Note Book Quotes Novels & Stories

"Shall we find the director and send hate but loving comments to his F******k or i*******m?" "You've never had a smarter idea in your life." Serene said, grabbing her laptop that was always on the living room table. "I'll take it a compliment." I smiled and sat up as she typed his name. "He gets to live a happy looking life while we must suffer because of his movies." We scrolled through a few photos before going to inbox him. We started off with loving messages. Your movie, The Notebook, was so good! I enjoyed it so much and it really lifted my sprit! Sent by me of course.

“You memorized it.” Brandon immediately understood. “He never needed the notebook.” Adrian nodded slowly afterward. “Exactly.” I looked toward Brandon afterward. “You knew?” “No.” He looked genuinely confused. “I didn’t know that.” I turned toward Adrian afterward. “So the notebook was useless?” “Not useless.” He pointed toward me. “It was created to help you remember.” I immediately looked at the black notebook. “Then why did I write inside it?” “Because you were afraid of forgetting.” My chest tightened afterward.

“I am.” That seemed to settle something in him. “I’m glad,” he said. As we parted, he didn’t touch me. Didn’t ask. Didn’t linger. And that mattered more than anything he could’ve said. At home, I opened a blank notebook. Wrote at the top: Things I Choose 1. Myself. 2. Work that doesn’t shrink me. 3. Love that doesn’t confuse me. 4. Silence that heals. 5. Joy without permission. I closed it.

she sniffs. James´ brow furrows. "That´s a quote, isn´t it?" Her eyes slide up to his, "Yes Master, it is." He looks out of the window, scratching the bridge of his nose. "I know the reference, but for the life of me, I can´t think where from." She stares at him. "It´s from ´The Notebooks of Lazarus Long.´ taken from Heinlein´s ´Time Enough for Love´." He still looks puzzled. "That´s an old nineteen-seventies science fiction novel, isn´t it? I don´t think I´ve ever read it. Why would I know the quote?"

"That's a quote, isn't it?" Her mouth opens, and her eyes widen on him. "Yes Master, it is." Gazing out of the window, he rubs his nose. "I know the reference, but for the life of me, I can't think where from." Charlotte's eyes are glossing.... What's going on here? Michael exchanges a look with me, shrugging and shaking his head. She almost whispers. "It's from 'The Notebooks of Lazarus Long.' taken from Heinlein's 'Time Enough for Love'."

He tapped the pen against the notebook again, then added beneath it: PEOPLE SAY THAT A LOT. "Well, it’s not a bad thing," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Makes you seem… I don’t know. More grounded." His brow furrowed slightly at that, like he wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or a strange observation. He didn’t reply this time, just slid the notebook back toward me so I could see the last line he’d added in smaller, neater handwriting. DOES AGE MATTER TO YOU?

The knowing saw. Don wrote this in the notebook. The notebook was the small black one he carried on walks—the one that had replaced the previous small black notebook, which had filled up and been retired to the study, where it sat on the shelf with the other filled notebooks from the thirty-two years. The accumulation of notebooks. The accumulation of observations. The accumulation of the seeing.

My kind of woman. I saw her notebooks on her table and since she’s taking so long downstairs, I decided to check them. I opened each notebook and saw a lot of notes written neatly and in detail. She's a very eager in her studies and there were scribbles and doodles that she made in the corners of the page in her notebook. I bet she was bored during her class when she did this because I used to do the same thing when I was younger. One caught my attention, she doodled my name and a quote under it saying,

"Leibniz." "Tell Leibniz I have opinions." "He is not available." "Obviously." She dropped the notebook onto her desk and looked at me through the screen. "Walk me through it. From the beginning. Pretend I know nothing." "You know something." "Pretend I know less than I know."

She reached her apartment door, and there it was: A small, brown-wrapped package sitting neatly on the mat. No name. No return address. Curious, she brought it inside and opened it slowly. Inside was a journal. Hardback. Deep blue cover, smooth to the touch. The pages were blank, unlined, waiting to be filled. But it wasn’t the emptiness inside that caught her breath. It was the quote embossed across the front in delicate gold lettering: “Some people rise from the ashes. Others remember they were the fire all along.” Sophia stared at it, a quiet smile curving her lips.