Quote From The Notebook What Do You Want Novels & Stories

My life depends on it. "I don't want to. Give me back my notebook." She was looking at her notebook intently. She was about to run out of patience with this man. When she saw that Prince Caspian was not holding her notebook tightly, she immediately pulled it out of her grasp and quickly ran to the exit.

Alex Russo always got what he wanted, one way or another. And right now, apparently, what he wanted was me. God help us both. ***

Again. Bastard. My pen rolls off the notebook as I lean forward again, elbows on the desk. The dim lamp beside me casts a soft pool of light over the page, but my focus has long since abandoned supply curves and market theory. Another message arrives before I can respond. 'What are you actually doing right now?' I glance down at the open notebook. The half-outlined paragraph. 'Trying to study' I type back. 'Trying?' 'You’re distracting.' 'Careful,' he replies. 'You almost made that sound like a compliment.'

She held out the notebook. "I want to read all of them," she said. "Not today. Over time." She held his gaze. "I want to know all the previous versions. The dark ones and the angry ones and the ones from before." She paused. "Because they made the current version and I want to understand where you came from." He looked at the notebook. "Why?" he said. Not resistant. Genuinely asking. "Because you know where I came from," she said. "The rooftop and the notebook with the coffee stain and the five years and all of it." She held his gaze. "You knew me from the beginning. I want to know you from the beginning too."

And she has just the right amount of curves at the right places. Calvin walked to her bed and sat down, his eyes saw a black thing under her pillow. _what's this?_ he wondered. Then he took off the pillow and under it was a black notebook. He always bought notebooks for her which she uses to write but this one doesn't look like one if it. He took it up and examined it, written at the cover of the book was, "write your deepest darkest desires in here and watch it come to past". Calvin stared in bewilderment at the absurdity of the title.

Samuel blinked. "That's all?" Nathan nodded. "Sometimes that's enough." The notebook showed obvious signs of age. Its cover had faded, but the pages remained well preserved. Nathan carefully opened the first page. No author's name. No title. Only a handwritten sentence. These notes do not belong to me. The words immediately caught Amara's attention. Nathan turned the page. Another sentence appeared. They belong to anyone willing to question power before seeking to exercise it. Samuel looked at Amara.

"Close the notebook." "Walk away." "And I will leave this world untouched." The library became silent. The First Reader said nothing. The gray-coated man remained still. Even the little girl waited. No one could make this decision except Adrian. He looked at the blank page. Then at the endless shelves waiting to be filled. Slowly... he placed the tip of the Pen of Beginnings against the paper. Instead of writing a sentence... he wrote a single word. Imagine. The notebook burst into brilliant golden light.

"Use what you have." The door clicked shut behind him. I sat there with my recorder still running and two pages of genuinely excellent notes and one question I hadn't even finished asking. The quote sat open on the page in front of me, my own handwriting looking back at me like it belonged to someone else. I reached over and stopped the recording. Antonio found me twenty minutes later still in the same chair. He looked at the closed door, then at me, then at my notebook. He pulled out the chair Jannis had been sitting in and sat down in it, which felt slightly surreal.

I sat up and saw a note plastered on it. I read it out. “If you want to know the kind of person Neon is, come now.”

Her heart pounded with everything she hadn’t said aloud. She reached for the black leather notebook she hadn’t touched since Week One — her real journal. Not the tech planner. Not the color-coded task lists. This was the one place she let herself fall apart. She flipped to a blank page. The pen in her hand felt heavier than usual. At the top, she wrote: > “What do I want?” The silence stared back. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight. > “I want to win.” She underlined it. > “I want to feel seen.”