There may be stranger reasons for being alive. There are books There’s interlibrary loan. There are books you can fall into and pull up over your head.
Interpretation
Books provide a unique escape and purpose in life, allowing individuals to immerse themselves in different worlds.
In this quote, Jo Walton emphasizes the power of literature as a means of existence and joy. She suggests that the act of reading is not merely a pastime but a profound reason for living, where books are not just objects but gateways to new experiences and realms of imagination. This sentiment portrays the significance of literature in shaping human experience and providing solace in many forms.
In practice
Sharing the quote during a book club meeting to express the value of reading.
The thing about Tolkien, about The Lord of the Rings, is that it's perfect. It's this whole world, this whole process of immersion, this journey. It's not, I'm pretty sure, actually true, but that makes it more amazing, that someone could make it all up. Reading it changes everything.
Listen to the great guitarists of the Fifties. They didn't do that nasty sort of industrial distortion. They played musical compositions as solos - Scotty Moore, Cliff Gallup, Django Reinhardt. There wasn't a bad note in any of those solos. I listened to that and stayed with those rules.
Many are they who have a taste and love for drawing, but no talent; and this will be discernible in boys who are not diligent and never finish their drawings with shading.
If your educe sculpture to the flat plane of the temporal experience of the work. (...) the experience of the work is inseparable from the place in which the work resides. Apart from that condition, any experience of the work is a deception.
Art isn't only a painting. Art is anything that's creative, passionate, and personal. And great art resonates with the viewer, not only with the creator.
The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the unclear voices of children, already gathered like crikets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight.
Perhaps creating something is nothing but an act of profound remembrance.
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