Romantic Or Realist Novels & Stories

“They are merely a bunch of pigs who prey on women and then leave after they have exposed their true intentions.” “They are not like that!” “Only if you are basing on reality. Ideal and perfect men are just in books.” “They are in real life!” “Because you romanticize them!” My best friend pouted, so I cackled. She knows that she will never win an argument with me.

In a way, he made himself much more approachable, humbling himself in the presence of masterpieces. "This was the apex of French Romanticism," he spoke passionately about the painting of Medusa. "Like the Baroque era, romantics favored heavily dramatized scenes with intense stories. This entire painting curses a French Naval frigate that ignored their plea for help. It outlines the horrors that must have taken place there after." I wasn't the only one to notice Felix's excitement. Everyone was gossiping about how Dr Reynolds was uncharacteristically lively, upbeat, almost electrified. Those hours he spoke to us about the paintings were truly well spent.

"You like mysteries?" "Sometimes." "Better than romance novels?" My face heated. Had he seen me looking at that shelf? Had he been watching? "Much better," I said firmly. "Romance novels are... unrealistic." Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement maybe. "Are they?" "Yes. All that instant attraction and forbidden desire and enemies becoming lovers. It doesn't work like that in real life." "Doesn't it?" The way he said it—the slight emphasis, the look in his eyes—made my stomach flip.

THE CHARACTERS ARE MORALLY QUESTIONABLE AND SHOULD NOT BE ROMANTICIZED IN REAL LIFE. ____

I exhaled slowly, trying not to let my mind flash to blue eyes, wolf blue and man blue, tangled together like my brain was trying to write its own story. “I’m not really into fantasy,” I lied. Weakly. Bailey stared at me with exaggerated suspicion. “You read romance, and you hate fantasy? That’s like liking cake but hating frosting.” “I like realism,” I insisted. Bailey snorted. “Sure. Okay. Realism. In romance.” I shot her a look. She took a dramatic sip of her tea and then made a pleased sound. “Oh wow. That’s good.” “It’s sugar,” I said dryly.

"You could say that." "Valentine's Day is hell." He says it like a fact, not a suggestion. "Worst holiday ever invented. Just manufactured pressure to prove something that shouldn't need proving." "You're not romantic then." "I was once romantic." His smile was sad. "Then I learned that romance and love are different things. Romance is just performance. Love is simply showing up when it's not pretty." I opened the door wider. I don't know why. Maybe because he's the first person all night who hasn't looked at me with pity or guilt or expectation.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like beating the crap out of him; I wanted to slice him into three-inch pieces and feed him to zoo animals. Klaus: What about you? Who was your best? Rhyland: I don't know if I've ever had a best. All my hookups were of the same level of adequacy. Klaus: And they say romance is dead. Rhyland: It is, though, Cosmos. Think about it. Everything that represents love-flowers, hearts, swans, doves-dies at some point.

#Romance #Thrilling #Suspense #Action #Dramas This is going to be the best of best so don't miss any part. @Authoress Ricky Be expecting this next week readers. I love you all💓💓 Here is a blurb about the book

“We will need to do those things in public to deceive people. People on social media are smart, babe. They can sense bullshit from just posting one word. I said this before, Sandy. So, yes. The fourth rule will be; romance in public, friendship in private.” I blinked several times. One part of me was happy that I would get to do the things I've always dreamt to do with him but the other part was skeptical about the result. I would just feel like his one-night stands; we do the deed and that's all. “I think these rules will do for now. I need to go to bed and think over this,” I said, feeling tired all of a sudden. I opened the door and was about to leave when he got out of the car before me

He remembered. “Before we start,” he said, shutting the folder, “let me be clear. If you’re here to breeze through this class, leave. If you think poetry is flowery nonsense, leave. If you’re here to challenge your mind and maybe get uncomfortable…” He smiled sharply. “Then stay.” The girls sighed collectively. Some giggled behind their hands. Emmy kept her expression blank. Carl paced slowly across the room, eyes skimming the faces. “Romanticism isn’t about love. It’s about obsession. Madness. Darkness wrapped in beauty.” He stopped again in front of Emmy. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss…?”