One Hundred Years Of Solitude Kindle Novels & Stories

She thought she’d pick up a light romance to pass the time away with, but found herself diving into a book about haunted houses instead. She’d just finished mentally chastising herself for feeding her superstitions and fears with books of that nature and was hurrying to return it to the shelf when she accidently slammed into a firm, immobile body. At first, she thought it was a mannequin, but she soon realized that there was life in that smooth smile and those sparkling brown dark eyes.

"Not amused. What would you like to have? I'll order for it," "Another cup of coffee; no sugar, no creme," Shola replied, her eyes not moving away from the book she was reading. Solano just stared at her, amused. He ripped the book from her hand and moved a few feet away from the bed, "Why are you reading a cheesy romance novel?" He waved the book playfully in the air. "Uhh, because I'm bored and not willing to die from it. Give me back my book Solano," "Am not stopping you from getting it, now am I?" He grinned maliciously,

“Then what are some of your favorites?” “Would it be cheesy to say that all of these are?” She pulled out a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude. “You’ve read all these? Impressive. I don’t know if I’ve read thirty percent of the books on my shelf.” “I only keep the ones I like. I have a rule that if I don’t read a book within a year of buying it, I donate it.” She laughed. “If I had that rule, I wouldn’t have any books left.” Placing the book in her hand back onto the shelf, she continued looking before taking out another one. “Lady Chatterley’s Lover, huh? I have read this one.”

I still had plenty of time to get ready and head to the club to meet Antony and his friends. I put my backpack on, locked the car, and went to buy that coffee. I sat on my favorite bench and enjoyed my coffee while I read my book. The book I borrowed from the public library was Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes. People said it was really good and I agree with them. I swallowed the pages like I was famished! It was amazing so far and I was still on page forty-one. I sighed with satisfaction and thanked Cervantes for this pleasant distraction.

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It’s an old leather-bound book, with a red leather cover and a gold emblem on the front, she turns it to read the spine, “The Parrot and the Hunter. Is this a children’s book or a weird shifter romance novel?” Morpheus laughs, and she sits down and opens it, “Ah, romance novel.” She taps it thoughtfully, “No pictures.” She smiles as Sol flushes and she curls up on the sofa to read, she flips through, “Oh, my apologies, there are pictures.” Sol groans as she takes in the etching of two people clearly fucking each other senseless. “Informative pictures.” Morpheus laughs hard,

Since I didn’t own much, it didn’t take long. Then, I noticed something tucked beneath the bed. A navy blue journal. It was mine. Flipping it open, my eyes landed on memories I couldn’t recall but had once written. "Day one of our marriage. Shawn didn’t come home." "He said I was manipulative. That I drugged him to marry me. But I don’t even remember that night." "Attempt 1: He said even if I died in front of him, he wouldn’t flinch." "Attempt 100: If he still doesn’t care, and my parents still don’t love me, then maybe I’ll stop trying since no one in this world sees me."

It was just a lot of questions I didn’t want at all so that’s why I don’t use the credit card on books. Pushing out a breath, I shoved the thoughts of my father to the back of my mind and refocused, running my fingers along the spines of the books I was returning. When I got to my new favorite, One Hundred Years of Solitude, I hesitated, tracing the title absentmindedly, perhaps I should give it a re-read and use it for my thesis? A voice suddenly spoke behind me, quoting a line from the book. “Death really did not matter to him, but life did, and therefore the sensation he felt when they gave their decision was not a feeling of fear, but of nostalgia.”