Good Books To Get Back Into Reading Novels & Stories

Klark, ‘Tribid Greed’ by Steve Reynolds, and a lot of other books. One by one Trisha returned all the books she'd picked. When she was beginning to get tired and unmotivated, the corner of her eyes perceived a strange book on a shelf not too far from where she was. Its spines were tattered and appeared like spiky wires beneath the poor lighting.

she said. I looked down at the veritable mountain of books. The titles ranged from “Disorders of the Mind: Wolf Psychosis and Beyond” to “Hidden Illnesses and Ways to Find Them”. I had already read several of them, but rereading them wouldn’t hurt. “Thanks.” I shoved the last bite of my second sandwich into my mouth, washed it down with the rest of my coffee, then hopped down from the filing cabinet and gathered everything up. “I’ll get started right away.”

Still, he felt a connection and he knew that if he didn't take the chance, he'd always wonder about what might have been. Blake powered down the laptop and retrieved an icy bottle of beer from the refrigerator. On the way to his leather armchair, he paused at the bookshelf to choose some reading material for the evening. Although he owned an e-reader, there were times he preferred the feel of a good hardcover in his hands, the aroma of the pages as they turned. He owed his eclectic collection of books to many things, not the least of which was his sudden shift in college majors. A good third of his books were history of one sort or another. Then there were his psychology books and books

But I really wasn't ready to go inside and face my fears. “I'll be right back.” “Take your time.” Zeke says, pulling out a thin, paperback book from his pocket. I notice the title and smile when I see that he is reading The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. “I have my book to keep me occupied.” “It's a pretty good book.” I tell him with a smile. “It must be. This is my fourth time reading it.” He tells me with a grin and I chuckle. He and I are so much alike. I reread my favorite books too; I've read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte six times.

By the time Momma passed I was married with a little one on the way, so my chance for college had passed, too. But I never stopped reading. Got me a nice little library out back, filled with all sorts of books crammed on bookshelves made by my own two hands. Books like Tom Sawyer, Edgar Allen Poe stories, Huck Finn and The King in Yellow, (that last one I don’t read much cause it always gives me strange dreams), some old mysteries, a clutch of Lovecraft’s books (they hurt my head, too, so I don’t read them much neither), my Hardy Boys books from growing up, and a whole bunch of newer ones by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Got some heavy thinking books, too. The family King James, The Book of

"But Sophia is a woman too, isn't she?" "Sophia is different. She's an online influencer, and she's always sharing her life as a wealthy wife. She's sophisticated and elegant… Ugh, what's the point in telling you this? You wouldn't get it. Just give the shares back to Dad." I glanced at the new gold bracelet I had bought and smiled to myself. It really was true that money knew quality. The bracelet looked stunning, and I was sure Alice would love it, too. "I sold the shares. You can find whoever who bought them to buy them back."

She cautiously made her way back to the quiet library. She scanned the thousands of titles, her fingers brushing over worn leather spines. She should have picked a history, or a strategy text, something to sharpen her mind. Instead, her hand hesitated and then settled on a novel with a worn, colorful cover depicting a windswept couple. A romance. It felt foolish, indulgent, but she pulled it from the shelf anyway.

Because it was accurate in the specific and complete way of an accuracy that contained more than its surface, that described not only the thing it named but the shape of the life that had produced the needing. She reads to feel less alone. I thought about the worn spines. I thought about the books read before and read again, the specific act of returning to a thing that had worked once to see if it worked again, the way you returned to it not because you had forgotten it but because the not-being-alone that it produced was a condition that required renewal, that did not persist on its own without the returning. I thought: she has been returning to these books for a long time. I thought: she

I replied, smiling back at him. I went through the back, got my stuff, and headed out to the bookshop at the front part of the coffee shop to browse the books. I need something good to go home and read so I don’t overthink. Thrillers and horrors are my go-to book, but I need something light-hearted and funny to read with these nightmares happening more often just now.

He said what are you reading. She told him. He said I tried to read that. He said I got sixty pages in and put it down and then felt guilty about putting it down for three weeks. She said that is the book. She said some books are for feeling guilty about for three weeks. He said that seems like a design flaw. She said no. She said the guilt means it got under your skin. She said you will pick it up again. He said you think so. She said yes. She said the ones you feel guilty about are always the ones you go back to. He said like people.