Saddest Books Ever Novels & Stories

Though I'm confuse, I casually said, “This wondrous of a place usually empty. People forgot to pay a visit or to even got themselves immerse to the world that this wondrous of a place offer them with sincerity. I thought you are highly affected by such a failure of showing gratitude to literature coming from them?” His eyes couldn't actually intimidating but there's a melancholy that I didn't expected to seen. My statement just now goes awakwardly, and I chuckled as that to forgot my place on this unknown and strange of a place. I cough and turn my head to the shelf that offer a variety of book that looks bloody yet comforting. “Oh,” I gasped, not able to hide my awed. “That's a classic...”

On the morning of the fourth day, I began the "Pilgrimage." Before I left, I went to the manor's abandoned library. It was filled with moldy books and broken furniture, and the air smelled of decaying paper. But on a shelf in the deepest corner, I found a special diary. The cover was dark brown leather, with "Book of Laments" embroidered in gold thread. I opened the first page and saw elegant handwriting. "Here are recorded the stories of every soul in this manor, their pain, their despair, and their final wishes..."

“There were so many good books at the library. Why did you have to choose a book with a trope like that, Melinda?” He spread out a few books in front of me as he continued; pointing to each one of them as he spoke, “You could have chosen a book loaded with humor to make you laugh; or science fiction story that explores the vastness of the universe; or, you could have chosen a book where the main leads live a long, happy life surrounded by loved one.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “But, NO. You had to choose a heart-breaking story that will shatter your soul and make you cry.” “Why are you over reacting like this Kain?” I held my head and sighed. “It is just a novel.”

She yells as loud as she can by my bedroom door. Shaking my head as I walk over to the place I was sitting in before, staring out my window, wishing things could go back to the way they were. " Well here are all the books I could find, I wasn't sure about this one though... it's about Vampire's and their mates, didn't even know they were lucky enough to have one, considering all the blood shed and carnage their spieces causes." She pops off scattering all the books onto my rose flower comforter covering my bed.

He could no longer fool himself. Slowly, with infinite weariness, Aiden closed the leather-bound book. This was the end. He could no longer bear it. The books he loved so much could not push away the stark, raw loneliness of his existence. The study was lined with books, floor to ceiling on three of the four walls of the room. He had read every one, committed a great many to memory over the centuries. They no longer provided solace for his mind. The books fed his intellect but broke his heart.

I don't need a sad book to make me feel worse than it is but once I've started I kept on flipping the next page. Who the hell wrote this book!? The Jamie I know doesn't read books and her giving me books is new, so I was a little curious and read it last night only to stay up the whole night blowing my nose from the sadness and the heartbroken words of the main character. 'Red' is the name of the book and when I start reading it, my mind always drifts towards Liam.

I am aware that he is like looking at my face for a long time and is keep on glancing at me. “Ahmmnn a book entitled Wuthering Heights by Emily Bonte, Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens, and hemmnn Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.” I said as I look into the books there. “I see, those are rare books now since they are old and people nowadays don’t like sad and pure narration stories.” Henry said and I just nod. Henry is now helping me through the pile of books. It was almost 30 minutes yet we haven’t found one of the 3 books.

he cried in desperation, feeling the deepest fear he had ever felt in his life, it was in vain he could not reach her and she fell to the first floor, while he felt fear and how his world collapsed with her. Nothing on earth can compensate for the loss of someone who has loved you. Selma Lagerlöf.

I start picking through the small pile of dusty books finding mostly descriptions of executions—infant executions. These aren’t informational books, they’re histories, and our history is darker than I knew. Abominations or not, I don’t think I could kill a child in the crib. Hundreds of stories, hundreds of lives snuffed out, but then how many lives did their sacrifice save? What monsters would these children have become? By the time I’ve finished the third book, I’ve learned nothing, and I’m not sure I can take anymore. I eye the fourth and final book. It’s older than the rest from the look of it. The title scrolled across its cracked leather binding long faded and eligible.

Jordan's bright laughter that had carried us through dark times, his terrible jokes that made everyone groan but secretly smile, his gentle hands that had taken care of me while I was unconscious - all of it gone forever. "No, no, no," I whispered, grief tearing through my chest like physical claws. The pain was so intense I couldn't breathe properly, couldn't think past the crushing weight of loss. This was Jordan - sweet, loyal Jordan who'd been planning to give Rikka that rare medical book, who'd talked about their future together with such hope just moments ago.