Fiction Books

The Ability to communicate ideas from one individual to another," said a professor of sociology to his class, "is the principal distinction between human beings and their brute forbears. The increase and refinement of this ability to communicate is an index of the degree of civilization of a people. The more civilized a people, the more perfect their ability to communicate, especially under... more...

THE DIARY OF A MAN OF FIFTYby Henry James Florence, April 5th, 1874.—They told me I should find Italy greatly changed; and in seven-and-twenty years there is room for changes.  But to me everything is so perfectly the same that I seem to be living my youth over again; all the forgotten impressions of that enchanting time come back to me.  At the moment they were powerful enough; but they afterwards... more...

Vignettes. I. If writing Journals were my task, From cottagers to kings— A little book I'd only ask, And fill it full of wings!   Each pair should represent a day: On some the sun should rise, While others bent their mournful way Through cold and cloudy skies.   And here I would the light'ning bring With threatening, forked glare; And there the hallowed rainbow fling Across the troubled... more...

Nemra, 2555 CE The crash must've been more realistic than he'd planned, Ranger Esteban Tarlac thought groggily as he regained consciousness. His head hurt where something had hit it, and his body ached in a pattern that matched the crash webbing's. But at least one thing was going according to plan: he'd obviously been captured by the rebels, since he was hanging by his wrists with... more...

I am sure that you have heard of us, and of all we have done and seen from Edgeworthstown as far as Berne: from thence we went to Thun: there we took char-à-bancs, little low carriages, like half an Irish jaunting car, with four wheels, and a square tarpaulin awning over our heads. Jolting along on these vehicles, which would go over a house, I am sure, without being overturned or without being... more...

AT THE DEPOT Mr. Simeon Phinney emerged from the side door of his residence and paused a moment to light his pipe in the lee of the lilac bushes. Mr. Phinney was a man of various and sundry occupations, and his sign, nailed to the big silver-leaf in the front yard, enumerated a few of them. "Carpenter, Well Driver, Building Mover, Cranberry Bogs Seen to with Care and Dispatch, etc., etc.," so... more...

CHAPTER I HOW TOMMY FOUND A WAY O.P. Pym, the colossal Pym, that vast and rolling figure, who never knew what he was to write about until he dipped grandly, an author in such demand that on the foggy evening which starts our story his publishers have had his boots removed lest he slip thoughtlessly round the corner before his work is done, as was the great man's way—shall we begin with him, or... more...

wo slitted green eyes loomed up directly in front of him. He plunged into them immediately. He had just made the voyage, naked through the dimension stratum, and he scurried into the first available refuge, to hover there, gasping. The word "he" does not strictly apply to the creature, for it had no sex, nor are the words "naked," "scurried," "hover" and... more...

Actus Primus. Scena Prima. Enter Clorin a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour. Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbraceThe truest man that ever fed his flocksBy the fat plains of fruitful Thessaly,Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I payMy early vows, and tribute of mine eyesTo thy still loved ashes; thus I freeMy self from all insuing heats and firesOf love: all sports, delights and... more...

A DOG OF FLANDERS. BY OUIDA Nello and Patrasche were left all alone in the world. They were friends in a friendship closer than brotherhood. Nello was a little Ardennois,—Patrasche was a big Fleming. They were both of the same age by length of years, yet one was still young, and the other was already old. They had dwelt together almost all their days; both were orphaned and destitute, and owed their... more...