Famous Book Titles Novels & Stories

"I can ask for anything?" "Well, sure. Anything within reason." I wanted to snort. "What does that mean?" I walked over to the bookshelf and scanned the titles. There were titles I'd never seen before and several I had, like Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby, and To Kill a Mockingbird.

he asked, taking another sip of his coffee. "A book," was her dry reply, without even looking up. Nic gritted his teeth. "I'm aware of that. What's the title?" he asked, with less patience than before. "How to kill someone you don't like in two days." Nic had to laugh on the inside. She really was a funny piece of work. She still had yet to learn her manners, but she would. He would be damn sure of that. He walked over to her and snatched the book from her hands. Before she could protest, he read the title to himself. '100 Greatest Love Poems of All Time'. He handed the book back to her and walked to the bar area and sipped some more of his coffee.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Because choosing the right title is harder than writing a book. It’s the first thing that readers notice about the book.” She sighed and Christian stared deep into her eyes. “Suggest me something good!!” She wiggled in his lap to wake him up. “My Indian Wife,” Christian said in his deep voice.

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But when I see the title of the first book on top, I gasp and rush towards it. Absent-mindedly, I sit on the chair and bring it closer to the desk. My hands shake. Why do they shake? I pick the book which makes a bubble of emotions burst in me. "Gone with the wind." by Margaret Mitchell stares right back at me in its red hardcover beauty. My fingers trail each letter of the title as I stare in amazement. I open the book and a note falls from it to the table.

Christian looks at me and asks, "I assume you didn't know your grandfather was a famous anonymous writer." "Not at all," I respond, completely shocked. "Have you heard of Walk Away, When the Night Calls, or Her Beautiful Soul?" he asks, and my jaw drops, as does Max's. All these titles have been best-sellers for years. "He... he wrote all of those?" I stammer, utterly amazed.

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

she gives me a warm smile and just shakes her head before she nods and turns back to placing the books on the shelves. I quickly come across a book on bonds, but it takes me ages to find one about demons. I search through every book and shelf until, finally, at the very top, I spot a small, extremely dusty book. Although it doesn’t explicitly say “demons,” its title, “Monsters of Our World,” is the closest I can find.

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.

Gina said with her mouth full. Selena looked at her with a confused face. "Have you been reading more of those books?" She was referring to the books on Gina's desk that had weird titles like "How to properly unlock the door without the key." , "Speak like a smarty pants!" , "Who are you? I am the ugly world?" , "Books for people who are cops." And other titles. Selena didn't even want to think of how silly the contents were. Who on earth even wrote those books and where did Gina even get them?