Quote From The Notebook What Do You Want Novels & Stories

Dahil ako lang ang nakakalam na ito’y diary, everyone else knows it as a notebook. Silence greeted me. Kahit alam ko na it was quite difficult to obtain the diaries through underground means, I still have my hope. I was about to give up, when the elderly gentleman, Mr. Eye of Notorary speak. “Are you talking about the Witch of Iceland Archmage?” My eyes almost sparkled, I restraint myself from showing any abnormal behavior and nodded calmly. “Yes, sir.” Mr. Eye of Notorary nodded. “I don’t have the whole notebook but only five pages of it, I’ll sell it you in 5 Nars.”

" My Calculus notebook. Bring it next week after doing those problems." I look up and frown at her. She glares back at me and I quickly break eye contact. I don't take the book from her hand and this time I couldn't help but fist my hands tightly in anger. " oh..! Mine too.", Kevin says. " But I don't have a notebook. Okay, do one thing Nate, buy a notebook from the store and copy those problems.", he says and looks at Ethan. " Man..do you have a notebook? Or should he buy one for you too ?"

I give him a slow, deliberate smile and a sharp wink. I’ve got this, husband. Konstantin stares at me for a beat, his hands resting flat on the table. A dark amusement flickers in his eyes, though his face remains stone. He leans in just an inch, his voice washing over my ear. “What is the notebook for, zhenshchina?” “Just some notes, Mr. Morozov,” I murmur, keeping my eyes fixed forward as the projector screen flickers to life. “I like to keep track of the details.”

"What venom? If it was really venomous, would I still be standing here just fine?" At this point, Oliver backed her up. "I think so too. Look, nothing's wrong with me either. Mom's tough as nails. No way a little spider could take her down. "You're just overthinking this and trying to stop us from getting those boxes, right? Those boxes might have valuable treasures inside. Are you trying to keep them all for yourself?" I was so frustrated that I laughed. "I'm genuinely trying to help you. Why are you still thinking about those empty boxes at a time like this!"

Was it perhaps? There was a flash of discomfort a tiny crack in her well-planned triumph. The notebook. That fucking journal. It was a liability as well as an idiotic childish thing full of Ivys innocent ideas and observations. It included information on Sloans whereabouts schedule and secrets. the very things they were attempting to reveal.

"Thanks. Hope you're hungry." "I can snack while we work." I opened up my backpack, and pulled out a notebook. "20 pages of quotes about life here. Beautiful words from brilliant minds. Read them all through once, then go back and mark a few of the ones that really resonate with you. No more than half-a-dozen." She looked shocked. "Homework? At this hour? Isn't there something you'd rather be doing our last full day together?" I shook my head. "Nothing that would give me near as much happiness and satisfaction as helping you find your mission in life. Indulge me, while I do some more work on the pool. Let me know when you're done."

"Luke, why don't you have a good talk with your fiancee? After all, you're quite capable at work. It's a waste to lose your job like this." I smiled and shook my head before looking out the window. "No need. The world's so big. I want to see it." Mr. Babel's eyes were filled with more confusion as if he could not understand. "The workshops outside are nice, but ours isn't bad either. Things will get better." My smile widened.

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.

And the person running it had chosen her people and been chosen back and had a notebook in her coat and a soul-bond on her left side and a birthday cake with a slightly wrong hazelnut ratio on the table. That was enough. That was more than enough. That was everything her father had written the notebook hoping for.

“Good binding. Do not waste it on soft thoughts.” “I will waste it on hard ones.” “Acceptable.” Before sleep I wrote on the first page of Victor’s gift, the ink dark and sure. Operational space claimed. Claim language withdrawn. Fog attempted through Rowan and failed. Expansion draft under denser orders. Birthday hour kept with exits honored. Compilation rights clean. A notebook with no surname on it, ready for arguments and grocery lists. My life is filling with real things that do not require my collapse to justify them. Still not over.