21 Books to Read Before You Die

People often ask which books they should read if they want to understand the world. If I had to make a list, it wouldn’t be the usual trendy titles. It would be the books that changed the way I think. The ones that connect you to the people who came before you, who also asked, What is a good life? What is power? What does it mean to be free?


Here are 21 books I think you should read:

Homer – The Iliad and The Odyssey Homer is the beginning of literature in the West. Before there were books, there were poems recited aloud for generations. The Iliad is about rage and war. The Odyssey is about returning home. But both are about honor. And gods. And the idea that life is short, but glory can last forever. Homer gives you the blueprint for myth. And even though it’s 2,700 years old, it’s still raw and alive. You read Achilles and you understand why people fight. You read Odysseus and you understand why they endure.

Plato – The Republic If you want to understand philosophy, start with Plato. He didn’t invent the field, but he shaped it more than anyone else. The Republic is about justice, but it’s really about everything—education, truth, politics, the soul. The structure of the dialogue forces you to think. And Socrates, Plato’s mouthpiece, keeps asking questions until your own opinions unravel. It’s uncomfortable. But also addictive. This book trains your mind to hold ideas like weights in your hands.

Aristotle – Nicomachean Ethics Where Plato dreams, Aristotle builds. He’s practical. Grounded. His ethics aren’t about being perfect, but about aiming at eudaimonia—a kind of deep human flourishing. He believes you become good by doing good things, not by thinking about them. He talks about virtue as a habit, like training a muscle. It’s one of the most useful books I’ve read. Because it connects ethics with action.

Spinoza – Ethics Spinoza is hard to read. Not because he’s confusing, but because he’s rigorous. He writes like a mathematician. Proofs. Definitions. Axioms. But underneath the dry surface is one of the most radical minds in history. He sees God not as a person but as nature itself. He believes freedom comes from understanding necessity. He sounds like a Stoic and a physicist at the same time. If you push through, you come out the other side with a different view of the universe.

Voltaire – Candide Voltaire is funny. That surprises people. Candide is a short book, but it cuts deep. It’s a satire of blind optimism, especially the kind taught by philosophers who say “everything happens for a reason.” Voltaire doesn’t buy it. He watched Europe tear itself apart with war and torture and called it what it was: evil. The book is also about maturity. By the end, Candide learns a kind of quiet wisdom—“we must cultivate our garden.”

Machiavelli – The Prince This is the book people love to misquote. Machiavelli isn’t evil. He’s honest. He says out loud what most people only think: that power doesn’t always reward virtue. He wrote The Prince to teach rulers how to survive, not how to be saints. But it’s also a critique. A mirror. When you read it, you start seeing politics more clearly. In history. In your office. Even in yourself.

Goethe – Faust Goethe was the last “universal genius.” He did science, poetry, politics. But Faust is his great work. A man sells his soul for knowledge—and experience. But unlike older versions of this story, Goethe complicates it. The devil is charming. Faust isn’t just greedy—he’s striving. And the end is strangely redemptive. It’s a meditation on ambition, temptation, and the eternal tension between striving and contentment.

Dostoevsky – The Brothers Karamazov This is the most psychological novel I’ve ever read. It’s also a theological argument, a crime story, and a philosophical debate. Dostoevsky gives each of his characters a voice—pure reason, blind faith, carnal pleasure—and lets them battle it out. He doesn’t tell you who’s right. He just shows you the consequences. Reading it is like being dragged into a spiritual courtroom where you’re the final judge.

Dostoevsky – Notes from Underground Shorter than Karamazov, but maybe even more disturbing. The narrator is petty, bitter, self-aware—and completely believable. He rebels against every system that tries to explain human behavior. Rationality? Progress? Psychology? He mocks them all. It’s a warning: don’t reduce the human soul to a machine. We want things that harm us. We sabotage ourselves. We are free, and that terrifies us.

Solzhenitsyn – The Gulag Archipelago Solzhenitsyn exposes what happens when ideology replaces morality. This isn’t fiction—it’s testimony. He documents the Soviet prison camps not just to inform, but to bear witness. He shows how ordinary people become executioners. And how conscience, even in a cell, is a form of resistance. It’s a hard read. But necessary. Because forgetting is easy. And dangerous.

Solzhenitsyn – One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich This one’s short, but no less powerful. It compresses the horror of the gulag into a single day. But it’s not just about suffering—it’s about dignity. Ivan doesn’t complain. He survives. He finds small victories in routine, in silence, in a crust of bread. Solzhenitsyn shows you that meaning isn’t found in comfort. It’s carved out of hardship.

The Count of Monte Cristo – Alexandre Dumas This is the best revenge novel ever written. It’s also a story about transformation. Edmond Dantès is betrayed, imprisoned, and left for dead. He escapes. Finds treasure. And returns as someone new. What makes the book powerful is how much Dantès changes—and how revenge doesn’t give him what he thought it would. It’s a long book, but it moves fast. Dumas knows how to tell a story.

Marcus Aurelius – Meditations A Roman emperor writing private notes to himself. That’s all it is. But those notes contain some of the most profound advice on how to live. Marcus doesn’t complain, even though he had every reason to. He focuses on doing his duty. On controlling what he can. On accepting death. The book is humble. Clear. Stoic in the best way. You can flip to any page and find something you need.

Seneca – Letters to Lucilius Seneca writes like a modern self-help author, but smarter. He talks about money, fame, time, fear. And always brings it back to the core: how to live wisely. His writing is sharp. Memorable. He doesn’t lecture—he persuades. His best insight? That life is long enough, if you don’t waste it.

Montaigne – Essays Montaigne invented the essay. And he used it to figure himself out. He writes about friendship, death, education, lying, books. He wanders. Doubts. Contradicts himself. But that’s what makes him feel alive. Reading him is like talking to someone who’s been thinking all day and is finally ready to speak. If you want to understand what it means to think for yourself, read Montaigne.

Rousseau – Confessions Rousseau basically invented the modern self. He was the first person to write about himself not as a hero, but as a mess. He admits to jealousy, pride, paranoia. But also to wonder. He made it okay to care about childhood. Nature. Emotion. He paved the way for Romanticism, psychology, even modern memoir. He’s not always likable. But he’s real.

Augustine – Confessions A thousand years before Rousseau, Augustine wrote his own confession. But his is aimed at God. It’s the story of a restless soul searching for truth. He explores sin, memory, time, and grace. His prose is luminous. He moves from story to prayer without warning. And you feel like you’re eavesdropping on someone trying to explain himself—to himself, and to eternity.

Tocqueville – Democracy in America Tocqueville visited America in the 1830s and wrote what is still the best book on American culture. He saw the strengths: local government, religious freedom, the spirit of association. He also saw the dangers: tyranny of the majority, mediocrity, restlessness. What makes the book amazing is how relevant it still is. If you want to understand America—both its greatness and its contradictions—read Tocqueville.

Cervantes – Don Quixote Don Quixote is hilarious and sad. A man reads too many chivalric romances and decides to become a knight. Everyone laughs at him. But slowly, you start to wonder if he might be right. Cervantes plays with illusion and reality. Idealism and madness. The novel is long, but rich. And it changed the course of literature.

Herodotus – The Histories The first historian. Herodotus doesn’t just give facts. He tells stories. About kings, battles, customs, miracles. Some of them seem made up. But he’s not lying—he’s collecting. His curiosity is contagious. He wants to understand why people do what they do. And by the end, you do too.

Thucydides – History of the Peloponnesian War If Herodotus is the storyteller, Thucydides is the analyst. He documents war like a political scientist. He wants to know why Athens fell. He writes speeches, arguments, causes. And what emerges is a tragic pattern: how power corrupts, how democracies decay, how people choose pride over peace. It’s ancient. But it reads like tomorrow’s headlines.

These are not just books. They’re tools. They sharpen your mind. And they connect you to something bigger than yourself.

If you're serious about reading more of these—and actually finishing them—I just launched a free book club.

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