Classic Books Read Novels & Stories

“You don’t exactly give off the warm and approachable vibe.” “That’s because I’m not warm,” he said flatly. “But I am human.” That made me pause. It was the first time he’d said it so directly. As if he needed me to hear it. To believe it. “Do you remember what you read here?” I asked softly. “Mostly old classics. Steinbeck. Hemingway. My mother was obsessed with making me ‘well-read.’” He made air quotes. “Said a man who could understand words could understand people.”

Lucas explained and I turned to him. “I’m really sorry about your mum,” I said sincerely. “What was her favorite thing to read?” Lucas turned to me with a small smile on her face “It was anything between children fiction- she loved the classics, everything written by Charles dickens- that was all she loved and she had an entire section dedicated to it. It’s phenom-“ “Someone is here.” Malcolm said hurridely as he interrupted us, his eyes were hard and focused on Lucas who looked equally as confused.

His eyes never left my face, and I just couldn't bring myself to stare back at him. I was about to leave when I spotted the book he was reading from the corner of my eyes. He had closed the book when I walked in, so I saw the cover and title, "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. I looked up at him in astonishment, "I didn't think you would be interested in classic literature."

“Only because it’s an emergency.” Elmo rubbed his eyes, and blinked away fatigue. As his vision cleared he found himself looking at Lucas’ bookshelf, and his heart sank as he surveyed the spines of books his friend loved so much. There were copies of The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, The Three Investigators and The Secret Seven, as well as modern mystery thrillers by authors such as Lee Child and James Patterson. But there were also older novels that Elmo recalled as movies on TCM but had never read. He saw Treasure Island and Ivanhoe, Tom Sawyer and Robinson Crusoe.

Alana let go of our hands, darting toward the children’s section at the end of the hall. Suddenly, it was just the two of us. Standing side by side in the narrow aisle of classic literature. Gareth tucked his hands into his pockets, scanning the spines of the books with a quiet, respectful interest. "What do you usually go for, Claire?" he asked softly. His voice seemed to blend into the hum of the air conditioning. I ran my fingers along the worn spines of the hardcovers. "The classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës... anything with beautiful prose and a happy ending. I suppose I like the escape."

The more I try to draw boundaries she is making it nearly impossible for me to control myself from going and grabbing her face and kissing the shit out of her. I take a deep breath and return a soft smile," how about the classics, lex?" I ask her to divert my mind. " well, pride and prejudice is the only one I can truly think of!" she caresses the book on the book rack. " hmmm, interesting. I can't find any better than that one in the classics," I say while walking toward her. " but I think sense and sensibility were nice too, you know," I whisper not wanting to disturb other people in the store

I said. "Well then," he said. "Please enlighten me: what is your favorite film and book?" "Favorite film is Gone with The Wind, favorite book is Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy." He grimaced. "I half-expected the gushy romance part, but not the lack of happy endings," Adam said. ''Lack of happy endings?!'' I asked. "Says the man whose favorite book is The Art of War..." "I see your point." I leaned forward and pulled out the bag of breakfast that Mrs. Chandler had sent us.

He nods. “Um.” What is the next logical thing to say? “Who do you like to read?” He looks surprised, like he’s said what he meant to say, and he wasn’t expecting a follow up. After a few seconds of blank-eyed blinking, he says, “Jack London. Robert Louis Stevenson. Uh. Jules Verne. Alexandre Dumas.” Except for Jack London, who they made us read at Moon Lake school, I’ve never heard of these guys.

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.

he said softly, leaning towards Sammy. - Why? She raised her eyes. – Like, is it not very fashionable to be interested in classical literature? Doyle shrugged. "It's not fashionable to be stupid," he said. - And in the classics you can learn a lot of useful things. Unless, of course, you know where to look. "I didn't know you were a reader," Sammy giggled. “Okay, then how did you figure out Jane Eyre?” - Frog, it's so simple. Travis's blue eyes sparkled. - You look like a heroine.