A Quote by Anthony Powell

Books do furnish a room. — © Anthony Powell
Books do furnish a room.
You can't love a library of e-books. You can't furnish a room with e-books.
Books don't only furnish a room: they also make the best holiday gifts.
Aside from the posters, wherever there was room, there were books. Stacks and stacks of books. Books crammed into mismatched shelves and towers of books up to the ceiling. I liked my books.
In design-speak, 'a library' means a room lined with books, floor-to ceiling, but it all depends on the space you have. You may have a free-standing bookshelf of your favorite books if that's all you have room for.
One can furnish a room very luxuriously by taking out furniture rather than putting it in.
... books are too heterogeneous an interest to furnish a vital one in life, a reason for being alive.
The rest, with very little exaggeration, was books. Meant-to-be-picked-up books. Permanently-left-behind books. Uncertain-what-to-do-with books. But books, books. Tall cases lined three walls of the room, filled to and beyond capacity. The overflow had been piled in stacks on the floor. There was little space left for walking, and none whatever for pacing.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.
The colleges, while they provide us with libraries, furnish no professors of books; and I think no chair is so much needed.
I have not let myself be stultified by science, whose highest goal is to furnish a `waiting room', which it would be best to tear down.
You furnish the pictures and I'll furnish the war.
There's a room in my house where my stereo, records, CDs, and books are housed. I spend a lot of time in that room, sitting in my chair beside the fireplace, reading and listening to music. Sometimes I just stand before the shelves and look at my books, because every single one of them means something to me.
It was also a room full of books and made of books. There was no actual furniture; this is to say, the desk and chairs were shaped out of books. It looked as though many of them were frequently referred to, because they lay open with other books used as bookmarks.
She said it out loud, the words distributed into a room that was full of cold air and books. Books everywhere! Each wall was armed with overcrowded yet immaculate shelving. It was barely possible to see paintwork. There were all different styles and sizes of lettering on the spines of the black, the red, the gray, the every-colored books. It was one of the most beautiful things Liesel Meminger had ever seen. With wonder, she smiled. That such a room existed!
I am a product of endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic...In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.
It sounds like a brag but I've got a separate room in my flat just for unread books; I don't let my read books touch my unread books.
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