Novel & Cerita Booktok Famous Books

"And what's your favorite?" "Oh that's too hard to choose sir. I mean of course I love classics like The Great Gatsby, 1984, and One Flew of the Cuckoo's Nest. I'm crazy about the James Bond books. But I have to say Misery is my favorite book. Stephen King is a genius." "So all that's told me is you read in high school and that's it. Aren't those all required reading?" "Daddy." I whispered. He took a long gulp from his glass. Sophia closed her eyes as though she was embarrassed.

"One of my all-time favorite books is 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho. Its themes of destiny, personal legend, and the journey of self-discovery really resonate with me. I also love romance novels." Phoenix raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "That's a classic choice, Star. Coelho's writing is so introspective." Dexter joins the discussion. "For me, I'm a big fan of non-fiction, particularly biographies of historical figures. 'Leonardo da Vinci' by Walter Isaacson is one I recently enjoyed. The depth of da Vinci's genius is truly inspiring." Astrid nods, impressed. "That sounds fascinating, Dexter. Da Vinci's life was truly remarkable."

Blaze jostled. "I knew I would get along well with you." Emerald cracked a small smile. "You love reading books?" When he nodded, she asked, "Who is your favorite author?" "I have tons of favorites. Some of them are, Napoleon Hill, Robert Kiyosaki, Benjamin Graham, Peter Thiel, Emerald Relish, Ayn Rand, Chris Guillebeau, Tony Robbins, and many more." Emerald is amazed by his knowledge of most of the good authors. "I noticed most of those authors wrote classic or business books, but one of the names seems unusual," Emerald said.

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.

When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”

So while he stands behind me watching me, which both intimidates and excites me, I take each book out, one by one, pulling them from the bookcase, some wonderful editions of Jane Austen, Dickens, Ovid, Homer, Kundera and then 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and, finally, Lolita. As I put Lolita on the top pile, I let out a sigh. I feel Paul slowly approach from behind me.

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre

Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him. He'd never intended to keep it. When Lena Carter had offered it to him—those gentle words, that thoughtful crease between her eyebrows—he'd intended to refuse. But something in her eyes had taken away his intention. It was neither flirting nor pretense. It was genuine. Silent. Generous. He hated kindness. It broke things open. Julian gazed down at the book. The cover was unadorned, the title in gold print: *A Man Called Ove*. He remembered Lena's words:

It was the best kind of job for me, I loved it and I got paid weekly, enough to eat, after my first paycheck, I had spent a full week starving, I tried to ask for my money beforehand but my boss who’s the meanest person ever, said no. How could such a cold hearted person be responsible for one of the best places in the world! There was no sleeping with a storm outside, I was up most of the night, I was up early and ready to go to work, I was slipping but pushed it down as I got out of her car and quickly walked over to the bookstore. I walked over to the children's books area, I was thankful no one was around as I sat down in a beanbag after grabbing a few books to read.