Found 93 results for "K. H. Mayer"
by Virginia Woolf
But, you may say, we asked you to speak about women and fiction—what has that got to do with a room of one’s own?
by Charles Dickens
WHETHER I SHALL TURN OUT TO BE THE HERO OF MY own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these page...
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[FAUST, lying among grass and flowers, exhausted and restless, trying to sleep.]
by Alexis de Tocqueville, Gustave de Beaumont
AFTER the birth of a human being, his early years are obscurely spent in the toils or pleasures of childhood.
by Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels
THE COMMUNIST LEAGUE, an international association of workers, which could of course be only a secret one under the cond...
by Günter Grass
GRANTED : I AM an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a pe...
by Stephenie Meyer
I'd never given much thought to how I would die--though I had reason enough in the last few months--but even if I had, I...
by Augustine of Hippo
Great are you, O Lord, and exceedingly worthy of praise, your power is immense, and your wisdom beyond reckoning.
by William Shakespeare
There is an aura of unreality about the plays of Shakespeare, and students feel this, although they may not be able to e...
by Alexandre Dumas, Auguste Maquet
On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of Romance of the Rose wa...
by Geoffrey Chaucer, John E. Cunningham
Whan that April with his showres soote
by Thomas à Kempis, Jérôme de Gonnelieu
He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, (1) saith the Lord.
by Daniel Defoe, J. J. Grandville
I WAS born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreig...
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne was born on July 4, 1804 in Salem, Massachusetts, the only son of Captain Nathaniel Hathorne and Eli...
by Lew Wallace
The Jebel es Zubleh is a mountain fifty miles and more in length, and so narrow that its tracery on the map gives it a l...
by Rudyard Kipling
THE weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, w...