4 Books And 5 Classics Novels & Stories

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

Already much more soothing than sad songs and the sound of explosions. Tall shelves lined the walls, crammed with books. Of course this man had a library that looked like it belonged in an interior magazine spread. A low chandelier hung in the middle of the room above a long solid wood table, a few chairs, one couch in the corner with a folded throw. I walked along the first shelf, letting my fingertips brush the spines. Gold lettering, embossed titles, lettering already faded. The first row was full of classics. Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Dumas. Of course Zane owned a collection of depressed men who liked to write about sin and consequences. Fitting.

Pathetic, all the women he knew, appreciated and admired, couldn't cook. He examined his room carefully, especially the bookshelves, where he found mostly classics, some American and English, a few French titles by famous authors. Nothing he wouldn't read. Records, apart from a few, nothing interesting, at least not for him. Classical music, mainly instrumental and jazz.

I noticed he had categorised his books according to genres: Fiction Politics Classics Poetry History Romance Wow! I hadn't imagined him to have such a wide variety of books. It seemed like he was an avid reader. My fingers brushed against the leather-bound spines of the books. Most of them appeared to be limited editions from their paper and bindings. I passed through the poetry section. Selected Poems by John Keats Tennyson’s Poetry So many classic poetry books. I continued forward. Lord of the Rings War and Peace Frankenstein

“Get this one.” “Is that like the one she had?” “It’s in the same series. I saw she has the next one, this is the one after that.” Gigi took the book and looked at it. “This says book seven.” “There’s nine in the series.” Dean pointed to the other two books and then grabbed a box set of five books. “And five in this one. I like the author.” She admitted as she put the books in the cart. “I saw that movie.” Gigi pointed to a popular book that had been made into a blockbuster.

"I love getting lost in stories, exploring new worlds and meeting new characters." Claire's smile grew wider. "What's your favorite book?" I thought for a moment, trying to narrow it down. "I have a few," I said finally. "I love 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Jane Eyre', and 'Wuthering Heights'." Claire's eyes lit up. "Those are all classics," she said. "I love them too. Have you read any of the Bronte sisters' other works?"

I close the door quietly. I spend an hour in the smaller library looking at the books. He has everything. Fiction. Nonfiction. Art books. History. A whole shelf of poetry that looks like it has never been touched. I pull out a volume of Mary Oliver and flip through it. Someone has dog-eared a page. I read the poem. "Wild Geese." I read it twice.

The woman climbed a short ladder and began pulling down a few books. “These should help,” she said, setting five large, dusty tomes on a nearby table. “Sorry about the condition they’re ancient. Let me know if you need anything.” “Thank you,” Anna said as the woman walked away. Rhea and Anna sat cross-legged on the floor beside the table, surrounded by the stack of heavy books. Their covers were worn, their spines cracked, and the pages yellowed with time. Each had a unique title: 'Tales of the Mystical Creatures', 'Powers', 'Hidden Behind the Voice', and two others with faded letters too difficult to read.

I walked slowly along the shelves, running my fingers along the spines of books, reading titles. There were a lot of books in Greek, which I couldn't read. Some in what looked like Russian—more Cyrillic letters. Those were probably for Zade. But there was also an entire section in English. I moved closer, examining the titles more carefully. And stopped in surprise. These weren't just random books. This was a carefully curated collection. There were classics I'd mentioned loving in conversations with my father over the years. Pride and Prejudice. Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights.

“I might be able to help recommend some books relating to the topic.” Given where my head had just been, the request came easy to me. “Do you have anything on… the Goddess?” I asked, turning to look at him, my expression instantly becoming serious. “And I don’t mean those vague books I’ve already read in the library before. I mean… actual information. Like that book I saw you use for my confirmation.” He gave me another knowing look before he went about pulling a few from the shelves. Eventually, after a few minutes had passed, he handed me over four different ones; all of which looked far older than I felt comfortable touching. They looked almost fragile enough to break by just breathing on