Essay Mr. Steorra’s Bookstore

It 's a dreary morning, the sky was blocked by clouds that looked like they were about to pour on

When I took off the top to that white box on that calm Sunday night, I was instantly transported into this astounding library, that seemed to come out of a movie scene, rows upon rows were piled up with Verne’s, Dumas’, Stevenson’s, and Melville’s. Each week I would open this box and choose a new book. It wasn’t long until weeks turned to days, and I began to greedily treasure my Stevenson’s, truly value friendship with Dumas, prepare for an adrenaline rush with Verne, but most importantly, it was my single Melville that brought me the pinnacle of happiness.

I’ve never looked at a book the same. I now allow myself to get lost amongst the words, the characters, the scenes; they all become real in my mind. I have a hunger for books and the stories that can remove me from my surroundings. It came to my attention much later on, that the boy on the road probably didn’t even know what he was reading – the title was English and he most likely spoke Mandarin. It was just a way to escape his

They take the constructive feedback they receive from customers and apply it to future enhancements. A unique feature is, they hand-pick their books; these books consists of Canadian small presses, national publishers, and international imprints as they echo the diversity of their customer’s interests (BryanPrinceBookseller, 2015). One of the main reasons why this bookstore has been so successful is because of the passion held within the business. The owners are all enthusiastic readers and highly value the art and heritage behind literature. In addition they are always happy to discuss what they are currently reading and are capable of making

The thin rustic pages scrape past my loose fingers as I sit engaged. My heart pounds harder and faster with every word my eyes pass over. My ears hear nothing, even within booming noise. My complete focus is on the book that lays in my hand with a laminated cover, and I have no choice but to submit to the content. My breath tastes of spearmint and the aroma of fresh paper floats past my nose. I couldn’t resist but delve into the worlds and mysteries that books hold. Once opened, everything around me becomes a distant blur. I am hooked. Books have always created an escape for creativity and fancies to run free. Books are used as a medium for reason. Books are formative to the development of human beings. In my instance, books changed my life.

Perusing a book resemble undertaking an investigation: we search over passages and pages, connecting bits of plot and character together to manufacture a rational, convincing photo of a total world. When we come to the end of a book and snap shutter the cover, we often feel satisfied that our investigation is over. Our questions have been answered, and the “case” is closed. But the book that truly effects us—whether thrillers, mysteries, or stories of unrequited love--often don’t give us a complete sense of closure. They raise questions that linger long after the last page.

Rifling through the yellowed books and cracked spines, I didn’t see anything to really catch my eye. My sister loved reading John Saul, Stephen King, and Dean Koontz, but they weren’t really my cup of literary tea at the time. I hadn’t really developed a taste for “grown up books” as they were referred to by my sibling and parents. Getting ready to give up, and make a mess of books and Miracle Mops all over these people’s driveways, I see it. At this exact moment, I didn’t know what “it” was. All I could see was a cover, with emblazoned red text, and – wait – is that – that’s – there’s a fighter jet on the cover of this book! This is possible? This is something people sell? Who would get rid of this? So many questions raced through my

This room was not as inviting as the rest of the cottage; it was dark and cluttered, full of scribbled notes, books, and black pens. The oak desk that dominated the small space was stacked with teetering atlases and thick encyclopedias. Directly behind the desk was an impressive arched window that revealed a dark garden with a high, leafy hedge separating the cottage from everything around it. Julius quickly plopped into the cushioned chair behind his desk and began poring over the book he had just purchased. It was a matter of seconds before he found what he was looking for and when he saw the words printed on that particular page, he leaned back and stared glassy eyed into space, stunned by the results of all of his

The second shelf holds the timeline of my progression from an innocent child to a passionate preadolescent. Tales of Mother Goose no longer filled my desire for knowledge, and tales like The Great Gatsby began to satiate that desire. These were the years that I found myself with too much time on my hands, and turned to books to fill my time and mind. I would sit and read, always ready to snap at anyone who dared to interrupt me. I read anything I could get my hands on. Newspaper clippings, leaflets, travel guides, and flyers are strewn about on this shelf. I read because I wanted to learn. Reading began to take me out of reality and into the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I accumulated a personality based on the characters I read about; I found little pieces of myself scattered throughout each novel I

My visit to Barnes and Noble at union square was a pleasant surprise. It took me about an hour and a half to get there by train. Opening its green rusty entrance doors lead me to a warm welcoming scene filled with smiles and air conditioning for all four floors. I was surprised by how low the prices were for the books and it the variety of categories in each category. There were floors dedicated to fiction and nonfiction. Floors even had Sections for textbooks, love novels, cookbooks, and even jokes. I was even more surprised they sold Old collectables for Star Wars, Marvel, and DC. I spent 30 min reading joke books with my friend but decided to eventually hop on the escalator that lead me to the next floor, which was filled with fictional books.

Caeren gave the book in his hand a onceover and closed it. He felt that he knew how things would end. For a moment he stared at the pair of eyes on the cover. Still, he put it down and reached for another from the shelf behind him.

The sky was overcast. It appeared that this day would be just like any other day, but this notion was surely mistaken.

The Ashford University Library is a great digital data base that provides resources that can aid you in research in various subjects, school essay’s, and school projects and not to mention you can access this great. The Ashford University Library is a lot different than our usual brick and mortar building filled with books it is a digital library. The Ashford University Library being a digital Library allows you to access all of it contents through the Internet through numerous devices as long as you have an Internet connection. This allows you to review or look up information anytime of the day and anywhere. A very key benefit that a digital library has to offer is that it is convenient to your schedule versus a traditional library may be

The excerpt begins strangely with the word, “You”. We come to find out that the excerpt is written in the 2nd person point-of-view. The narrator begins by telling the reader that they are about to read Italo Calvino’s new novel If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler. The narrator takes on a semi assertive tone and tells the reader to “relax” and “concentrate”. The narrator even goes on to tell the reader to lie on their back or in a hammock. The excerpt then goes on to tell the reader how they feel about books. The narrator says that the readers, “no longer expect anything of anything”. (Pg. 28) The narrator takes the reader on a journey through the bookstore which consists of different troops of books. The reader battles “Books Too Expensive” and

Happy with my selection and feeling fairly proud of myself, I take the book to the check-out desk. The desk is occupied by the stereotypical librarian. She is an older lady probably in her sixties with gray wiry hair and half square bi-focal glasses that sit on the end of her nose. As I place the book on the counter, she looks down her nose and through her glasses at me with a look of skepticism. Frowning as she speaks, she tells me that maybe I should choose something else. Undaunted, I refuse and ask to check out the book. She gives a few other suggestions but again, I refuse. She wishes me luck as she slides it back to me and I stuff the hefty book into my backpack.