Classic Books Read Novels & Stories

Miss Bolanle repeated herself and I sat up straight. 'I... I think...' I cleared my throat. 'I think they are necessary books to escape realities for a while. Books like that served as companions for most of while growing up.' She nodded and she started to say something else to the class. Classics were like my sanctuary while growing up. I was especially fond of Cinderella and Thumbelina's story. I actually thought a fairy godmother would appear or a swallow would turn up to fly me out of my big yet empty childhood. Miss Bolanle excused herself from the class even though we still had like 20 minutes more and the class broke into loud murmurs when she left. I started packing my books when I f

Everything from classic literature to contemporary fiction to business texts and philosophy. "Find something you like?" Alex's voice came from the doorway, and I turned to find him watching me with soft eyes. "This room is incredible," I said. "Have you read all of these?" "Most of them. Some are Nick's. We've been collecting since college." He moved into the room, standing close enough that I could feel his warmth. "You're welcome to any of them. Or we can get you new ones, if you prefer." "No, these are perfect." I pulled out a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. "This was my favorite when I was younger."

“I’m looking for some books for my fiancée, but I’m not sure what she likes to read.” The sales assistant tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, we have a wide variety. Perhaps I can suggest some classic novels? They’re always a safe choice.” Jack nodded, feeling a little more confident. “That sounds like a good idea. Can you show me some?” The sales assistant led Jack to a shelf filled with novels from different eras and styles. “Here are some classics,” she said, picking up a volume. “This is ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s a love story that many women adore.”

A reader? I feel drawn to the shelf like a moth to a flame. My fingers trail over the spines — classic literature, philosophy, ancient history. Lost in the titles, my eyes land on a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights. I rise onto my toes, straining, my fingers just brushing its edge. It wobbles and then falls from the shelf with a heavy thud that sends a cloud of dust into the air making me sneeze twice.

The walls being light colored didn’t surprise me more than the mountains upon mountains of books he has sitting on bookshelves surrounding the room. I walk around the room running my hands over all the different titles and authors. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, H.G Wells, and so much more. Wuthering Heights, a first edition version sat in a case in between the shelves by a set of double doors to what looks like a balcony. It stuck out to me more than any of the other titles because it surprises me more than anything that he would read a book such as that. I try to picture in my head him sitting in a chair with glasses, all relaxed and snuggled up reading a classical romance novel

Again she felt as though his words held hidden meaning and guilt flooded her at the thought of her true intentions. “What do you like to read?” “Well, Baudelaire, as I said, although some would say he is very maudlin. I like the classics.” “Like?” “Dickens, Homer..” “Aren’t they English writers?” “Yes, did you not study the classics at school?” she looked at him as though she was chiding him. “I didn’t go to Middlesex Prep.” Her head went back a little, absorbing what he had said. “How do you know I went there?”

"What are you reading? Besides the textbook." The change in subject threw me. "Um, I just finished The Stand by Stephen King." His eyes lit up. "The Stand? That's over a thousand pages. You actually finished it?" "I've read it three times," I admitted. "Three times?" He looked genuinely impressed. "Most people won't even read it once because of the length." "The length is part of the appeal," I said, feeling slightly more confident talking about books. "You get to live in that world for longer, get to know the characters so deeply. It's like being part of something bigger than yourself."

Jake and Ethan exchanged a few pleasantries while I tried to focus on going through my books and deciding which ones to keep and which ones to donate. Ethan helped me and exclaimed when he picked out the classics we had read together for our English assignments. The pages were annotated with both of our messy handwriting. “God, I hated reading classics,” he said, closing yet another book and keeping it in the growing pile. “I thought you were always excited to read the next one as soon as we finished one.” Ethan looked at me, his blue-green eyes warm in the sunlight splattered across my room. He gave me a small secret smile and said, “It’s because I loved reading them with you.”

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.

If he can see every move I make, how will I ever make a move against him? During my rampage of a small bookshelf on the wall next to the bed, I find classic books such as, The Catcher in the Rye, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and so on. Spotting amongst the classics a leather bound book with no title or author. I slowly open it and inside handwritten pages are revealed. May 12th 1998