Book Review For Jane Eyre Novels & Stories

Soon they were to write an essay on Jane Eyre in literature class, and Samantha looked forward to this as an opportunity to express her thoughts and feelings about this work. Noticing the shelf where the new book was, Sammy quickly found it. She liked the cover with the image of an old portrait - the girl, thanks to the efforts of the artist, looking at her through the centuries, seemed to be a real personification of Jane. Strict and restrained in appearance, but her eyes betrayed a real storm of feelings raging in her heart. As she was about to return to the counter, Sammy suddenly gave in to the temptation and took the book with her. Sitting down in a chair, she opened the novel, which gr

Their smiles were infectious, and I found myself grinning along even though I hadn't the slightest idea what they were speaking of the majority of the trip. When we went through a village, it was like a Christmas card. The pointy roofs, cobbled steps, and canopies were perfect. It was beautiful the way the rolling hills often hid a massive country estate or sometimes a crumbling castle. For someone who loved romance novels, this was my favorite dream come true. Not many girls my age had read Jane Austen. Granted most have seen the movie, Pride and Prejudice. But when you read Austen, you get a real feel for what it was like. I truly felt transported back in time, and I was loving it.

I pick it up and notice that it has my name on it. Should I open it? I know it's not good to snoop around people's stuff but... at least I have to know what's in the box. I need to know. If it has my name, then it means it's meant for me. I carefully open the box and inside, I find a novel. 'JANE EYRE by Charlotte Brontë' Scott loved to read, alot. I bet he was going to surprise me with this novel later but... whatever happened, already happened. I will definitely read it.

I knew who it was from the second I saw it, my heart did a traitorous flip as I carried it upstairs, glancing over my shoulder like Mirabel might appear at any moment. I slipped into our room, locked the door, and tore it open on my bed. Inside was a small wooden box. Nestled in velvet lay a rare first-edition copy of Jane Eyre, the cover worn but beautiful, it pages edged in gold. My breath caught. I’d mentioned it once during the holidays, of how it was my ultimate book boyfriend fantasy in physical form. Rhys had remembered. I opened it carefully. Tucked inside the front cover was a handwritten note on heavy cream paper, his strong, decisive script unmistakable.

And it helped me understand that I was never the problem. I did the best that I could. It's late in the afternoon and I'm reading Jane Eyre for the first time in several years. I forgot how much I loved this book when I was younger. Books were my escape as a child, but I gave up on them as soon as I got to high school. I didn't have the time. I was having a hard time managing my time. But now that I don't have much to do, I guess I could read. It's better than thinking about Mary and mom and Luca.

"As long as I can read, otherwise I might get bored sitting still." "Deal," he says, walking toward the Christmas tree and grabbing a gift. "I got you something, too." He walks toward me and sits on the sofa, placing it in my hand. I carefully free the paper to reveal an ancient-looking book. My heart skips a beat as I let my fingers trace over the beautifully bound cover, tracing the title. Jane Eyre. "Is this a first edition copy of Jane Eyre?" I ask. "Yes, I remembered it was your favorite."

It's been three days since she started delaying the inevitable event of being stuck with Dom in Canterbury. After minutes of pondering, she stood up and reached the small shelf of books she has. Her eyes locked on two books, Jane Eyre by Emily Bronte and Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. She had just finished reading Persuasion, and she was still on the assessment of her feelings towards the ending of the story. Maybe another book can take her mind off things. She decided on Great Expectations, gladly picking up the book and bouncing back to her bed, to enjoy another pleasurable surmount of reading a book.

And then she came back, and reluctantly had said he can go out in the backyard for a while. So I have been sitting here alone with four books laying next to me, all the books that I have read, and finished in the last week. I had pulled Jane Eyre from another fancy glass case not giving a second thought if he had something to say about it when he found out. The binding is so old, and worn making it more beautiful than any other, cheap, paperback copy you would find in a bookstore. I couldn’t resist feeling all the intricate flowery looking designs, on the brown colored cover of the book, and turning the yellow colored pages getting a whiff of that wonderful old book smell. It’s a first editi

Then I went to the closet, found an old cardigan, and slipped it on to cover the bruise like armor. The house was quiet so I could hear him downstairs in his study, drawers opening, papers rustling. The sound of a man drowning in his own righteousness. I picked up a book from my bedside table—Jane Eyre. The irony of reading about another woman cornered by faith and duty wasn’t lost on me. I tried to focus on the words, but my thoughts kept drifting to the way his hand shook when he let go, to the anger that had sat just beneath his skin for years.

It was written by Margarette Nielsen. Hmmm. I don't mean to judge the protagonist, but isn't it a shallow reason to get yourself killed? Ugh, how insensitive am I? Maybe, I have the guts to say this cause I never had my heart broken, I am an NBSB (No boyfriend since birth) kind of gal. So I don't know anything about heartaches and heart breaks. Therefore, I don't know her pain. I felt sorry for judging this book easily. So, to bring back its value, I decided to buy and read it. It will be my first time to read this kind of story; I was more on fiction-fantasy.