“Why read the classics? A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.” These are a few recommendations, books everyone should read. Don’t let yourself be convinced they are good: read and decide for yourself!
(no particular order intended)
Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes
The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell
Hard Times - Charles Dickens
The Karamazov Brothers - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Wuthering Heights - Emily Brontë
The Waves - Virginia Woolf
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Hamlet - William Shakespeare
Richard II - William Shakespeare
Little Women - Louisa Alcott
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Emma - Jane Austen
Anna Karenina - Liev Tolstói
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare
The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton
Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
Lord of The Flies - William Golding
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel García Márquez
Persuasion - Jane Austen
War and Peace - Liev Tolstói
Macbeth - William Shakespeare
The Tell-Tale Heart -
Edgar Allan Poe
Dracula - Bram Stoker
The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar - Edgar Allan Poe
Sorry if I’m being a little inactive lately… I think I wasn’t ready to work at the pace I had set, so now I have to adjust things for next week and I fell a little behind. I’m not disappointed, these things happen and I know I will catch up soon 💪🏻
Meanwhile, the only pics I’ve taken are of the books I’m reading 📖
This was the stop on my bookstore hop that I was most thrilled for. Persephone Books is a publisher and bookseller of female authors whose works have gone out of print. Their iconic gray covers, careful curation, personalized recommendations, and character of resistance makes this bookstore a must-stop if you’re a book lover in London.
I was there for one of their bestsellers: A Writer’s Diary by Virginia Woolf. Their recommendations that called it a fairy tale and a “love letter to Scotland” convinced me to also try out Lady Rose and Mrs. Memmary by Ruby Ferguson. With each book, you get a bookmark that matches the endpapers, which are different for every book they print.
She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense,… of being out, out, far out to sea and alone.
I am currently reading and walking with Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. It’s about a single day, so I’m hoping to read it in a single day. This is by far my favorite edition of it I’ve seen, even including the new, gorgeous Penguin Vintage Classics versions.
There were flowers: delphiniums, sweet peas, bunches of lilac; and carnations, masses of carnations. There were roses; there were irises. Ah yes–so she breathed in the earthy garden sweet smell … turning her head from side to side among the irises and roses and nodding tufts of lilac with her eyes half closed, snuffing in, after the street uproar, the delicious scent, the exquisite coolness. And then, opening her eyes, how fresh like frilled linen clean from a laundry laid in wicker trays the roses looked; and dark and prim the red carnations, holding their heads up; and all the sweet peas spreading in their bowls, tinged violet, snow white, pale–as if it were the evening and girls in muslin frocks came out to pick sweet peas and roses after the superb summer’s day, with its almost blue-black sky, its delphiniums, its carnations, its arum lilies was over; and it was the moment between six and seven when every flower–roses, carnations, irises, lilac–glows; white, violet, red, deep orange; every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey-white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses!
Sentia-se muito jovem; ao mesmo tempo indizivelmente velha. Penetrava em tudo como uma faca; ao mesmo tempo estava de fora, observando. Tinha uma sensação constante, enquanto olhava os táxis, de estar fora, longe, muito longe no mar e sozinha; sempre tinha a sensação de que era perigoso, perigosíssimo viver mesmo que fosse um único dia.