Evie Woods
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May 2023
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“Lost is not a hopeless place to be. It is a place of patience, of waiting. Lost does not mean gone for ever. Lost is a bridge between worlds, where the pain of our past can be transformed into power. You have always held the key to this special place, but now you are ready to unlock the door.”
― The Lost Bookshop
― The Lost Bookshop
“I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself, but books gave me an unflinching sense of stability and groundedness. That because words survived, somehow I would too.”
― The Lost Bookshop
― The Lost Bookshop
“An angry man was dominant. An angry woman, on the other hand, must have lost her grip on sanity.”
― The Lost Bookshop
― The Lost Bookshop
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| Around the Year i...: Steph 2023 plan | 1 | 17 | Dec 29, 2022 01:06AM | |
| A Million More Pages: Festival Spell-Out | 78 | 104 | Jun 30, 2023 11:24AM | |
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Fourth of July Spell It Out S&S Challenge
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66 | 106 | Jul 18, 2023 04:22PM | |
Nothing But Readi...:
Nominate our December Adult or Non-Fiction BOM
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19 | 225 | Oct 25, 2023 04:05AM | |
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January 2024: Book of the Month Nominations
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20 | 261 | Nov 15, 2023 03:52AM | |
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December Read-a-thon
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50 | 81 | Dec 13, 2023 06:40PM | |
Turn of a Page:
Festivus for the Rest of Us - S&S Challenge
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44 | 119 | Dec 19, 2023 06:22PM | |
| Around the Year i...: Kat's 2024 ATY52 | 2 | 32 | Dec 20, 2023 07:58PM | |
| The 52 Book Club:...: December 2023 - A Few Of My Favorite Things | 15 | 318 | Dec 30, 2023 12:00PM |
“I’ll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.”
― Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.”
― Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell






























