Printed Quotes

“Technically, you cannot really own a book you bought; you can only own the sheets of paper your copy is printed on; unless, of course, you are the book’s publisher.”

“We must sober up and admit that too many of the Republicans and the Democrats have played us, lied to us and stolen from us, while the getaway car was driven by the media. A media that can no longer claim with a straight face the role of journalist. Journalists print the things the powerful don’t want printed. What they do is public relations. Those PR firms will not print the truth about the average American who finds himself concerned with the direction of our country today. So we must. We are not violent. We are not racist. We are not anti immigrant. We are not anti-government. And we will not be silent anymore.”

“If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed.”

“I asked my publisher what would happen if he sold all the copies of my book he'd printed. He said "I'll just print another ten.”

“There will be more words written on Twitter in the next two years than contained in all books ever printed.”

“Though I enjoy the occasional eBook from time to time, I will only stop reading books printed on paper when they pry them from my cold, dead, withered hands, and even then, they will be hard pressed to take them from me.”

“Camomille: Fallible men write books. God writes in sunlight and rivers and planets. Isn't the Universe a good book? I trust it above the printed kind.”

“How can trade be bad if you don’t make moneyeven when it’s good?” inquired Gleed, reasonablyapplying the information Harrison had given him.Jeff’s big moon eyes went over him slowly thenturned to Harrison. “So he’s another bum off yourboat, eh? What’s he talking about?”“Money,” explained Harrison. “It’s stuff we use tosimplify trade. It’s printed stuff, like documentaryobs of various sizes.”“That tells me a lot,” Jeff Baines observed. “Ittells a crowd that has to make a printed record ofevery ob is not to be trusted — because they don’teven trust each other.”

“Amedeo loved thick tomes, and in tackling them he felt the physical pleasure of undertaking a great task. Weighing them in his hand, thick, closely printed, squat, he would consider with some apprehension the number of pages, the length of the chapters, then venture into them, a bit reluctant at the beginning, without any desire to perform the initial chore of remembering the names, catching the drift of the story; then he would entrust himself to it, running along the lines, crossing the grid of the uniform page, and beyond the leaden print the flame and fire of battle appeared, the cannonball that, whistling through the sky, fell at the feet of Prince Andrei, and the shop filled with engravings and statues where Frederic Moreau, his heart in his mouth, was to meet the Arnoux family. Beyond the surface of the page you entered a world where life was more alive than here on this side…”