I read all the time. I was reading a book I admire very much by Alice McDermot called Charming Billy.

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Rat Reading

Rat's are

My home

Reading for book's

At night time...!

Each book's

On the book stand

Rat reading

Not very well....! ?

Rat simply

Read some of

Pages only;

Book's are broken

Rat read mean's

Rat bite's

Book's are crying

I am also...

Rat reading

O...sorry

Rat bite's...!

poem by Otteri SelvakumarReport problemRelated quotes
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Relax the night

At bed
Your's...
Sleeping
Time...

You read...
Some book's...
Every budy
Good reading spot

Is bed...
Bed is not
Good reading spot...
Reading spot is not bed...

But...
At your's
Bed read some book's...
At your's sleeping time

With quick sleep...
Read the book's
At bed...
With out sex...

With out crime...
With out serieas...
Just joke book's
Read with your's sleep

And relax the nighrt...
Good night...!

poem by Otteri SelvakumarReport problemRelated quotes
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I read a book

I read a book
Not to enhance my looks

I read a book
Maybe to avoid being a crook

I read a book
Not just to learn how to cook

I read a book
To ascertain how to defend my rights
Not just to acquire knowledge
Reading a book I pledge,
Is one of the roads to the light

I read a book
To understand how a kings territory
Is defended with pieces such as the rook

I read a book
So there will be no questions asked
When I count correctly what you took

I read a book
So that I play not ignorant
Now on life I’ve a different outlook

I read a book
So if I come up with all the right answers
I will know for sure it is not merely a fluke

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

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Rest To Read

Read any...

Any thing read...

Read...

Day with night...

Read...

Reading is

Happy...

Reading

Is boor...

Reading

Is Knolage...

Read...

Reading is

One of body

Rest...

Rest is

One of the reading

Time...

Read daily

Take rest daily

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Academics Are Daft

Wanted to quote striking lines from a book
by someone called Richard D-v-np-rt-Hin-s
who left a teaching position delineating a
social history of drugs then saw no words
of his book may be quoted except by
express permission of the author

With trepidation I copied only part of the
author's name not daring to mention the
book's title for fear of being pursued for
quoting it - a light went up - no wonder
people don't read, worries about copy-
right means we can't do anything

With a text we come across, luckily I bought
this book through a library donation, paid only
half a dollar for it - so there, getting to read it
for next to nothing - I'm glad that most people
detest reading, intellectual snobbery protecting
author's rights makes it inaccessible

Being boring to boot except to a bookworm,
nobody else interested, keeping it exclusive
demanding payment for repeating any word
from it authors make sure nobody interested
in a factual account of cold facts - if they wish
to remain incognito, ignored by the masses

It is fine with me; I may not breathe a word
about this fellow's research and conclusions
he might as well have buried his gift under a
bushel for fear of anyone reading it without
paying exorbitant amounts and that for stuff
that is not entertaining - seems to me

Academics are rather daft - he used to be
a lecturer…

Saturday 19 May 2012

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What a sense of superiority it gives one to escape reading some book which everyone else is reading.

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I get letters from readers who say that they have always hated reading, but somebody suggested one of my books, they actually finished the book and enjoyed it, and they're going on to read another book. I'm thrilled that they have figured out that reading is fun.

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Each time we re-read a book we get more out of it because we put more into it a different person is reading it, and therefore it is a different book.

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Jonathan Kozol

At that time, I had recently finished a book called Amazing Grace, which many people tell me is a very painful book to read. Well, if it was painful to read, it was also painful to write. I had pains in my chest for two years while I was writing that book.

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Where's My Billy Goat Gone To?

'Twas a birthday gift Miss Posie had
When she was nine, and twenty:
Not of gold -- Oh, no! -- nor gem, nor pearl,
Tho' he who gave had plenty.
'Twas a gift she took so much to heart,
Her neighbors thought her silly;
'Twas a B-A-B-Y (Baby) Goat,
A snow-white Baby Billy!
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?

Take my home! Take my farm!
Yes, me too (if you want to);
But tell me! tell me!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?

When she tried to teach him how to read,
Twas only "baa" he'd utter;
As she coaxed him then with cake and cream,
He'd slyly turn to butt her.
Yet he taught himself a thousand tricks,
And many a curious caper;
He would clamber to her chimney top,
And dine there on brown paper.

When the winter came she bought him shoes,
And flannel red she ordered
For a Sunday suit, with trousers cut
Four-legged and embroidered
On the steeple soon in tatters hung,
They set the parson snarling;
And he called that goat Be-el-ze-bub --
The one that she called Darling.
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?

He was fond of roaming on the rocks,
With workmen in the quarry;
And if there he found their luncheon pails,
Not he but they were sorry.
For he raised aloft his iron brow,
Despite the foreman's clamor;
And the pails, he crushed them one by one,
As with a blacksmith's hammer.
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?

Then for pails replaced and pails concealed
Each morning he went searching,
Till at last he found a shining prize,
Upon a boulder perching.
Had he read its label, "Dynamite!"
He might have known his blunder;
But he gave it one tremendous blow,
And then came peals of thunder!
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?

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Red book - The Rule Is You Must Say How You Really Feel.

Reading the red book. It tries to explain the rules of life. Never too fast, never too fast, it says it won't last. Burnt by the past. Some new so close to you. You must get to know them. Its a game you can slowly win. Bury your true feelings.

Reading the read book. It tries to explain the rules of life. Never to fast, never too fast. It says it won't last burnt by the past. We are all wearing masks. Time to take them off. Stop hiding behind your walls. It cost us all. It will be your down fall. Just another phone call. Meeting the face behind this stall. It has come to a sudden halt.

Reading the read book. It tries to explain the rules of life. Never too fast, never too fast. It says it won't last. Burnt by the past. Are we trying to hard? Are we faking this march? Are you trying to hide something underneath? Are you look for a little relief? Do you want me, and are afraid to say it? Denying our insides. They can't be alive. They just can't. And go back to the old dance.

Reading the red book. It tries to explain the rules of life. Never too fast, never too fast. It says it won't last. Burnt by the past. Memories ignite, previous passions locked up so tight. Are you willing? Are you giving in to obvious feelings. Let me know. And I won't go. Please stop the fruadlent show. Its faking thats so heart breaking. Is your heart aching? How can I make you understand this is your one and only chance. So please lets dance.

Reading the red book. It tries to explain the rules of the past. Never too fast, never too fast. It says it won't last. Burnt by the past. I have been burnt by the past.

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Few are sufficiently sensible of the importance of that economy in reading which selects, almost exclusively, the very first order of books. Why, except for some special reason, read an inferior book, at the very time you might be reading one of the highest order?

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I read of the Kalamazoo girl who killed herself after reading the book. I am not at all surprised. She lived in Kalamazoo, for one thing, and then she read the book.

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Reading the poems of Billy Collins

When did you last turn the pages
of a book of poems as if it were a novel?

and how could a Poet Laureate ‘rejoice’-
as they say in flowery poetic language
in the name of Billy?

and it’s not so much reading
as being with: as if you’re in the same
room with him: he’s over there in the recliner,
self-contained but friendly; he may
say nothing; or make an inconsequent remark;
or launch into a fantasy; or say
something unpretentiously profound..

it doesn’t matter now. You’re in the same room
with him, just being.. he’s not making a poem
like you hold a glass up to the light
and polish it; he’s not even selling ‘being’
like some New Age guru; he’s not asking
anything of you.

And thousands who view poetry with suspicion
sigh with relief; take up his latest book
and glance at him there across the room
with a half-smile that somehow reflects his
just being Billy Collins. No, not even that;
just being.

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Lost In A Book

SHHH!
don't bother me
I'm lost in a book

mixed up with
the complicated plots
and outrageous characters

when i'm lost in a book
I don't have to think
about my life

I'll get stuck in
a fantasy world
and never
have to come back
home again

one book
after another
I read, read, read

different places
different people
a new world

I start fresh
each time
I open up a new book

when i'm lost in a book
I am safe
no one can hurt me

I'm happy
when I'm lost
in a book

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Control Freak

Her father was a control freak.
He had to know what she was

reading and seeing and hearing
and whom she was meeting and

hey he said who was that kid I saw
you talking to outside school today?

Archie she said he's just a friend who
likes the bands I like oh so he says

her father said you know what he's
really after? I'll tell you shall I? she

hated it when he went on like that.
Hated his presumption of knowing

what other's thought or what their
deep desires were. He wants to get

inside your panties that's what he's
after her father said and she blushed

and said no he's not he's not that kind
of boy oh what you telling me the kid's

batting for his own team? Huh? Huh?
And some other time as she was reading

a Dostoevsky book he said who's he?
some Russian writer? You read the enemy?

What's a matter with good old American
writers? Not good enough? She closed

the book and put it away in her schoolbag
and took out a battered copy of Naked Lunch

by William Burroughs and started to read.
That's better a good old American writer

her father said and smiled and sat back in
his chair by the fire not knowing the book

opened out a different world for her and
a whole new other kind of deeper desire.

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Read A Book

Und wenn ich einen Wunsch frei htte
Ich wnschte wrden wir verstehen
Alle Schatten hinter uns lassen
nur weies Licht vor uns zu sehen
No hate, no fight hearts killing
I wish no trouble anymore
There's nothing more to tell about
There's nothing left to be decided
Just read a book
So, read a book about love (reaching love)
Read a book, read a book about love
Und wenn du einen Wunsch frei httest
Ich wnschte, wrdest du verstehen
Nur weies Licht vor uns zu sehen
And if we just should be together
oh, we could feel so warm an tight
All we need is only two of us
to show the world that we've decided to
read a book
to read a book about love (reaching love) ...
Take a look about yesterday
I guess you know
that you're here to stay
Read a book, ...
Read a book, read a book about love (rep many times)
Read a book, ... (rep till fade)

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The more I like a book, the more slowly I read. this spontaneous talking back to a book is one of the things that makes reading so valuable.

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Before I was reading science fiction, I read Hemingway. Farewell to Arms was my first adult novel that said not everything ends well. It was one of those times where reading has meant a great deal to me, in terms of my development - an insight came from that book.

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Words Which Hold Me Captive

Told Nici I had finished the first book, with starry eyes
she brought the second volume also, I have almost
finished the third one too, she said, and I could not
withstand the charm of this series written for teens,
beautifully sculpted to keep readers on tenterhooks
as hero and heroine were driven apart

Unwillingly at first, trying to withstand its spell, I began
to read, was sucked deep into the story world, every-
thing disappeared and I read until the second book
came to a discordant end, threatening tragedy, I would
have to read the third book also, no stopping this lovely
sheath of dreams from carrying my spirit away

No realism can penetrate or dispel the beautiful illusion
or destroy the magic words which hold me captive -
and I am such a willing victim…

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