Novel & Cerita Classic Books You Have To Read

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

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."

"I need something to occupy my mind, not sedate it, little bird. Something dramatic, passionate, maybe a classic tragedy." ​We paused in front of a section devoted to foreign literature. ​"How about Wuthering Heights?" I suggested, pulling the dense volume from the shelf. "All-consuming passion, deep obsession, and tragic consequences. A perfect distraction." ​He took the book from my hand as his fingers brushed mine. A contact that lasted a mere second but felt like an electric jolt. I immediately hid my hand behind me. He weighed the book in his hand, not looking at the title but at me.

<<36>> * You've got to Realize that the most valuable thing you have is today. * **** ----- Mira. ----- I arrived at my class just in time for the literature class to commence. Literature is no doubt my most favorite subject. The class was interesting and insightful as always, it was a book review. The book we read was the secret history by Donna Tartt and a collection of poems by Hayao Miyazaki The interactive class was super fun and interesting. During the course of it, Eva stood up and asked one of the major questions on my mind, which was why the books we read in literature class are mostly ones written by oldies and not youngsters.

Oh well. I put thoughts of Derris aside and focused instead on the amazing collections in front of me. It was there. Everything from the classics like Shakespeare and the Brontës to the newer ones like J. R. R. Tolkien and JK Rowlings. It was basically a dream come true for me.

"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."

I missed my mate, my freedom, my friends, Kailin, and everyone at the vineyards. I watched a series about a group of delinquent kids born in space and dropped to Earth to see if the air was already breathable. I finished Episode twelve, and when a particular character pissed me off, I turned it off and went to read something in the study. There were some fiction books, but primarily old books from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Herman Melville. There were self-help and meditation books and a book about mystical creatures. I walked out of the study. If she allowed me to read a book about witchcraft, it might interest me, but that would be as dangerous as walking into the darkness without

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.

I’ve lived my life, protecting myself from the world, from disappointment, betrayal and lies, but with her, I began to bring down those walls until I didn’t even know when my feelings developed into so much more without even seeing a glimpse of her. I skim over her collection, Motorcycle Club, Mafia... Disney Villain tales… and then there are the classics that she accidentally slipped out that she reads before denying she read them. I crouch down. They may be at the bottom, but the books have been read and I can’t help but smile. Jane Eyre, Anne of Green Gables, Pride and Prejudice, The Thirteenth Tale… Smiling, I take out the first book in the Anne of Green Gables collection, remembering ho