Novel & Cerita Long Classic Books

Logan nodded in understanding. "Mostly, the classics have been translated into English, but there are some books available talking about laws, history, and technological advancement." He went to stand with a tablet and typed out some words. He read through and turned to her. "They are in issue, so we can pick them up. Most books come in digital formats, but I think you will like physical books very much." That was right. Ellis enjoyed thumbing through the pages of books and smelling the paper. The experience seemed so much more enjoyable. "I would love that."

There's still long hours till morning. Checking the book in his hand, he discovered it to be a novel. 'The Red and the Black' by Stendhal. After checking the description of the book, he believed it wouldn't be bad to give it a try although he is not fond of reading novels. Leo prefer reading normal books, it doesn't matter which type it is as long as there are not romance books. Most of the romance books he read in the past are rather cliche, untrue and misleading because such love in books doesn't exist in this modern day society.

"No, I'd read it, but it's like, Ms. Reeds said our other books were too short, so I'd be showing her, 'You want a long book? Okay, here's a long book.' How long was Lucy's book last time?" "I don't know. Three hundred something." "Well, I'll find a book with three hundred pages. Or four hundred. I'll be showing Ms. Reeds and Lucy, too. Lucy won't be able to stand it that I read a longer book than she did." Jane was standing next to the classic section. "Here's one. Charles Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities. Four hundred twenty-two pages." Emily put the dog and the horse books back on the shelf. Jane wondered if Emily would tell her that she couldn't be vice president of Loser Club if she read a

Most of the books were more ledgers than anything, records of the pack’s history, but there was small section of classic books, some of which appeared to be first editions. Feeling a little excited over the prospect I searched the title, looking at the familiar names, the literary classics, before stopping on a title I had never heard of by an author I didn’t know. I was a big reader I always had been, so it was rare for me to come across an old book that held no recognition whatsoever. With a careful touch I pulled the leather-bound book from the shelf and read through the blurb finding myself amused as I discovered that the book was story of werewolves, apparently written by a human, a fan

Holy. Lena closed the door, her hand skimming the edge as if shutting a holy vessel. She did not rush to turn off the lights. Rather, she walked between the shelves, letting her fingertips trace worn spines and whitened covers, breathing in the scent of paper and years. The bookstore was her sanctuary. Her cathedral.

It was a study room. “I’m really sorry. I will just go.” I walked in the direction I came in. I couldn’t comprehend why I keep messing up everything. First it was climbing into his bed when he wasn’t there, then the embarrassing Leo story that my bestfriends took the honor of narrating. “Stay.” He muttered. I stopped in my tracks and looked puzzlingly at him. I avoided eye contact and settled my gaze to the books on the shelf. They were classics from Jane Eyre down to the Lord of the Flies. At the bottom of the shelf stood a huge collection of contemporary romance novels, the largest list I had ever seen someone possess.

I cough when it raises a puff of dust into the air on its way. “I gave you all the ones with more pictures,” Roger murmurs, closing his book and reaching for his next as well. “Wanted to make it easy on you.” My mouth drops open in a little outrage at his implication there but then I see the upturned corner of his lip. “Liar,” I say, smiling down at my book as I open the cover. The title page reads A Complete History of the Cults of the Dark God, 1862. “You just didn’t want to get your hands and clothes dusty touching all these old ones.” Passively, I gesture to my clothes – which are indeed covered in a light layer of grey library dust.

She asked, picking up one of the books and dusting the cover. "I do but those aren't mine. They were left by the previous owner," I said, grabbing two bowls from one of the pantries. "What are they about?" "There's some brilliant classics in here," She exclaimed, tracing her fingers over the spines of each book. "Bronte, Austen, Wilde." She named off a few authors. "Oh," She let out, pulling out one of the books at the bottom of the stack and walking over to me. "They've even got some of Freud's philosophies. Here- listen."

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

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.