Notebook Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You don't have any clothing in there? You have an entire bag for stationary?" "I need my notebooks," I reply defensively. I twist my lips at him in annoyance. Who is he to challenge my life? But then again, we're in this together. So maybe he should have a say? I dismiss the thought outright. Fuck that. I pick up my favorite notebook, a 300 page pink and white "monstrosity" as Emma calls it. It's gorgeous really, shades of pink crossing it with white flowers and rhinestones scattered over it.

The notebook had been lying on the nightstand, and curiosity had gotten the better of her. She'd tried to sneakily read it hoping it was a diary Ariana wrote secrets in but her best friend had walked into the room and caught her red-handed. “Give that back!” Ariana had laughed, snatching the notebook from Lena’s hands before she could open it. “That’s not my diary, you nosy bitch.” Lena grinned, pretending to be innocent. “What is it then? A sex schedule book?” “ Arggghh you dirty minded girl! It’s just a contact book. I write down people’s numbers in case I lose my phone or something. I’m paranoid about losing important contact

“Thank you.” “Is that all, Your Highness?” “Yes, Reid. Good night.” “Good night, Prince Jarren.” I hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. I picked up the book off my desk and propped myself against the headboard. I looked at the cover. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting .”Yes, I was reading a pregnancy book. I wasn’t sure how much of it would relate to Jillie and me since our baby wasn’t human, well, not completely human, but I was finding out many different little facts. It was…fascinating.

"The fourth notebook is not a continuation of the third. It is a different kind of record. The third notebook documents what was done to people. The fourth notebook documents how people describe what was done to them. Those are not the same document. One is evidence. The other is testimony. Both matter. Only one belongs entirely to the person who gives it." She buys the fourth notebook on a Thursday at the stationery supply on Silver Hollow's commercial street, which is an ordinary shop that sells pens and paper and notebooks to a cit

The electric fence hissed, alive with power. From here, the building didn’t look like much. Just steel walls sunk into the earth, a boxy shell with floodlights and watchtowers. But she knew the truth: most of it was underground. A labyrinth of labs and cells, reinforced doors and biometric locks. A prison for things the world wasn’t ready to face. And somewhere inside was Cerebus. Her best friend. Her only friend. Ellie tightened the straps on her backpack. She reached up and touched the collar dangling from it — Alpha, Beta, Gamma. The brass tags clinked softly, like the chiming of a promise.

"That is a good phrase." Don looked at him. "You have been writing in the journal," he said. "The journal is also a record. The journal is the mind's record, not the body's. The journal organizes. It narrates. It makes sense of things. The notebook is different. The notebook is the body's record. The notebook does not organize. It collects."

The first thing I noticed was the notebook. Soft leather. Ivory-colored. Elegant but simple. My fingers brushed across the cover, and my heart skipped when I saw the gold foil lettering pressed perfectly into the surface. A.D. My initials. How were they able to do that! I slowly opened it, running my thumb along the thick cream pages. The paper felt expensive…smooth, almost silky. The kind of notebook you wouldn’t want to ruin with messy sketches. The kind that made you want to draw something worthy of it.

It seems to be something quite important to her. “Yay! Here it is!!! I finally found it.” Anna took a notebook with a black cover. The outside was covered with a leather cloth, and although the edge of the cover was worn but visible, this notebook was very well preserved. Flipping the first few pages, Anna happily read the contents of the notebook written by hand. At a glance, all seemed to be formulas and some sample solutions for math. Anna put the old notebook on the table, took the pink paper that had been straightened, and read the topic on it again.

Some fuzzy socks with cute animals on them. There’s a thick leather folio that opens up with a folder for papers on one side and a large note pad on the other, he runs his fingers over the place where his initials are embossed into the leather. Andre speaks softly standing beside where Dylan is sitting, “just so you know, it was my idea since you’re going to be a TA next year. I know it’s not the floral Gucci leather notebook you were looking at...but my phone did that weird thing where it sends me ads based on a conversation I had in real life…and it made me think of you and mom needing ideas—but yeah, so I get the credit for that one.”

Just to give them somewhere to go. He'd bought the notebook the same day. A Moleskine, black, the kind he'd used in college for lecture notes and never since. He'd written the first entry on the F train, coming home from the appointment: Things I have done that I am not proud of. The list had been longer than he'd expected. Longer than he'd wanted. He'd added to it over the following days, the items coming to him at odd moments—in the shower, at his desk, in the middle of the night when he woke and couldn't fall back asleep.