During the times of modernism, a mysterious character published anonymously written snapshots of news whose length was no more than three lines.  In his section on the French diary Le Matin one could read such things as:

“There is no longer a God even for drunkards. Kersilie, of St.-Germain, who had mistaken the window for the door, is dead.” 

"A certain madwoman arrested downtown falsely claimed to be nurse Elise Bachmann. The latter is perfectly sane."

The life of Felix Fénéon-- who then turned out to be the discoverer and publisher of figures such as Apollinaire, Seurat and Joyce--would hardly fit in three lines; but the book that comprises most of his short writings  meticulously compiled  by his mistress, has no more and no less than 208 pages.

I wonder whether any microblog would be worthy of a book in the near future. For the time being however, Fénéon already has his own Twitter.