The Notebook Novel By Nicholas Sparks Novels & Stories

The old wood splintered with a loud CRACK, ripping away from the rusty nails holding it down. Beneath the floorboard, nestled in a tight, dark crawlspace between the floor joists, sat a small object. It was a simple, cheap notebook bound in faded blue cloth. It was covered in a thin layer of sawdust, but it was perfectly preserved from the damp air. Duncan’s heart began to hammer violently against his ribs. He reached his large, trembling hand into the darkness and lifted the notebook out into the dim light of the bedroom. He blew the dust off the cover. On the very first page, written in neat, elegant cursive handwriting that he recognized instantly, was a single name: Amora.

We'll bathe together," He stood up. ... Booke looked at her notebook, the notebook looked at her. Enjoying a weekend with Nathan made her realize that this was not an amazing idea. The moment Nathan told her they had to go back, she should not have insisted on staying another day there, but she had failed completely. Seeing so many numbers was giving her serious headaches. Not even because Nicole had passed her notebooks to him could she understand anything about mathematics. Nathan was in his office, finishing the only work he had pending. She took the notebook out of her sight and continued to put it aside. Nathan was supposed to help her with it. She went to the closet to look for somethi

Thе nail fіlе іѕ tiny, аnd has a рlаѕtіс tоrtоіѕе ѕhеll hаndlе. Thеѕе things аrеn’t еvеn ѕlіghtlу іmрrеѕѕіvе to me аt first glаnсе. I’m looking for wеароnѕ, and wауѕ to escape. But I сhаngе mу mind whеn I ѕее the pages of thе first half of thе notebook are fіllеd wіth flоwеrу, cursive ѕсrірt.

On it, scrawled in water-stained ink: “If the world burns, at least I know I set the match.” Savannah stared at it for hours. *** The envelope came by courier. No return address. Wax seal, crimson like a bloodied rose. Savannah opened it in the quiet of the nursery while Eva slept, one eye on the monitor. Inside: a notebook, bound in deep navy leather. Handmade. Expensive. The kind of book Magnolia would have once shoplifted just to write poetry in. On the first page, in that unmistakable slant of Magnolia’s sharp pen:

She asked, coming to sit on the opposite sofa. "I'm just worried about Sofia," she exhaled ruefully. "What did she want to talk about?" "The Spark." "Yeah, it's starting tomorrow, I know," she said, leaning forward. "No, it's not." "Yes, it is, haven't you seen..." Her voice trailed off, as she watched Tanya's face. Alicia gasped, "Don't tell me..." Tanya sighed, "I need to draft some documents, I'll turn off the lights don't worry."

If it is lost and found, please contact her at that number. It caught his attention, especially the name on it. When he opened and read its first page, he became even more interested in the mysterious notebook. This is not a simple notebook filled with lectures and notes. It's a...story notebook. He was first amazed by the beauty of her handwriting. Until he was slowly reading every word written on it. He didn't realize the time because he was fascinated by the stories in the notebook. Not long after, it was time for their next class.

a spiral-bound notebook? With exaggerated care, as if handling some priceless artifact, Caleb set the notebook on the table before her. Lila recognized it instantly - the very same journal he'd commandeered during their last confrontation, now being returned of his own volition. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, darting between the proffered item and Caleb's unreadable expression as she tried to divine the trap surely hidden within this unexpected olive branch. But Caleb merely nudged the notebook closer, then withdrew a pen from his jacket pocket. With deliberate movements, he flipped open to a blank page and began to write. Lila watched, mystified, as his meaty hand laboriously traced out a

The date in the blue notebook said the fourteenth. It arrived on a Thursday, the way dates in notebooks arrived — not as an event but as a morning that was simply the morning of the thing. I had looked at the notebook twice since February, not to count down but out of the specific kind of attention you gave to things you were genuinely looking forward to. The harbour town's book was on the study shelf now, read, its margins populated with the small marks Sophia made in books she was working through. She had read it in three evenings and returned it to me with a look that said she had found it useful.

In that instant, I clearly saw tears finally spill from the eyes of this iron-willed man, a man who had never once furrowed his brow, no matter how much blood or sweat he shed. He nodded hard, like a believer who'd finally been granted forgiveness, and hurried to pick up the flask sitting on the bedside table. Just then, in his rush, a small notebook slipped out of his pocket and landed right by my hand. I picked it up casually, flipped it open, and froze. It was an extremely beat-up little notebook, and every page was crammed full of handwriting. A dozen full pages, all of them names. Emery Sofia Goldman, Riley Sofia Goldman, Avery Pax Goldman, Morgan Lux Goldman…

The small, contained smile that was his. I looked back. He held my gaze for a moment. Then he wrote something in the notebook. Closed it. Luke said something to Junior. Junior made a triumphant gesture. The northeast corner formation had apparently received the classification it deserved. I held the coffee. The park around us. The June morning. The city beyond. I thought about the original notebook in the storage box. The countdown calendar. The ninety marks in sequence. The woman who'd made those marks had been twenty-four years old and afraid and certain that staying was the thing you survived by not doing.