I need a bigger one for all of my books. Physics books. Chemistry. Biology. So many subjects. I also like having the bookshelf being a decoration rather than just a place to put books that would just gather dust. Like a bookshelf chair.
It took us a while to put it together, it was cheap and the instructions were bad. I told myself that if we could do it, then we were meant to be together. When we finished the bookshelf he was sweating and looked worn out, I decided I didnt really love him anymore.
slow and fast. Fat and beautiful. All is allowed, pinky and toes, fingers and nails, blowing in the wind, windy weather and hot stuff. All my friends all around, having fun and thinking about tomorrow…that’s what it is. no way back, but still you can access your past..revive your memories, make a better now or simply vomit your words.
slow and fast. Fat and beautiful. All is allowed, pinky and toes, fingers and nails, blowing in the wind, windy weather and hot stuff. All my friends all around, having fun and thinking about tomorrow.
A bookshelf is where you put your memories. The books that you once read. That day in the park, that trip to the beach, europe back in 1998. They transport you to faraway worlds. To dragons and to Paris. It’s less of a sitting place as it is a doorway.
Nowhere in the world contains as much space as a bookshelf. Galaxies beyond galaxies, life with no limits, love with no end. Another self, another life, another world–transported within the pages contained neatly on the bookshelf.
The bookshelf fell down on me and I knew I had to get revenge. I jumped into the window with my bag of tacks and poured them all into the marmalade jar and gave it a stir, and went back outside. She went back into her house later and ate the tacks. Another bookshelf fell down on me and I knew this war she had started would never ever end.
My bookshelf is collecting dust. It is lonely and not useful. No one thinks of it ever. The words on the pages talk to themselves. They tell each other stories.
They are standing tall, they’re slanting. Oh my they are almost falling of the bookshelf. The ground trambles and I submerge myself in all my books. I come out alive in the chaos of the pages, back to reality.
tall, sturdy, housing ideas from brilliant minds, tucked away they whisper to me to come, read them, open them, turn them, think about them, blow away the dust and explore their silent world on the tall bookshelf
The train station for your mind, the place adventures begin. They come in all different shapes and sizes, but they all serve the same purpose. To hold the things that take us to so many different place.
I have always wanted a library just chuck full of books and a place where my kids can sit on my lap and look through them. So much imagination and creativity. Endless
Six hours and three tries later, he gave the damn thing up. Surrounded by oddly attached faux wood slabs, too few screws (some had rolled away from his raging to cower under the couch), and pages and pages of useless Spanish, he put his head in his hands. Finally, he got up and shoved everything out into his yard for the fire pit. Then, back inside, he took comfort in his stacks and stacks of precarious, but much loved, books.
books are there every book ever made. opening worlds imaginations. a secret garden, an underwater land. magic and harry potter. a night time story to sleep.
Books and books….they seem to be reading us. Waiting for us to choose. They try their best with their fancy covers, but we all know you can’t judge one solely based on that. Or can you? You can do whatever you want…..that is the power of books. They open the mind to chapter one and your imagination commences.
My entire wall is covered with it, allthough it isn’t visible. The wooden boards are covered by other dead trees covered in ink. Colors of all, many covers all where I see. My my, it’s kinda dusty, perhaps I ought to clean the place, but then I’d have to remove all the books, and that is gonna take me at least a week. Nevermind, I’ll just pick one book and read it from dfront to back.
I looked on the bookshelf for those tattered papers on which we inscribe our dreams and hopes and later forget in the oblivion that is the top shelf of the bookshelf. I searched for something that would remind me of ambition; of myself. I lost both a long time ago.
The bookshelf was engulfed in the shadows, blood slowly dripping off, drop by drop. Underneath, a man sat down breathing heavily, barely alive. The gun in his hand slid to the floor, still warm from the events moments earlier.
A bookshelf is an awesome feature of human society. Where did they think we could store our books. They thought: let’s create a shelf for them. Would it be better to have them in a crate or a box or lying on the floor? Probably not… The best place to see the books one by one, shuffle through the books is a book shelf. I think the bookshelf often claimes to be the tallest piece of furniture in a home.
i keep my books in it it’s a good invention it can hold things other than books and it’s very handy because it is used on a daily basis and basically it’s an all round great thing to have around the place it can hold so many different books and sometimes you can even put cd’s or dvd’s on it and it’s fabulous and you can get different designs of bookshelves, the plural is bookshelves and singular is bookshelf
My mom has over 300 books on her bookshelf thats placed in the living room. I’ve read only half of them. Maybe not even that. I love reading. My favorite thing to do ever. I don’t think I’ll ever stop reading something.
thoughts tumble zen masters humble language brings life into life as they are the energetic principles that hold the molecular form together to concieve the idea of that object filled with knowledge that transcends the ages from the beggining to the never ending
it’s where books are kept, where pictures of life are displayed for the world to see. memories and thoughts are kept on the shelf and knowledge or the prospect of it rests here to sleep. I need a bookshelf.
The place where all my memories are kept, where the books that make me go insane rest. I think of yours more than I think of mine, because yours was filled with so many other things, things I wish I owned, and books I wish I’d read. But I never got the chance. I wish I had.
Brown. Smells of lacquer. I swipe dust off it every Saturday. Tick-tock. Another week has passed. Also wipe the books. Old ones, threads sticking out of the cover middles.
The bookshelf was torn apart. They had left nothing of it in their quest for the book. All those books she throughout the years had kept, those books she had felt protected just by staring at were nothing no more.
my bookshelves speak of me in a way other things do not. cannot. of all my sides, my ways, my words. one day i will have a book of my own up there, my name scribed on the side. the name i took when i married. it will be me.
Bending low to the world, weighted with thoughts of tomorrow from someone of yesterday. I breath in the scent of faded paper ink and memories, all spread out for me to journey at leisure. Escaping into unreality, fantasy that isn’t.my.life. Someone else’s existence for today.
Bending low to the world, weighted with thoughts of tomorrow from someone of yesterday. I breath in the scent of faded paper ink and memories, all spread out for me to journey at leisure. Escaping into unreality, fantasy that isn’t.my.life. Someone elses existence for today.
a bookshelf is a place for you to store all your books. a bookshelf can compliment a space or a room depending on its design. a poorly designed bookshelf can really break a room. other than books you can also put other stuff on it.
i used to read a lot more than i do now, and i would collect the read books on my bookshelf. i never understood why people did that, as though a read book is trophy of some sort, when in reality it could be doing so much more good if it were sold or given away. its a shear decorative piece. it shows sophistication and class, supposedly. i think it show greed and implied wealth
I saw the retreating figure. I pondered whether or not I should go near him, he hid behind the tan bookshelf across the room. His dark eyes peered up at me, a dark endless green. He look at me quizically (spelled that wrong), like he was confused at my mere presence.
I stared at him, entranced by his eyes. Mesmerized, I made my way over, thinking about the next minute with every step.
He opened his mouth to speak.
**
still bookshelf? a great house. large. with streets of punctuation and a family of loss and you dream here. all the time.
I need a bigger one for all of my books. Physics books. Chemistry. Biology. So many subjects. I also like having the bookshelf being a decoration rather than just a place to put books that would just gather dust. Like a bookshelf chair.
It took us a while to put it together, it was cheap and the instructions were bad. I told myself that if we could do it, then we were meant to be together. When we finished the bookshelf he was sweating and looked worn out, I decided I didnt really love him anymore.
slow and fast. Fat and beautiful. All is allowed, pinky and toes, fingers and nails, blowing in the wind, windy weather and hot stuff. All my friends all around, having fun and thinking about tomorrow…that’s what it is. no way back, but still you can access your past..revive your memories, make a better now or simply vomit your words.
i go to the library and search for a book on pasta. it is high on a bookshelf. i cant get it. i need help to reach high bookshelves. so i scream HELP.
slow and fast. Fat and beautiful. All is allowed, pinky and toes, fingers and nails, blowing in the wind, windy weather and hot stuff. All my friends all around, having fun and thinking about tomorrow.
A bookshelf is where you put your memories. The books that you once read. That day in the park, that trip to the beach, europe back in 1998. They transport you to faraway worlds. To dragons and to Paris. It’s less of a sitting place as it is a doorway.
Nowhere in the world contains as much space as a bookshelf. Galaxies beyond galaxies, life with no limits, love with no end. Another self, another life, another world–transported within the pages contained neatly on the bookshelf.
The bookshelf fell down on me and I knew I had to get revenge. I jumped into the window with my bag of tacks and poured them all into the marmalade jar and gave it a stir, and went back outside. She went back into her house later and ate the tacks. Another bookshelf fell down on me and I knew this war she had started would never ever end.
My bookshelf is collecting dust. It is lonely and not useful. No one thinks of it ever. The words on the pages talk to themselves. They tell each other stories.
A place where you put your books. A source of where you might find knowledge. A place for artifacts and crafts. Some people put games on it.
The sagging weight
on resisting wood
is the only
tangible proof
of the knowledge
resting,
waiting,
on this shelf.
bookselfs are good. they hold book and i like books. one time i had a nightmare where there were no books on the bookself. i have a big bookself.
They are standing tall, they’re slanting. Oh my they are almost falling of the bookshelf. The ground trambles and I submerge myself in all my books. I come out alive in the chaos of the pages, back to reality.
tall, sturdy, housing ideas from brilliant minds, tucked away they whisper to me to come, read them, open them, turn them, think about them, blow away the dust and explore their silent world on the tall bookshelf
The train station for your mind, the place adventures begin. They come in all different shapes and sizes, but they all serve the same purpose. To hold the things that take us to so many different place.
I have always wanted a library just chuck full of books and a place where my kids can sit on my lap and look through them. So much imagination and creativity. Endless
Six hours and three tries later, he gave the damn thing up. Surrounded by oddly attached faux wood slabs, too few screws (some had rolled away from his raging to cower under the couch), and pages and pages of useless Spanish, he put his head in his hands. Finally, he got up and shoved everything out into his yard for the fire pit. Then, back inside, he took comfort in his stacks and stacks of precarious, but much loved, books.
books are there every book ever made. opening worlds imaginations. a secret garden, an underwater land. magic and harry potter. a night time story to sleep.
Books and books….they seem to be reading us. Waiting for us to choose. They try their best with their fancy covers, but we all know you can’t judge one solely based on that. Or can you? You can do whatever you want…..that is the power of books. They open the mind to chapter one and your imagination commences.
My entire wall is covered with it, allthough it isn’t visible. The wooden boards are covered by other dead trees covered in ink. Colors of all, many covers all where I see. My my, it’s kinda dusty, perhaps I ought to clean the place, but then I’d have to remove all the books, and that is gonna take me at least a week. Nevermind, I’ll just pick one book and read it from dfront to back.
I looked on the bookshelf for those tattered papers on which we inscribe our dreams and hopes and later forget in the oblivion that is the top shelf of the bookshelf. I searched for something that would remind me of ambition; of myself. I lost both a long time ago.
Put me on the bookshelf
Next to your dusty books
I want to hide away with old friends
Every now and then, you’ll come and take a look
The bookshelf was engulfed in the shadows, blood slowly dripping off, drop by drop. Underneath, a man sat down breathing heavily, barely alive. The gun in his hand slid to the floor, still warm from the events moments earlier.
A bookshelf is an awesome feature of human society. Where did they think we could store our books. They thought: let’s create a shelf for them. Would it be better to have them in a crate or a box or lying on the floor? Probably not… The best place to see the books one by one, shuffle through the books is a book shelf. I think the bookshelf often claimes to be the tallest piece of furniture in a home.
i keep my books in it it’s a good invention it can hold things other than books and it’s very handy because it is used on a daily basis and basically it’s an all round great thing to have around the place it can hold so many different books and sometimes you can even put cd’s or dvd’s on it and it’s fabulous and you can get different designs of bookshelves, the plural is bookshelves and singular is bookshelf
My mom has over 300 books on her bookshelf thats placed in the living room. I’ve read only half of them. Maybe not even that. I love reading. My favorite thing to do ever. I don’t think I’ll ever stop reading something.
thoughts tumble zen masters humble language brings life into life as they are the energetic principles that hold the molecular form together to concieve the idea of that object filled with knowledge that transcends the ages from the beggining to the never ending
it’s where books are kept, where pictures of life are displayed for the world to see. memories and thoughts are kept on the shelf and knowledge or the prospect of it rests here to sleep. I need a bookshelf.
A place to store treasured items that can be read to gain knowledge, wisdom, and sometimes relaxation.
The place where all my memories are kept, where the books that make me go insane rest. I think of yours more than I think of mine, because yours was filled with so many other things, things I wish I owned, and books I wish I’d read. But I never got the chance. I wish I had.
Brown. Smells of lacquer. I swipe dust off it every Saturday. Tick-tock. Another week has passed. Also wipe the books. Old ones, threads sticking out of the cover middles.
The bookshelf was torn apart. They had left nothing of it in their quest for the book. All those books she throughout the years had kept, those books she had felt protected just by staring at were nothing no more.
my bookshelves speak of me in a way other things do not. cannot. of all my sides, my ways, my words. one day i will have a book of my own up there, my name scribed on the side. the name i took when i married. it will be me.
BOOKS, BORING, FUNNY, KAYLE, PIGS, STUPID, TIME, NOTHING, WHAT,
Bending low to the world, weighted with thoughts of tomorrow from someone of yesterday. I breath in the scent of faded paper ink and memories, all spread out for me to journey at leisure. Escaping into unreality, fantasy that isn’t.my.life. Someone else’s existence for today.
Bending low to the world, weighted with thoughts of tomorrow from someone of yesterday. I breath in the scent of faded paper ink and memories, all spread out for me to journey at leisure. Escaping into unreality, fantasy that isn’t.my.life. Someone elses existence for today.
a bookshelf is a place for you to store all your books. a bookshelf can compliment a space or a room depending on its design. a poorly designed bookshelf can really break a room. other than books you can also put other stuff on it.
i used to read a lot more than i do now, and i would collect the read books on my bookshelf. i never understood why people did that, as though a read book is trophy of some sort, when in reality it could be doing so much more good if it were sold or given away. its a shear decorative piece. it shows sophistication and class, supposedly. i think it show greed and implied wealth
I saw the retreating figure. I pondered whether or not I should go near him, he hid behind the tan bookshelf across the room. His dark eyes peered up at me, a dark endless green. He look at me quizically (spelled that wrong), like he was confused at my mere presence.
I stared at him, entranced by his eyes. Mesmerized, I made my way over, thinking about the next minute with every step.
He opened his mouth to speak.
**