Physical Books Will Always Have A Special Place To Any Avid Book-Lover

Physical Books Will Always Have A Special Place To Any Avid Book-Lover

The paper and ink means something more.

4
views

I pride myself on the building pile of books in my room and on the bookshelves I fill over and over again. As cool as it looks, the aesthetic look of books is not the only reason why I collect them. I put the ones on my shelves or on my desk that I am reading at that moment, or hold such a special place in my heart that I can look at the cover and remind myself of the stories they told me.

I have always been an avid reader and I went through a phase, particularly in middle school, where I used a tablet for reading. I thought it made me so cool to whip out a Kindle in class and tap the screen to turn a page. I had hundreds of books on that virtual library and I sped through each one so quickly I barely registered what had happened until I was onto the sequel.

It wasn't until around my freshman year of high school when I decided to reread the entire Harry Potter series on the Kindle, that I realized that an eReader was convenient, but books were meant to be held in hand.

I started to reread the books I had spent hours reading on the Kindle, but this time, with its physical copy. I started to see more of the things that I missed, the little details and more minor character traits, and the story meant so much more to me when I could hold the entire thing in my hands. It was just so much more meaningful — to be able to hold a whole world, a whole experience, and the physical manifestation of a dream or idea in your hands.

At that point, I had decided to just start buying books that I had already read before, just to have them on hand and then to read them again in a different light when I had the time. It became an expensive hobby, much to my parents' dismay, but things like clothes, jewelry, and other items that any girl my age loved didn't appeal to me as much as an adventure between the pages of a leatherbound book did.

I will say that as a girl, I sometimes got lost in books and chose to forget about the world going on around me, and having an iPad or a Kindle made it so much easier to. But it made it so much easier to be distracted. Wherever I would go, I would have hundreds of books in my pocket, which was a blessing and a curse. I used to read three or four books at once, something I used to be proud of, but I have come to realize that not putting all my energy and attention into one book at a time is not giving it the read that it deserves. It was also depriving myself of the full experience that the author and story were trying to give me — and technology took all of it away under the guise of convenience.

For someone like my dad, who is on and off airplanes for work, an eReader has been a huge blessing, for traveling "lightly" can't really include an 800-page hardcover novel. But for a reading session in the sun, on a train, or sitting in bed on a rainy day, a book is priceless.

Books have grounded me in a way that nothing else can when I needed them: coming to college, an exhausting workday, or even after a break-up. To pick up and hold a copy of "Call of the Wild" by Jack London is bringing me back to my couch in sixth-grade, on a winter night. To pick up "The Sorcerer's Stone" is to hold the magic of my childhood in my hands. Now, "A Court of Thorns and Roses" by Sarah J. Maas is my connection to my sister, who lives a few states over from me now. They're also more than connections to the world around me: they are connections to the worlds inside the books themselves.

I can immerse myself in any of the books I have loved throughout my life and be there in that moment. They are not just an "escape," but some sort of "virtual reality" that I don't need fancy goggles or a screen for. When I read, I am there among the words. Among the characters and the places and the smells and the food. I am a part of that world for as long as I hold the book open in my hands.

Those words don't mean the same thing on a screen, though. The printed letters, the pages and the feel of the spine- they are what make the experience even more real to me.

Have you ever walked into a bookshop? A library? Hopefully, everyone has. Whether it be by choice or for school, everyone has been surrounded by books many times in their lives.

Have you ever walked into a room with hundreds of thousands of speakers and screens and smells and people? Some of us may say no but imagine if every book in that library or bookstore suddenly started whispering or shouting or acting our the words that they had scrawled inside of them. In a library or bookstore, people walk in and see stacks of paper enclosed by two covers.

It is interesting to imagine it in a different way: where hundreds of thousands of stories, some true and some the brain-child of writers, sit humming with the life of their authors.

Physical books are the vessels of these stories untold, and it is a pity that one can never know every story ever written or told. But it does not matter the quantity which someone reads, but the quality in which one reads just a few stories, and that is the gifts that physical books will never fail to give.

Popular Right Now

13 Of The Best, Most Famous Poems Ever Written

Masterpieces by some of our favorites like as Shakespeare, John Donne, and Homer.
65964
views

Some of us read poetry for an eager and fast escape from this world. On the other hand, some of us read poetry solely to share it with the ones we love. There are miracles on paper that can easily be forgotten about if we let them be. The following poems are written by some of our favorites such as Shakespeare, John Donne, Homer, and more. It is clear why these have become some of the most famous and unforgettable poems ever written. So grab a pen, and interpret these poems in your own, unique way.

1. “Go and Catch a Falling Star” - John Donne

Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil's foot,

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Or to keep off envy's stinging,

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,

Things invisible to see,

Ride ten thousand days and nights,

Till age snow white hairs on thee,

Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,

All strange wonders that befell thee,

And swear,

No where

Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,

Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

Yet do not, I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet;

Though she were true, when you met her,

And last, till you write your letter,

Yet she

Will be

False, ere I come, to two, or three.

2. “Drinking Alone in the Moonlight” - Li Po

Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine,

No friends at hand, so I poured alone;

I raised my cup to invite the moon,

Turned to my shadow, and we became three.

Now the moon had never learned about drinking,

And my shadow had merely followed my form,

But I quickly made friends with the moon and my shadow;

To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring.

Whenever I sang, the moon swayed with me;

Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild.

Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together;

Drunk, then each went off on his own.

But forever agreed on dispassionate revels,

We promised to meet in the far Milky Way.

3. “Sonnet 18” - William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

4. “The World Is Too Much with Us” - William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

5. “She Walks in Beauty” - Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

6. “How Do I Love Thee?”- Elizabeth Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,












I shall but love thee better after death.

7. “ Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” -Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

8. The Jabberwocky” - Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

9. “Tears Fall in My Heart” - Paul Verlaine

Tears fall in my heart

Rain falls on the town;

what is this numb hurt

that enters my heart?

Ah,the soft sound of rain

on roofs, on the ground!

To a dulled heart they came,

ah, the song of the rain!

Tears without reason

in the disheartened heart.

What? no trace of treason?

This grief's without reason.

It's far the worst pain

to never know why

without love or disdain

my heart has such pain!

10. “We Wear the Mask” - Paul Lawrence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us, while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!

11. “The Panther” - Rainer Maria Rilke

His vision, from the constantly passing bars,

has grown so weary that it cannot hold

anything else. It seems to him there are

a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,

the movement of his powerful soft strides

is like a ritual dance around a center

in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils

lifts, quietly--. An image enters in,

rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,

plunges into the heart and is gone.

12. “Sea Fever” - John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

13. "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goodnight" -Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

















Save these poems for your next coffee shop date or solitude moment. You might be surprised at how much you can find yourself in a poem.

Cover Image Credit: Thought Catalog

Related Content

Connect with a generation
of new voices.

We are students, thinkers, influencers, and communities sharing our ideas with the world. Join our platform to create and discover content that actually matters to you.

Learn more Start Creating

Fiction On Odyssey: Holding On

Nevertheless, he decided he wouldn't buy the cigarettes. His youth would be preserved for another day.

9
views

Charlie was slouched against a gas station pump with his hands in his battered sweatshirt pockets looking like a typical teenage deadbeat with a "fuck you, world" complex. The only inconsistency with his image was the lollipop stick poking out from the right side of his mouth. Behind him was a small, poorly-lit convenience store. Just a few minutes ago, he had decided to use his break to buy a pack of cigarettes: his first one. As he walked in, he saw a box of candy sitting on the register marked 50% off. The low cost wasn't the thing that caught his attention, though. As an employee, Charlie didn't have to pay for it. The candy had appealed to him for an entirely different reason.

At this point the lollipop was making his cheek raw and grainy, so he switched it over to the left side. He was debating on whether or not to purchase the cigarettes once he was done with it. If his mother saw him, she would have gone absolutely nuts: the baggy clothes, the greasy hair, the fact that he had dropped out of school to work at a gas station of all places would have been enough to get him a front row seat to a three hour lecture on the importance of taking care of himself and his future. But Charlie would have listened to every word of that lecture if he could. For 15 years of his life, he had sat through plenty of them, and each one ended with a helpless sigh, a desperate hug, and an offer to eat whatever sweet treat she had made that week. (His favorite were her chocolate crinkle cookies). The memory was enough to make him smile, but it was shortly followed by a grimace from having stretched muscles that hadn't been used in years. Nevertheless, he decided he wouldn't buy the cigarettes. His youth would be preserved for another day.

A red SUV rolled up in front of him. It was a family of four: the father in the driver's seat, the mother in the passenger's seat in deep sleep as it was late and she had been driving for the past 3 hours, and 2 little boys a between the ages of 6 and 8 in the back enjoying the $1 vanilla ice cream cone from McDonald's their dad agreed to buy for them so late at night contingent on the fact that they wouldn't tell their mother. Charlie could feel another smile coming, this time more easily. Just seeing it was enough to make him feel like he was a kid again. He was ready to hop in the car with his parents and his brother and drive to whatever mystery destination his father had spontaneously picked like they did every year before the accident. As the window rolled down, Charlie almost expected to see exactly that, but he knew that was impossible. He scoffed at his imprudence. He filled the car with gas, swiped the man's credit card at the register, and watched the car drive away into the night as he returned to the position he started in: slouched against the gas pump with his hands in his pockets with a slightly soggy lollipop stick in his mouth, wondering if today was the day he would give up on his youth for good.

Related Content

Facebook Comments