David Foster Wallace Favorite Books Novels & Stories

As a matter of fact, the more I got to know him, the more I seemed to realize just how different he was compared to Kevin. “I don’t think it’s boring at all. I love reading and watching movies too, if I ever get the time. What are your favorites?” I asked him, seeing how his eyes lit up, excited to share one of his passions. “Well, I am a guy, so my favorite book is To Kill a Mockingbird, and my favorite movie would have to be The Godfather. What about you?” He asked me, leaning his shoulder against the food truck as his eyes never left me. Even though it looked as if his eyes kept looking down on my lips, but that might have been a fantasy of mine, who was to tell? So instead of leaning in

she turned away from me again, running her fingers down the spines of a few water-warped novels. You. "The one behind my desk," I answered. "It's my favorite." Evelyn looked over my desk at the worn down novel, the years and years of use made it delicate. She stroked a gentle finger over the cover. "It looks well-loved." "Do you have a favorite book, Evelyn?" I asked, leaning back at the table, our dirty dishes stacked neatly, ready for a cabin boy to take them away in the morning. She glanced at me from over her shoulder, a smile pulling on the corners of her lips. A devious smirk that screamed indignance. "I do. It's called, 'The Art of Profanity'."

Four huge shelves lines the walls, books of various kinds arranged in them. He must be a lover of books. “Staying in an isolated place requires unique hobbies,” he says, sliding out a book. “Most of these have been read.” He flips the book open. “What is your favorite book?” Vladimir’s attention is buried in the book. “I don’t like novels.” “What books do you like?” “Anything but novels.” “You have bad taste in things.” He closes the book and returns to its position. Leaning against the shelf, he shoves his hands into his pockets, gazing at me. “Who was he?”

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.

When she asked him what kind of books he liked, Christian answered slowly. “No matter how many times I get asked that question, the answer is always the same. My favorite book is ‘Meditations on Quixote’ by Jose Ortega y Gasset. Every time I read it, I fall in love with it all over again. You should try it too when you get a chance. I think you might also like ‘I Am Not I’ by Juan Ramon. Lorca’s poems are also very memorable.” This was a night she could never forget.

“Suboptimal for intimate conversation. We will take future meals in the morning room or the annex. The data supports it.” Keila, emboldened by the strange new setting, looked at him. “Mr. Luther, what was your favorite room when you were little?” He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. The question, from his past, in this formal room, seemed to disorient him. “The… the library. It was predictable. The books were in a fixed order. The silence was complete.” “Did you have a favorite book?” “The Way Things Work. By David Macaulay. It presented complex mechanical systems as logical, visual narratives.” He offered a rare, unprompted piece of personal data. “I found it… reassuring.”

I spoke to my fishy companion and sipped my coffee. I ate a cherry yogurt at the kitchen bar and fixed a second cup of coffee. One whole wall of the main room held shelves of books. I perused his collection, which was eclectic to say the least. Classics, mysteries, mainstream stuff and tons of historical fiction filled out most of it. There was some military history and books on photography. A large amount on statistics and gambling too. He had popular fiction and even a few books of poetry, which made me smile. I liked that Ethan valued books. I snagged a book of letters Keats had written to Fanny Brawne and took it into the living room to sit on the sofa and enjoy. I had my coffee, angsty

It is Divergent, insurgent, and Allegiant first edition series, the notebook, The fault in our stars, and Shakespeare books. "I didn't know what kind of books you like, so I just picked the ones I think you might love"a voice startled me, and I placed my hand over my chest. "You scared me, " "Sorry," there is a dark grey wardrobe just behind the door. And a matt on the floor, a white round table at the corner. "It's fine really, I think I will read them. It's been a while since I have read an addictive book, maybe I will find one in these books. Who knows"I shrug, and sit on the bed.

“I prefer reading non-fiction in my free time. Most recently, I read Sapiens, by Yuval Noah Harari, which is a history of humans and their social structures. I intend to read the sequel, Homo Deus, next.” “Sounds enthralling,” Andre muttered, rolling his eyes for my benefit. “I assure you it was.” The bartender smoothly replaced the empty margarita pitcher with a fresh one, placing an empty glass in front of Roman. The Englishman nodded his head in thanks. “We read each other’s favorite books,” I explained. “Andre’s is Red Storm Rising.” “By that military tosser Tom Clancy?” Roman scoffed haughtily. “His books are overly stuffed with bollocks acronyms and officer jargon. It’s the rare case w

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.