão, os amigos, a família... são os agrafos que me mantêm inteira.

Hello

Hello from ant1mat3rie on Vimeo.

10 Signs You Are Addicted to Reading

1.You must read everywhere, if there is nothing to read, you'll read the labels on shampoo bottles or old, decrepit newspapers.

2. You bring a book with you everywhere you go. I.e: field trips, parties, restaurants...

3. You've gotten in trouble for reading excessively.

4.You could live at chapters.

5.You hate it when people say: "Oh, I don't read actually." How is that possible?

6. You ALWAYS like the book better than the movie.

7. Your dream job is working at chapters or at your local library.

8. You honestly wouldn't mind not having any friends and just spending the day reading. Also during lunch break at school/work you totally wouldn't mind sitting alone with a book.

9.Everything you know, you've learned from reading books.

10. Three quotes that say it all:
"I cannot live without books." Thomas Jefferson
"I have never known any distress that an hour's reading did not relieve." ~Charles De Secondat
"I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library." ~Jorge Luis Borges

On Fantasy, by George R.R. Martin

"On Fantasy"

by George R. R. Martin

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle Earth.

Storm gathers

Over the bridge and far away,
the nightingale sings happily.
The rover returns tired and famished.
Night has fallen, wolves cry,
all the rivers run dry.

Who listens to the sound of the forest?
Who cries it, invaded and degraded?

Random fly of moths and bats,
Shadily they disappear.
When clouds run across the moon
Witches sing a merry tune.

The village is sound asleep
And crows are waiting near the old crossroad.
While they sing and fly around
I keep hearing my beating sound.
Pounding, beating at my ear.
What can it be but my fear...?

Witches, wags, spiders and bats
All at one invade my dreams.
When my terror makes a cat
Not as innocent as it seems…