Treasure Island is an adventure novel by Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson, narrating a tale of "buccaneers and buried gold". First published as a book on 23 May 1883, it was originally serialized in the children's magazine Young Folks between 1881 and 1882 under the title Treasure Island or, the mutiny of the Hispaniola with Stevenson adopting the pseudonym Captain George North.More info →
It is a cumulative tale that does not tell the story of Jack's house, or even of Jack who built the house, but instead shows how the house is indirectly linked to other things and people, and through this method tells the story of "The man all tattered and torn", and the "Maiden all forlorn", as well as other smaller events, showing how these are interlinked.More info →
«El Principito habita un pequeñísimo asteroide, que comparte con una flor caprichosa y tres volcanes. Pero tiene “problemas” con la flor y empieza a experimentar la soledad. Hasta que decide abandonar el planeta en busca de un amigo. Buscando esa amistad recorre varios planetas, habitados sucesivamente por un rey, un vanidoso, un borracho, un hombre de negocios, un farolero, un geógrafo… El concepto de “seriedad” que tienen estas “personas mayores” le deja perplejo y confuso. Prosiguiendo su búsqueda llega al planeta Tierra, pero, en su enorme extensión y vaciedad, siente más que nunca la soledad. Una serpiente le da su versión pesimista sobre los hombres y lo poco que se puede esperar de ellos. Tampoco el zorro contribuye a mejorar su opinión, pero en cambio le enseña el modo de hacerse amigos: hay que crear lazos, hay que dejarse “domesticar”. Y al final le regala su secreto: “Sólo se ve bien con el corazón. Lo esencial es invisible a los ojos”. De pronto el Principito se da cuenta de que su flor le ha “domesticado” y decide regresar a su planeta valiéndose de los medios expeditivos que le ofrece la serpiente. Y es entonces cuando entra en contacto con el aviador, también el hombre habrá encontrado un amigo…»More info →
The success of "The Children's Book of Christmas Stories" has encouraged the Editor to hope that a similar collection of stories about Thanksgiving would prove useful to parents, librarians, and teachers, and enjoyable to children.More info →
Ally was lost—the little blue-eyed dear! That is to say, she was nowhere to be found. And of course there was commotion in the Valley. Michael, the gar-dener, was going one way; and John, the house-man, another; and Pincher, one of the loggers, was making for the hills with Uncle Billy in one direction, and Old Uncle and Will and Charlie had gone up in another; and Aunt Rose and Aunt Susan were hunting through the house; and Janet and Essie were running this way and that—and it was noon, and still they hadn't found her.More info →
Like a comet! Why, Peters, I laid over the lot of them! Of course there warn’t any of them going my way, as a steady thing, you know, because they travel in a long circle like the loop of a lasso, whereas I was pointed as straight as a dart for the Hereafter; but I happened on one every now and then that was going my way for an hour or so, and then we had a bit of a brush together.More info →
THE author of this work makes no pretense of originality in the telling of these stories of olden times. They have been gleaned from many sources, and are the common heritage of all who love to write them anew and hear them again. Only the words belong to the story teller; the story itself is as old as the race.More info →
Endeavored to write, for mothers and dear little children, a few simple stories, embodying some of the truths of Froebel's Mother Play.
The Mother Play is such a vast treasure house of Truth, that each one who seeks among its stores may bring to light some gem; and though, perhaps, I have missed its diamonds and rubies, I trust my string of pearls may find acceptance with some mother who is trying to live with her children.More info →
“That’s awfully strange!” exclaimed Coppertop.
“If a Book of Travels can’t move about a bit, who can?”
“Not a bit,” replied the Book without turning round. “I must improve my circulation somehow! And if a book of travels can’t move about a bit, who can, I should like to know?”