Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. I have also read Vilette and The Professor by Bronte, and those would also be on this list, if I owned copies. I will admit, shameful though it be, that when I first read this book at around the age of 17, I was such a foolish little girl as to prefer St. John Rivers to Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester. Now one of my daughters has the middle name of Fairfax (for reasons of personal history, world history, and geography, as well as literature, just so you don't think I'm a little too attached to Mr. Rochester these days).
Till We Have Faces, by C. S. Lewis. I am drawn into Orual's tale every time I pick it up. I read once that this book is just as much the work of Joy Davidman as of Lewis, that her influence and thought can be seen on every page.
Thursday Next books, by Jasper Fforde (I haven't read the latest installment.) I must admit that the first couple times I tried to read these, I just didn't get it. But then I did get it, and now I love these books. They are by far the lightest books on this list, but sometimes one needs something light. And I use terms from these books, such as 'echolocator' when I think an author has used the same word too many times in a row.
Perelandra, by C. S. Lewis. I was interested to learn that this book and Till We Have Faces were Lewis's own favorites among his works.
Glorious Freedom, by Richard Sibbes. I keep mentioning this book. You may have grown tired of hearing of it, but it means a lot to me.
Dorothy Sayers's mysteries, the other lightsome choice on my list. I think I had a crush on Lord Peter Death Bredon Wimsey ages ago, when I first read these books. The fact that I'm making that public knowledge would probably chagrin my husband, who holds Wimsey in contempt.
The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins. I am amused by the butler who practices sortes with Robinson Crusoe.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. I read this to my children most Christmases, mostly in a tip of my hat to my mother's tradition of reading it to me.
Silas Marner, by George Eliot. I think this is a lovely tale of a miser exchanging gold for golden hair, the love for inanimate objects for the love of another human being. This is one of the few works of fiction that I underline. That said, however, Romola by George Eliot deeply disturbs and depresses me (I've only read it once, and have no plans to pick it up again).
The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco. One of the most philosophical mystery novels I've ever read. Don't judge this book by its movie, please.
I'm a little surprised to see how many mysteries made it onto this list.
And all of Jane Austen's works.
And Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan.