15 discoveries later
Which one keeps calling?
Choose a stream to follow and continue in Read, or shuffle the shelves for another flight.Little Women
She cherished her anger until it grew strong and owned her—what happens when a grudge becomes a living thing on the river?
Louisa May AlcottLittle Women
She burned it—Jo's beloved little book turned to ashes; how far would you go to punish someone you love?
Louisa May AlcottA Christmas Carol
I will honour Christmas in my heart — but what if the Spirits still seek to sponge away the writing on that stone?
Charles DickensA Christmas Carol
Small looks and words can be worth a fortune in happiness—what tiny thing are you still counting as nothing?
Charles DickensA Christmas Carol
Christmas — the one season when shut hearts open; what would happen if you really let yours?
Charles DickensWalden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience
Unjust laws exist—must we obey them, amend them, or transgress them now?
Thoreau, Henry DavidA Christmas Carol
Today—Christmas Day; can a single morning truly rewrite a life?
Charles DickensA Christmas Carol
He rubs his hands and laughs at a secret gift for Bob Cratchit—what turned his sting into mischief-turned-kindness?
Charles DickensFrankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus
Moonlight revealed a grinning fiend at the window pointing to my wife's corpse; I fired, and he vanished into the lake.
Mary ShelleyLeaves of Grass
A man becomes a little boy again on the sand—what memory drags him into the weeping sea?
Walt WhitmanThe Count of Monte Cristo
When I shut my eyes, the past returns vividly—the mind remembers what the body sometimes forgets.
Alexandre Dumas (père); Auguste MaquetThe Count of Monte Cristo
He placed himself between his wife and the door and demanded to know where she kept the poison she usually used.
Alexandre Dumas (père); Auguste MaquetThe Republic
Wives, children, education all held in common—if everything intimate is shared, who truly rules and who loses themselves?
PlatoLeaves of Grass
No force outranks the self—so when someone walks a furlong without sympathy, are they already at their own funeral?
Walt WhitmanLeaves of Grass
Enough to merely be—enough to breathe: joy so full that war and sorrow seem finally purged.
Walt Whitman