Book Quotes Page Numbers Novels & Stories

"I've been busy." "The book is a hundred and eighty pages." "It's a very busy season." He pulled his mug toward him, wrapped both hands around it, and looked at me over the rim with those steady brown eyes that always seemed to be a few degrees warmer than the room. "Tell me I'm not completely lost." I looked at the sticky notes. One of them said green light — important? in handwriting that could generously be described as architectural. Another one said party scene — loud, why. A third said Daisy = bad? with a question mark that carried genuine philosophical uncertainty.

she announced as I drove off and I frowned not being able to tell how she felt about it with those four words. "Why did you think?" "Her poems are...different," she mumbled and I laughed slightly. "Different bad or different good?" "Different interesting," "Do you have a favourite quote or did you-" "When anger spreads inside your breast keep watch against an idly barking tongue," "Page 19," I mumbled and she laughed "You memorized the book?" "It's a good book," "I won't disagree," she mumbled and I glanced over to her meeting her gaze for a split second.

My footsteps echo, lamps lighting and going out as I pass through the aisles. Shelf number 89. And on its 11th row must be that memoir. How I’m going to reach the 11th row is another question entirely. I can barely reach upto the eighth one. I look around for any kind of ladder of stepping stone but come up short. I blow out an irritated breath. Forgive me, knowledge. I step on the fourth row books, and grab the wood above to reach the eleventh row and start reading the names on the spines of books there. After several tomes about travels across this world, I find the one I’m looking for.

he pushes it towards me, “It’s merely a book. I want you to open it to a page, any page, and see what you notice.” I give him an uncertain sideways glance before squeezing my eyes shut as I blindly flip through the pages of the book. After a few seconds, I stop, my finger hovering over a page about halfway through. Opening my eyes a crack, I watch as Gideon tilts his head to get a better view of the page. “Interesting,” he murmurs. “Of all the pages in this book, you turn to that one.” I open my eyes the rest of the way and look down. There is a picture of a person sitting in a ring of crystals. I don’t even need to read the title at the top to know what it says.

If there was something wrong: anything at all, I would find it. The library was quiet, the familiar scent of old paper and ink wrapping around me. At the front desk, Mr. Jones sat hunched over a thick book. “Mr. Jones,” I said. He looked up slowly, sliding a pencil between pages. “Yes, child?” “I need the catalogue.” “What are you looking for?” “Books on mate bonds,” I whispered. He nodded, handing me the catalogue. “Section 3C. But double-check.” I scanned the page. “They’re at 3C."

“What did you say?” “It was a code. 18-L-3-20,” I recited from memory. “I found the book in your library. Shakespeare. On the page the code led to, there was a pinprick, a tiny hole through a single word.” I took a shaky breath, finally giving the ghost a name. “The word was ‘betrayal’.”

At first glance, it was just a record of betrayal—shell companies, offshore routing numbers, and signatures that looked suspiciously like forgeries of all four brothers. "Wait," Lila said, leaning in. She pointed to the bottom corner of page twelve. "Look at the page numbers. They aren't sequential." I frowned, looking closer. The page numbers didn't run 1, 2, 3. They ran 11, 4, 18, 9, 1. "It's a book cipher," I whispered, my heart beginning to race. I grabbed a notepad and a pen. Using the page numbers as coordinates against the first letter of the first word on each page, a message began to emerge. It wasn't a list of traitors. It was a warning from the Chairman’s past.

We turned to the mentioned page in our text books. I sighed heavily. This day is shaping up to be a really bad one... Staring out the window, he said, "On page 364, you find the actual law. As you go down, the explanations are given. Take your time and read it. I'll explain afterwards. And after that you'll be doing the exercises on page 367 and 369," I shifted in my seat and craned my neck to take a look at the top of his table. It was empty. Just a pen and some markers. Also, the annoying flower vase.

Now, however, it was back to reality and I wasn't sure I could take it. "So are we clear about what's happening here?" she asked abruptly. I nodded. I felt like I was being scolded by some private school nun. "You know," she said, "I learned something a long time ago. It's a quote from a book I read while in college." She walked over to the bookshelf set deep in the ornamental wood behind her desk. "I still read it, one of my favorites." She shuffled for a moment before pulling out a leather bound book worn from handling, seemingly ancient. "It's not very popular, but an excellent read, especially when I come across someone like you." She flipped through some pages, sat back down and looked

No kitchen sounds yet. I went to the kitchen to make tea. There was a book on the counter. Not one of his. His books lived on the shelves in the sitting room. This one was sitting alone beside the kettle with a small folded paper on top of it. I picked up the paper. Three words in his handwriting. Chapter four. Page 89. I opened the book. Chapter four. Page 89. A section on qualitative measurement frameworks in behavioural research. Dense and specific and exactly relevant to the question my supervisor had been pressing me about for two weeks.