Reading Books Aesthetic Novels & Stories

Ace explained before he grinned at me. I knew immediately that he was being absolutely sarcastic especially when he spoke about the books that lined the shelves. His collection of books related to our field of work, art, and creativity, seemed very exhaustive and included some rare books that were hard to get in hardcover as well. I stood in front of the bookshelf as I admired it. “These books are amazing. I should steal some of them sometimes…” I said with a laugh. “Please do…” he replied casually. “Which one would you recommend?” I asked.

The publishing house was called Rootword Press — small, independent, Lagos-based, with a catalogue that Adaeze spent an evening reading through with the careful attention she brought to things she wanted to understand properly before forming an opinion about. What she found impressed her. Not because the books were famous — they were not, at least not in the way that famous meant commercially ubiquitous. But because they were good. She could tell, reading the descriptions and the excerpts available online, that whoever had chosen these books had chosen them with taste and with genuine conviction about what they were worth rather than what they would sell. There was a quality to the catalogue

"Look at this font instead. Do we prefer the minimalist serif or the bold modern for The Era Society cover page?" ​"Minimalist serif," Bianca answered from her desk, her eyes fiercely focused as she aligned our core budget spreadsheets. She hadn't looked up in two hours. "It keeps the high-society aesthetic. If we're pitching to the student administration board tomorrow afternoon, the presentation needs to look like a luxury lookbook, not a standard campus flyer." ​I forced a tight smile, dragging my eyes away from my silent phone. "Right. Cream, espresso, gold. We present a lifestyle, not a club."

An ideal world where no competition is allowed, only a crowd, which despite being exhausted, is relentless when it comes to one day reaching the standards of beauty that belong to them. That is why, tonight, I choose to challenge everything he believes in by clinging to the theory that yes, aesthetic beauty is certainly attractive, but over time, one will need something more to keep the admiration burning like a flame. This may be intelligence, charismas, or a lost soul for those who love to mend one. The pity being that, most of the time, this becomes a rip-off. For when plunging into the depths of another, one may be startled to discover that our pure desire does not match at all with our

But, he opted on the idea since it was not his own body: he is not the owner of this body, and he doesn’t have any right to ruin Aimie’s beautiful face. When he finished tieing Aimie’s medium-length hair- he went to Aimie’s study table- to see if there was any information; that Angelo could find about the body he currently possesses. Aimie’s study table has a variety of books neatly arranged: psychology books, science books, literature books, and geometry books; if Angelo is a person fond of reading this kind of publication- then he would be delighted; it’s just too bad that he’s the type of person who disdains reading informational books. He’s more of a person who reads comic books or plays

The intentional neglect of this corner was a deliberate choice, a testament to the charm of the untouched and the allure of secrets waiting to be unraveled. Settling into a plush chair, Joseph cradled the book in his hands. The worn cover spoke of countless hands that had sought its wisdom, and the yellowed pages whispered tales of eras long past. As he opened the book, the fragrance of aged parchment wafted through the air, creating an olfactory tapestry that intertwined with the silent narratives within.

Her finger senses the spine of books like she could feel the words inside it, reading them softly, when Samson entered the room quietly. His dotting eyes gazing at the figure standing in front of him. His eyes raged with vexation but sooner changed under the effect of the aura emitted by the beauty. With her left hand, she gently massaged her long neck while squinting her eyes at the book titles behind her spectacles.

Mia felt a sense of awe for the majestic view that lay before her. Walking down the aisles, she couldn't help but feel small and insignificant. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books, careful not to disturb them. The rows of books were endless, and she could spend hours just exploring the different genres and subjects. She made her way to the rare books section, and as she walked in, she was struck by the beauty of the room. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, and the shelves were lined with leather-bound books. The room was quiet, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of pages as people perused the books.

“I’m not much of a book-type, but a place like that seems inviting enough.” I smiled. “That’s how I feel. Let me show you some more.” I showed him a few other profiles that were similar to my requests. They followed modern themes for reader aesthetics. He pointed out specific elements, claiming something similar would work for our space. “I’m not much of an interior designer, but I can try to get you started,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“I brought you some books.” “Hm?” “Read something light and pleasant before bed. It won’t give you nightmares.” Who reads detective novels before bed? Calvin didn’t even remember he owned a collection of essays—a hardcover first edition with the author’s signature on the title page. “I don’t read essays or poetry collections.” That kind of writing was, to him, too sentimental, pretentious, and meaningless. “Just try something different. It might help. This author’s writing is very beautiful and moving.”