From The Witchstone, by Henry H. Neff:
Over the centuries, Curiosity had broken both his heart and his bones. She’d left him humiliated, bankrupt, even clapped in irons. And yet, despite countless betrayals, Laszlo continued to love her with a deep and abiding passion. Curiosity kept life interesting, no small thing when one was immortal. No matter how many times she burned him, he would always take her.
From The Book Censor’s Library, by Bothayna Al-Essa:
And it dawned on him then: a library was the closest thing humanity had to the idea of the Absolute.
From The Weeds, by Katy Simpson Smith:
“Wisdom comes not through stories,” he says, “but facts.”
“Yes,” I say, running a finger along the Salvia’s rib. Rib is a botanical term stolen from the human form. A man looked at a plant and told a story. Or a woman.
From “Hours in a Library,” by Virginia Woolf:
From these new books our children will select the one or two by which we shall be known forever. Here, if we could recognize it, lies some poem, or novel, or history which will stand up and speak with other ages about our age when we lie prone and silent as the crowd of Shakespeare’s day is silent and lives for us only in the pages of his poetry.
