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BooksActually is an independent bookstore located in Singapore. We specialise in Fiction and Literature (including obscure and critical works).

In our bookstore, you can often find literary trinkets in the form of stationery and other lovely tchotchkes.

We publish and distribute books under our imprint Math Paper Press. We also hand-stitch notebooks and produce stationery under Birds & Co.

BooksActually is now housed at No. 9 Yong Siak Street, in the heart of Tiong Bahru. Come, say hello !

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25 July 2012
2:58 pm
4 notes
“‘But where will your journey end?’ the girl asked timidly. ‘I don’t know yet,’ confessed the driver. ’ I just deel that my road is not that long. I mean it will end here, on Earth. Some look to the sky and travel from star to star, certain that what they are searching for is situated somewhere in the region of Alpha Centauri. I’m serious!’ he continued. ’ I’ve met so many travelers who no longer delight in anything this world has to offer - nothing less than the Milky Way will do for them! These cosmic nomads are ten a penny, but even they have to stop some time! It’s all a question of timing. They’re also yearning for a place to take off their shoes and put their feet up, albeit on some distant planet. Don’t laugh! Their home there may well turn our to be a ramshackle wooden hut with one tiny window and a garden overgrown with weeds, but it’ll be worth all the worn-our sandals! It’ll be worth jumping from star to star.’ With the autobahn stretching straight ahead of them, Zonžič the Serb tried once more to coax a meteoric performance out of his dilapidated old lorry. This time the girl didn’t even flinch. ‘On the other hand,’ continued her strange companion, ‘I’ve also met people who are convinced that we never find our true home, and that one road always leads to another. They see themselves as part of a universal whole, spanning millions of years and billions of miles, and spend their lives preparing to roam the rim of this Brahma wheel for all eternity. These wanderers must be lost, unhappy souls… Surely we’re all looking for a place to call home, a well in the garden, a window… and happiness! I mean, the feeling that all your journeys are finally over and you can spend the rest of your life sitting on the porch of your house, smoking your pipe and admiring the sunset.’” ― Ilya Boyashov, The Way of Muri

“‘But where will your journey end?’ the girl asked timidly.

‘I don’t know yet,’ confessed the driver. ’ I just deel that my road is not that long. I mean it will end here, on Earth. Some look to the sky and travel from star to star, certain that what they are searching for is situated somewhere in the region of Alpha Centauri. I’m serious!’ he continued. ’ I’ve met so many travelers who no longer delight in anything this world has to offer - nothing less than the Milky Way will do for them! These cosmic nomads are ten a penny, but even they have to stop some time! It’s all a question of timing. They’re also yearning for a place to take off their shoes and put their feet up, albeit on some distant planet. Don’t laugh! Their home there may well turn our to be a ramshackle wooden hut with one tiny window and a garden overgrown with weeds, but it’ll be worth all the worn-our sandals! It’ll be worth jumping from star to star.’

With the autobahn stretching straight ahead of them, Zonžič the Serb tried once more to coax a meteoric performance out of his dilapidated old lorry. This time the girl didn’t even flinch.

‘On the other hand,’ continued her strange companion, ‘I’ve also met people who are convinced that we never find our true home, and that one road always leads to another. They see themselves as part of a universal whole, spanning millions of years and billions of miles, and spend their lives preparing to roam the rim of this Brahma wheel for all eternity. These wanderers must be lost, unhappy souls… Surely we’re all looking for a place to call home, a well in the garden, a window… and happiness! I mean, the feeling that all your journeys are finally over and you can spend the rest of your life sitting on the porch of your house, smoking your pipe and admiring the sunset.’”

― Ilya Boyashov, The Way of Muri

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