Advent 2018 – 12.12.2018

Laws die, Books never.

Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1839)

Advent 2018 – 11.12.2018

Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn–that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness–that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.

Jane Austen, Persuasion

Advent 2018 -10.12.2018

Never read any book that is not a year old.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1860)

Avent 2018 – 9.12.2018

Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man.

Francis Bacon (1625)

Advent 2018 – 8.12.2018

Reading is to the mind, what exercise is to the body. As by the one, health is preserved, strengthened, and invigorated: by the other, virtue (which is the health of the mind) is kept alive, cherished, and confirmed.

Joseph Addison

Advent 2018 – 7.12.2018

If we encountered a man of rare intellect, we should ask him what books he read.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1876)

Advent 2018 – 6.12.2018

The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be stupid.

 Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

Advent 2018 – 5.12.2018

Books give not wisdom where was none before,
But where some is, there reading makes it more.

John Harington (1737)

Das Fest der kleinen Wunder von Ulrike Renk

Ein Weihnachtsmärchen aus Ostpreußen – von der Krefelderin Ulrike Renk. Das schmale Bändchen ergänzt ihre Ostpreußen-Saga um die Familie auf Gut Fennhausen; das hab ich aber erst am Ende im Nachwort gelesen. Mich hat ja der ostpreußische Aspekt und das vorweihnachtliche Flair angesprochen.

Was erzählt Urike Renk?

Sie schildert den Spätherbst und Winter 1925 – bis Weihnachten – auf Gut Fennhausen. Weiterlesen

Advent 2018 – 4.12.2018

He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

Emily Dickinson