The Age of Innocence

by Edith Wharton

On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.

Babbitt

by Sinclair Lewis

THE towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs ...

Sense and Sensibility

by Jane Austen

THE family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex.

Far from the Madding Crowd

by Thomas Hardy

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

by James Joyce, James Joyce

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was comi...

Ficciones

by Jorge Luis Borges

Debo a la conjuncion de un espejo y de una enciclopedia el descubrimiento de Uqbar.

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe

The Turn of the Screw

by Henry James

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as o...

Persuasion

by Jane Austen

THE following pages are the production of a pen which has already contributed in no small degree to the entertainment of...

My Ántonia

by Willa Cather

FIRST HEARD of Antonia on what seemed to me an interminable journey across the great midland plain of North America.

The Castle of Otranto

by Horace Walpole

Dracula

by Bram Stoker

3 May. Bistritz. - Left Munich at 8:35 P.M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at...

The Invisible Man

by H. G. Wells

THE stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the ...

Inferno

by Dante Alighieri

Midway in his allotted threescore years and ten, Dante comes to himself with a start and realizes that he has strayed fr...

Ulysses

by James Joyce

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed...

War and Peace

by Лев Толстой

"Eh bien, mon prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now no more than family estates of the Bonapartes.

Dubliners

by James Joyce

THERE WAS no hope for him tins time: it was the third stroke.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

by Oscar Wilde

L'artiste est celui qui crée des choses de beauté.

Wuthering Heights

by Emily Brontë

1801 - I have just returned from a visit to my landlord - the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.

The Secret Agent

by Joseph Conrad

The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, was difficult to circumvent.