/lit/ - Literature

>be 8-14
>love reading
>read sometimes 2-3 books in a week
>15
>get in trampoline accident
>pretty bad concussion
>lose consciousness for a few hours
>be 15-26
>cant read more than 6 pages without getting bored/distracted

I want it back bros, how can I get back my love of reading from my youth?

>This has happened to me way to many times in real life

If there was a God why would he allow thousands of religions to thrive with no indication of which religion is correct? Why would he confuse man and let even those wish to seek him embrace the wrong religion?

>>4800556

>tfw "self-sufficient and not needing anything but self-sufficiency"

ASOIAF was spoiled to me a few days ago, when I had read only two books. I thought "what the heck" and went read the rest of the story line on the internet... did I lose anything of value?

>tfw /fit/ and /lit/
>tfw still no gf

>tfw no gf

what books have the most feels

>tfw no gf

Ok, so my Kindle 3 screen just messed up. I took it out of my bag and there are now lines and white space all over the screen. How long did it take to fix and how expensive was it to anyone who had this happen? I bought it used, so I can't send it in to Amazon...

>mfw getting ready to spend a lot of time on 4chan these next few days

>tfw no gf
>tfw your best friend is poor

Judge my short story, /lit/

The cars passed by quickly. Night was falling and he hurried back to his place, heart crushed, soul teared. He just wanted his usual escape of weed, gay porn and cyber-stalking. The short man was not strong enough to live his life and came to develop very bad habits, indeed. In his dark room, stinking to the poorly washed out shit glued to his ass, so typical of his lack of hygine, his was the only valid rule. There, he feared no one. It was his lair, a nest for dark, resentful, bitter thoughts that no one could take away from him. Despite all his depravity, he knew he would never be judged by those cold, lifeless walls. That is why he spent so much time cyber-stalking other people. He lived out his fantasies through them. They were nothing but valueless objects to be improved. And he himself was "improving himself", as he liked to put it. Started going to the gym, stinked a little less, start tanning. However, one could not help but realize how mentally ill the short man was still. There was not a bit of sanity left on him. He was drugged up, pushing into liver failure, drunk, disappointed at a reality that would bend to his laughable will. All he wanted that day was to get a good, old ramming, the kind that would leave his ass aching for the whole week. Submission was a sport that pleased this unusual character. He liked to be abused, even pissed upon. He specially liked it when men made him swallow their urine. Those were moments of bliss for him. He could feel like a woman. That innermost hidden wish of his, apparent only in his cross-dressing and internet camwhoring, he lived out inside his head at those moments of intense fetishism of which only a degenerate mankind is capable of.

>>2808367
>that feel when you casually use a couple 10-dollar words and your listener's eyes glaze over
>that feel when talk about movies and applaud Kubrick, Anderson, etc and your listener applauds The Expendables
>that feel when the only other person you know with a collection of books is your friend's wife with a wall full of Nora Roberts
>that feel when these people with shitty taste also produce nothing of worth

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

>>2692813
The only person who can contend in an intellectual discussion with myself is my female cousin. We happen to have diametrically opposed political views.
>tfw you will never hatefuck your intellectual peer after a heated debtate

>you will never stop believing in a western canon

>that feel when the movie comes out and obliterates your headcannon