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A gathering of people who are drawn to peaceful coexistence and the realization that knowledge is more valuable than money. A place where the best reads, the best company, and the best coffee complete the picture. A place where the reader and book meet and a journey begins.
Apr 18 '14
guardian:

Gabriel García Márquez, Nobel laureate writer, dies aged 87
The Colombian Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez, who unleashed the worldwide boom in Spanish literature with his novel 100 Years of Solitude, has died at the age of 87, a person close to the family has said. García Márquez had been admitted to hospital in Mexico City on 3 April with pneumonia. Full story
Pictured: Gabriel García Márquez at his house in Mexico City, 2010. Photograph: Miguel Tovar/AP

guardian:

Gabriel García Márquez, Nobel laureate writer, dies aged 87

The Colombian Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez, who unleashed the worldwide boom in Spanish literature with his novel 100 Years of Solitude, has died at the age of 87, a person close to the family has said. García Márquez had been admitted to hospital in Mexico City on 3 April with pneumonia. Full story

Pictured: Gabriel García Márquez at his house in Mexico City, 2010. Photograph: Miguel Tovar/AP

1,190 notes (via guardian)

Apr 18 '14
blackballoonpublishing:

Our friends over at Tin House published an excerpt from our new novel Nine Rabbits by Virginia Zaharieva. Check it out!

blackballoonpublishing:

Our friends over at Tin House published an excerpt from our new novel Nine Rabbits by Virginia Zaharieva. Check it out!

9 notes (via thetinhouse & blackballoonpublishing)

Apr 18 '14

Some People Like Poetry
by Wislawa Szymborska

Some people—
that means not everyone.
Not even most of them, only a few.
Not counting school, where you have to,
and poets themselves,
you might end up with two per thousand.

Like—
but then, you can like chicken noodle soup,
or compliments, or the color blue,
your old scarf,
your own way,
petting the dog.

Poetry—
but what is poetry, anyway?
More than one rickety answer
has tumbled since that question first was raised.
But I just keep on not knowing, and I cling to that
like a redemptive handrail.

2 notes Tags: National Poetry Month Poem Wislawa Szymborska

Apr 18 '14
doctor-doughnut:

Out of context motivational Joffrey

doctor-doughnut:

Out of context motivational Joffrey

24,426 notes (via fieldnotesfromabroad & doctor-doughnut)

Apr 17 '14

16,011 notes (via twigbookshop & samsomnia-bitch93)Tags: James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl

Apr 17 '14

The Raspberry Room
by Karin Gottshall

It was solid hedge, loops of bramble and thorny
as it had to be with its berries thick as bumblebees.
It drew blood just to get there, but I was queen
of that place, at ten, though the berries shook like fists
in the wind, daring anyone to come in. I was trying
so hard to love this world—real rooms too big and full
of worry to comfortably inhabit—but believing I was born
to live in that cloistered green bower: the raspberry patch
in the back acre of my grandparents’ orchard. I was cross—
stitched and beaded by its fat, dollmaker’s needles. The effort
of sliding under the heavy, spiked tangles that tore
my clothes and smeared me with juice was rewarded
with space, wholly mine, a kind of room out of
the crush of the bushes with a canopy of raspberry
dagger—leaves and a syrup of sun and birdsong.
Hours would pass in the loud buzz of it, blood
made it mine—the adventure of that red sting singing
down my calves, the place the scratches brought me to:
just space enough for a girl to lie down.

2 notes Tags: National Poetry Month Poem Karin Gottshall

Apr 17 '14
bibliolectors:

Once upon a time … / Había una vez… (ilustración de Julia Cejas)

bibliolectors:

Once upon a time … / Había una vez… (ilustración de Julia Cejas)

128 notes (via fieldnotesfromabroad & bibliolectors)

Apr 17 '14

418 notes (via bookishfellows & daughterofefflorescence)

Apr 16 '14
teachingliteracy:

fibonacciturtle:
by Jim Tsinganos

teachingliteracy:

fibonacciturtle:

by Jim Tsinganos

1,115 notes (via martinaboone & fibonacciturtle)

Apr 16 '14

Instructions
by Neil Gaiman

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never saw before.
Say “please” before you open the latch,
go through,
walk down the path.
A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted front door,
as a knocker,
do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.
Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat nothing.
However,
if any creature tells you that it hungers,
feed it.
If it tells you that it is dirty,
clean it.
If it cries to you that it hurts,
if you can,
ease its pain.

From the back garden you will be able to see the wild wood.
The deep well you walk past leads to winter’s realm;
there is another land at the bottom of it.
If you turn around here,
you can walk back safely;
you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

Once through the garden you will be in the wood.
The trees are old. Eyes peer from the undergrowth.
Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She may ask for something;
give it to her. She
will point the way to the castle.
Inside it are three princesses.
Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.
In the clearing beyond the caste the twelve months sit about a fire,
warming their feet, exchanging tales.
They may do favors for you, if you are polite.
You may pick strawberries in December’s frost.
Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where you are going.
The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-man will take you.
(The answer to his question is this:
If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to leave the boat.
Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.
Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that
witches are often betrayed by their appetites;
dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;
hearts can be well-hidden,
and you betray them with your tongue.

Do not be jealous of your sister.
Know that diamonds and roses
are as uncomfortable when they tumble from one’s lips as toads and frogs:
colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

Remember your name.
Do not lose hope—what you seek will be found.
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.
Trust dreams.
Trust your heart, and trust your story.
When you come back, return the way you came.
Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.
Do not forget your manners.
Do not look back.
Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall)
Ride the silver fish (you will not drown)
Ride the gray wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.

When you reach the little house, the place your journey started,
you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember.
Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw but once.
And then go home. Or make a home.

Or rest.

16 notes Tags: National Poetry Month Poem Neil Gaiman