Fiction
- Action & Adventure 183
- Alternative History 1
- Biographical 15
- Christian 59
- Classics 6965
- Coming of Age 5
- Contemporary Women 3
- Erotica 8
- Espionage/Intrigue 12
- Fairy Tales, Folklore & Mythology 236
- Family Life 169
- Fantasy 118
- Gay 1
- General 596
- Ghost 32
- Historical 809
- Horror 43
- Humorous 161
- Jewish 25
- Legal 4
- Literary 2
- Medical 23
- Mystery & Detective 315
- Occult 1
- Political 49
- Psychological 41
- Religious 64
- Romance 161
- Sagas 11
- Science Fiction 730
- Sea Stories 113
- Short Stories (single author) 539
- Sports 10
- Suspense 2
- Technological 8
- Thrillers 3
- Urban Life 31
- Visionary & Metaphysical 1
- War & Military 173
- Westerns 199
Fiction Books
Sort by:
by:
Herman Melville
JOHN MARR AND OTHER SAILORS Since as in night's deck-watch ye show,Why, lads, so silent here to me,Your watchmate of times long ago?Once, for all the darkling sea,You your voices raised how clearly,Striking in when tempest sung;Hoisting up the storm-sail cheerly, Life is storm—let storm! you rung.Taking things as fated merely,Childlike though the world ye spanned;Nor holding unto life too...
more...
LUIS AGUIRRE had been living in Gibraltar for about a month. He had arrived with the intention of sailing at once upon a vessel bound for Oceanica, where he was to assume his post as a consul to Australia. It was the first important voyage of his diplomatic career. Up to that time he had served in Madrid, in the offices of the Ministry, or in various consulates of southern France, elegant summery...
more...
by:
Vernon Lee
I. Real and Ideal—these are the handy terms, admiring or disapproving, which criticism claps with random facility on to every imaginable school. This artist or group of artists goes in for the real—the upright, noble, trumpery, filthy real; that other artist or group of artists seeks after the ideal—the ideal which may mean sublimity or platitude. We summon every living artist to state whether he...
more...
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AN ELEGY High on his Patmos of the Southern SeasOur northern dreamer sleeps,Strange stars above him, and above his graveStrange leaves and wings their tropic splendours wave,While, far beneath, mile after shimmering mile,The great Pacific, with its faery deeps,Smiles all day long its silken secret smile. Son of a race nomadic, finding stillIts home in regions furthest from its...
more...
THE EXODUS In the Calle Las Gabias—one of those by-streets of Lisbon below St.Catherine—there occurred one New Year a little event in theSynagogue there worth a mention in this history of Richard, Lord ofthe Sea. It was Kol Nidrè, eve of the Day of Atonement, and the little Beth- El, sweltering in a dingy air, was transacting the long-drawn liturgy, when, behind the curtain where the women sat, an...
more...
by:
Kenneth Grahame
PROLOGUE: THE OLYMPIANSLOOKING back to those days of old, ere the gate shut to behind me, I can see now that to children with a proper equipment of parents these things would have worn a different aspect. But to those whose nearest were aunts and uncles, a special attitude of mind may be allowed. They treated us, indeed, with kindness enough as to the needs of the flesh, but after that with...
more...
by:
Rudyard Kipling
Puck's Song See you the dimpled track that runs,All hollow through the wheat?O that was where they hauled the gunsThat smote King Philip's fleet! See you our little mill that clacks,So busy by the brook?She has ground her corn and paid her taxEver since Domesday Book. See you our stilly woods of oak,And the dread ditch beside?O that was where the Saxons broke,On the day that Harold died! See...
more...
"There's the island, Parker!" Retch called. Bill Parker shifted the controls of the 'copter and the big craft swung in the direction Retch was pointing. Squinting his eyes against the sun glare rising from the Pacific, Parker clearly saw the island. It was miles away as yet but it swam like a mirage suspended just above the surface of the sea. The island was not large—Parker guessed...
more...
by:
Mack Reynolds
The young man with the brown paper bag said, "Is Mrs. Coty in?" "I'm afraid she isn't. Is there anything I can do?" "You're Mr. Coty? I came about the soap." He held up the paper bag. "Soap?" Mr. Coty said blankly. He was the epitome of mid-aged husband complete to pipe, carpet slippers and office-slump posture. "That's right. I'm sure she...
more...
DOSTOEVSKI THE life of Dostoevski contrasts harshly with the luxurious ease and steady level seen in the outward existence of his two great contemporaries, Turgenev and Tolstoi. From beginning to end he lived in the very heart of storms, in the midst of mortal coil. He was often as poor as a rat; he suffered from a horrible disease; he was sick and in prison, and no one visited him; he knew the...
more...