Metamorphoses

by Ovid

The classics were the raw material of the English Renaissance; to write in the sixteenth century meant to engage in dial...

Aeneis

by Publius Vergilius Maro

I sing of arms and of the man, fated to be an exile, who long since left the land of Troy and came to Italy to the shore...

Jane Eyre

by Charlotte Brontë

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

The Wind in the Willows

by Kenneth Grahame

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring cleaning his little home.

Lord Jim

by Joseph Conrad

HE WAS an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of th...

The Ugly Duckling

by Hans Christian Andersen

How beautiful the countryside was in summer!

Rime of the ancient mariner

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The text of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, in this newly annotated printing, is taken from the last edition of Colerid...

Les Misérables

by Victor Hugo

In 1815 Monsieur Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of Digne.

Emma

by Jane Austen

Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, in the year before the American Declaration of Independence, and she died on ...

Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus

by Mary Shelley

In the introduction to the 1831 edition of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley presents herself as "the daughter of two persons o...

The Catcher in the Rye

by J. D. Salinger, Shao jia yun

Great Expectations

by Charles Dickens

MY FATHER'S FAMILY NAME being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing lo...

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

Voyage au Centre de la Terre

by Jules Verne

Looking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I am scarcely able to believe in the reality of my ...

Vingt mille lieues sous les mers

by Jules Verne

THE YEAR 1866 was signalized by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and inexplicable phenomenon, which doubtless no one ...

The Merchant of Venice

by William Shakespeare

In sooth I know not why I am so sad.

Faust

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[FAUST, lying among grass and flowers, exhausted and restless, trying to sleep.]

The Innocents Abroad

by Mark Twain

For months the great pleasure excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers everywhere in Am...

The Black Cat

by Edgar Allan Poe

FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to open, I neither expect nor solicit belief.

Le Comte de Monte Cristo

by Alexandre Dumas

ON the 24th of February, 1815, the watch-tower of Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the arrival of the three-master Phara...