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Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.

Mary Ann Shaffer

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Mary Ann Shaffer
Age: 73 †
Born: 1934
Born: December 13
Died: 2008
Died: February 16
Librarian
Novelist
Writer
Martinsburg
West Virginia
Perfect
Readers
True
Brings
Book
Instinct
Reader
Perhaps
Sort
Books
Homing
Secret
Delightful

More quotes by Mary Ann Shaffer

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I much prefer whining to counting my blessings.
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Men are more interesting in books than they are in real life.
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Reading keeps you from going ga-ga.
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I hope, too, that my book will illuminate my belief that love of art - be it poetry, storytelling, painting, sculpture, or music - enables people to transcend any barrier man has yet devised.
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She is one of those ladies who is more beautiful at sixty than she could possibly have been at twenty. (how I hope someone says that about me someday)!
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The first rule of snooping is to come at it sideways.
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I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.
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Your questions regarding that gentleman are very delicate, very subtle, very much like being smacked in the head with a mallet...it's a tuba among the flutes.
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I am to cover the philosophical side of the debate and so far my only thought is that reading keeps you from going gaga.
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I think you learn more if you're laughing at the same time.
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I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me. How awful, backward, cowardly, and mentally warped that will be if it turns out to be true.
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We read books, talked books, argued over books and became dearer and dearer to one another.
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Miss X has always been a ditherer -- she was a ten month baby and has not improved in any material way since then.
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Those times, I tried to think of something happy, something I'd liked - but not something I loved, for that made it worse.
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When I got up this morning the sea was full of sun pennies - and now it all seems to be covered in lemon scrim. Writers ought to live far inland or next to the city dump, if they are ever to get any work one. Or perhaps they need to be stronger-minded than I am.
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I don’t know whether to feel flattered or hunted.
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Isn't that something-to know your own soul by hearsay, instead of its own tidings? Why should I let a preacher tell me if I had one or not? If I could believe I hada soul, all by myself, then I could listen to its tidings all by myself.
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What on earth did you say to Isola? She stopped in on her way to pick up Pride and Prejudice and to berate me for never telling her about Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Why hadn't she known there were better love stories around? Stories not riddled with ill-adjusted men, anguish, death and graveyards!
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Women like poetry. A soft word in their ears and they melt - a grease spot on the grass.
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In a good mood I call my hair Chestnut with Gold Glints. In a bad mood, I call it mousy brown
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