I'm eighteen years old, and for the longest time, the only people who have been there for me are the characters in the books I read. And for that, I love them. Every single one.
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/
Reblogged from lena-and-alex  100 notes
  • staff:

    Okay, we need two separate lines....

  • me:

    Oh, okay. Sure.

  • staff:

    Make sure you have your IDs and tickets out!

  • me:

    Yep....

  • (Line moves and everyone is split up to different classrooms)

  • me:

    Wait a sec-

  • me:

    This feels like....

  • me:

    Lol, this reminds me of a book I read.

  • friend:

    ?

  • me:

    Except we're not getting ready for a procedure that will cure us of love and match us to someone we related with the most. Lol.

  • friend:

    What?

  • me:

    What?

Reblogged from maliatale  28,189 notes

lostincape-town:

I’m attracted to intelligence. Not the book smart type of intelligence. I could care less whether you’ve gone to college or how much money you make because of it. I like intelligent conversations that make me think even hours after it’s ended. I soak up words from radical minds.

Reblogged from edwardlupin  41,869 notes

You know what’s sad about reading books? It’s that you fall in love with the characters. They grow on you. And as you read, you start to feel what they feel - all of them - you become them. And when you’re done, you’re never the same. Sure you’re still you, you look the same, talk in the same manner, but something in you has changed. Something in the way you think, the way you choose, sometimes, even the things you say may differ. But it all comes down to the state you go to after a nice novel. The after-feeling. It’s amazing, but somehow, you feel left alone by that world you were once in. It’s overwhelming. But it makes you sad. Cause for once you were this, this otherworldly being in… Neverwhere, and then you suddenly have to say goodbye after a few weeks from when you read the last page. When you’ve recovered from that state it’s just… quite sad. By
Suzanne Collins 

(via thegirlandherbooks)