The Notebooks Of Leonardo Da Vinci Mga Nobela at Kwento

Her mind was entirely locked in a state of hyper-focus, completely detached from the rattling world around her. Resting flat on her lap was a small, worn leather notebook she had managed to slip into her tunic before leaving her servant quarters. Using a blunt piece of charcoal, her fingers moved with frantic, precise agility across the rough parchment. She was redrawing the complex molecular diagrams she had memorized from the restricted archives the night before, her mind mapping out the structural anatomy of the disease.

I said. "They're yours," she said. "They've always been yours. I just needed to read them first." She reached into the smaller bag and put them on the table between us. Four notebooks. Ordinary ones, the kind you bought from any stationery shop, but covered in the small careful handwriting I recognised from the letter in the hospital file. "She wrote about everything. Her work. Your father. You. The things she was afraid of. The things she was building toward." She paused. "She wrote about the evidence she was gathering. Why she was gathering it." I put my hand flat on the notebooks and felt the weight of them.

She needed something that was entirely hers. She thought about the leather notebook in the greenhouse. The careful, precise handwriting of whoever had worked in that space before it was abandoned. The botanical names and compound ratios and distillation temperatures recorded with the passion of someone who understood that fragrance was not decoration but language, not luxury but necessity, the most direct route the human body had between the external world and the deepest interior of the self. She had never found out whose notebook it was. She had thought, in the brief distracted hours of the greenhouse, that she would ask Mrs. Hargrove eventually. That there would be time.

She sat down on the couch and opened it. The pages had yellowed with age. The earliest entries dated back eleven years. As Miranda read, her expression gradually turned serious. The notebook contained research notes and experimental data on early leukemia intervention. Eugene’s handwriting was rushed and messy, but the urgency behind it was impossible to miss. He had clearly thrown himself into the work. As Miranda turned another page, several old boarding passes slipped from between the sheets. They were round-trip tickets to Danesia. She went still. Had her father written these notes while he was in Danesia?

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.

Levy looked above and below before, in fact, she spent more than an hour carefully combing through the ten notebooks but even after carefully looking through them she didn’t find even the slightest mention of the soul-fetching array. After she skimmed through the last one, Levy threw the notebook down and knotted her hair with her hands, “ How is this possible!” She couldn’t believe it, there was no way that her mother wouldn’t write down such an important lesson in her lesson book, there must be something ..something that she wasn’t paying attention to.

He flipped through it, and every page of the notebook was filled with words, written neatly and elegantly. He turned his head and said, "Mom, I found a notebook!" Yasmine had just finished blow-drying his hair. She turned off the switch and placed it on the countertop, then took the notebook from Layne's hand. This is a pink notebook that is approximately three centimeters thick, with a matte leather cover and a very good texture. Yasmine opened it, and on the title page it said, "To my beloved daughter." The time was recorded four years ago.

The bathroom had expensive products arranged in order. The study room was where I found her. The desk was large and covered in papers that had been there before the accident, exactly as she had left them. Books on the shelves, business and law, but also history, also philosophy. And on the desk, half-hidden under a legal document, a single notebook. I picked it up carefully. It was filled with Vivienne's handwriting. I did not read it all. But I read enough to understand that Vivian Salvatore had been angry.

I know that Shiloh is starting to take action as he was so in range when the last time they attacked the Cravens manor. Well, I know that Shiloh wouldn't care about the attack if they didn't muddle his garden of roses. I picked up the notebook that is placed above the shelves. It looks like this one has been serving its purpose for a long time. I opened it and I can't understand the words that are written in this notebook. There are sketches and explanations, a scientific explanation to be precise and I know that this one is all about the experimentation that they are doing right now. It looks like they are planning this for a long time. One word to describe these people, cruel. They are all

Her mother glanced at her immediately by her one word. When she caught her mother's attention, Via spoke not a word and just handed all of her notebooks to her mother with a smile on her face. She opened them for her mother to see easily. Her mother laid sight on the pages of her notebooks filled with the cartoon characters of Spongebob, Dora, Tom and Jerry, Phineas and Ferb, and animes like Angelic Layer and Doraemon. Every page seemed to have turned into a comic book. There was no more space for a school activity in those notebooks.