“It didn’t matter where you were, if you were in a room full of books you were at least halfway home.”

— Lev Grossman , book The Magician's Land

Source: The Magician's Land

Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "It didn’t matter where you were, if you were in a room full of books you were at least halfway home." by Lev Grossman?

Lev Grossman 45

American novelist, journalist 1969

Dermot Bolger (1959) Irish writer

Source: The Journey Home

“It doesn't matter what you did or where you were, it matters where you are and what you're doing.”

Steve Maraboli (1975)

Source: Life, the Truth, and Being Free (2010), p. 60

“It would be like this when you were really old-a city full of imaginary houses and women, rooms and girls.”

Cees Nooteboom book Rituals

Page 125
Rituals (1980)

“I was hungry and thirsty
Were you there, were you there?
I was hungry and thirsty, were you there?
And the creed and the colour
And the name won't matter
Were you there?”

Sydney Carter (1915–2004) British musician and poet

When I Needed A Neighbour (1965)

“What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now.”

Raymond Chandler book The Big Sleep

Source: The Big Sleep (1939), Chapter 32, Phillip Marlowe
Context: What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now. Far more a part of it than Rusty Regan was. But the old man didn't have to be. He could lie quiet in his canopied bed, with his bloodless hands folded on the sheet, waiting. His heart was a brief, uncertain murmur. His thoughts were as gray as ashes. And in a little while he too, like Rusty Regan, would be sleeping the big sleep.