Gabi > Gabi's Quotes

“Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives--or to find strength in a very long one.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Stories are a way to preserve one's self. To be remembered. And to forget.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“There is a defiance in being a dreamer”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

“Each time you happen to me all over again.”
― Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

“I should like to save the Shire, if I could - though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

“Writing itself was a magical act in which imagination altered reality and gave form to power.”
― Alice Hoffman, The Rules of Magic

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
― William Shakespeare, The Tempest

“November--with uncanny witchery in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes--days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless gold of the juniper-trees and glimmered among the grey beeches, lighting up evergreen banks of moss and washing the colonnades of the pines. Days with a high-sprung sky of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape and dream about the lake. But days, too, of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch-laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees. What cared they? Old Tom had built his roof well, and his chimney drew.”
― L.M. Montgomery