Novel & Cerita Aesthetically Pleasing Books

Odd since the royal family barely lifted a hand around here. There were large gold plated shelves all over the room, way more than I could hope to count, that contained books of all kinds, history, music, mysticism, astrology, and books of Lycan law. The spines of each book was so beautiful, I couldn’t help but touch each one I passed. "Elora! Isn't this delightful?" Lucy squealed like a happy child. "This place is beautiful." I replied, absent mindedly. I was totally lost in the beauty of the books.

I scrunched my nose with the familiar scent of the painted paved archaic walls where the big old portraits were hanged and displayed grandly and the greek Doric columns which exhibit minimalistic beauty in simplicity. Bibliosmia... The wooden smell coming from the old books mixed with the faint aroma of coffee that surrounds this marvelous room entices me every time and bewitches me to be indulged and unravel the implicit bareness of each wonderfully crafted book up until its tiniest details. I returned the book I brought to its rightful own place and picked a new one to read on the same shelf. I traced my fingers to the dusty old letters engraved on the hardbound cover. Mythology...

It’s convenient to be able to access everything from a tablet or phone, but something intangible is certainly lost in the process. As I near the end of the row of neatly placed, perfectly uniform books, my fingertips register the rough edges of worn leather. These books are not like the rest. Either well loved, badly looked after or older than the room which houses them, there is something beyond the obvious that sets them apart.

After that he stood and left me in the room. Now barely an hour later he sends me a trunk full of books. Ella moved to stand behind me and I could hear her sharp intake of breath when her eyes landed on the books. "They're beautiful, right?" Ella only nodded her head and leaned down to touch the spines of one of the books. They weren't really books to be precise, well they were books but not really big ones, almost like journals, just bigger and fresher. The covers were embossed in a beautiful flower pattern, each color having a flower of its corresponding color on it.

The most stunning library she had ever seen, like the one you would see in a fairytale. There was not just a few shelves thrown together for aesthetic, this room was vast, stretching wide and tall, with towering bookcases that kissed the ceiling. Wooden ladders slid along polished rails, and the scent of aged parchment and leather bound volumes filled the air like incense. Massive windows let in soft afternoon light, and dust motes shimmered in the golden glow. She stepped farther in, her fingers trailing gently along the spines of books as she passed, each a different texture, color, and language. Some titles were old classics, Austen, Tolstoy, Fitzgerald. Others were modern thrillers and c

One by one she plucked out to read from the back and surely, the front cover plays a huge role in her buying. She would blush at the provocative and alluring drawings of man and woman wrapping round each other. Other then getting addicted to books with sultry scene or stories, she was attracted by the depth of the stories itself that calls out to her. The passion between the two characers and their ability to withstand any obstacles around them as well as promising and loving each other with only the language of love that only they can understand. Ariadne adores such books. It didn't take long for her to roll back to her old habit of reading the book at the corner fo the wall, hidden from ju

“You know what’s funny?” “What?” “I used to think healing would feel dramatic.” She glanced around the apartment softly. “But actually…” A faint laugh escaped her. “…it feels like choosing curtain colors and arguing over bookshelf placement.” God. Adrian laughed quietly. “Which, for the record, you are losing.” “Absolutely not.” “I refuse to let you organize books by emotional vibe.” “It’s called aesthetic intelligence.” “It’s called chaos.” She shoved him lightly while laughing. And God. That sound. That lightness.

The books were still there. This was the detail that had made Elijah cry when he'd first seen the space. Not the chairs or the windows or the light—the books. The shelves were still filled, not with the collector's original first editions but with books that had been chosen for their beauty and their age and their presence. Leather spines. Gold lettering. The specific quality of objects that had been made by hand and had lasted. Alexander had put his hand on Elijah's back when he'd seen the tears and had said nothing.

The cold, velvety titles under my feet felt like walking on a cloud, its deep pile inviting me to take off my shoes and revel in their comfort. Honestly, the room was adorned with tasteful artwork, carefully selected to complement the overall aesthetic. Paintings of serene landscapes and vibrant flowers adorned the walls, adding a touch of natural beauty to the space. At the end of the sitting room was a bookshelf filled with leather-bound classics that stood in one corner, inviting me to curl up and lose myself in the world of literature.

The rain had let up just long enough to tempt him across the square. Now he stood in the narrowest aisle, surrounded by dusty journals and anthologies too niche for anyone to bother stealing. He ran his fingers along the spines, mostly unread. Something about the weight of knowledge in here felt comforting — or at least distracting. Books didn't demand things. They waited. Quiet. Unmoving. Unlike people. His hand paused over a faded publication bound in cloth. Éther – Student Literary & Visual Arts Review: Volume XXVI. The cover had no art, just hand-stamped gold letters on charcoal-grey linen. He pulled it from the shelf.