15 discoveries later
Which one keeps calling?
Choose a stream to follow and continue in Read, or shuffle the shelves for another flight.Essays — First Series
The infant eye predicts the light; the child's hands predict future craft—what quiet hint of genius lives in you?
Ralph Waldo EmersonNarrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
Blood matted in my hair, I walked seven miles to beg protection—what my master’s answer revealed about the odds I faced.
John ChuaThe Odyssey
Wolves and lions fawned like tame hounds around a woman weaving a dazzling web—hostess or witch?
HomerNarrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
Goaded almost to madness one moment, I would meekly reconcile myself to a wretched lot the next—what force makes a man live inside that split?
John ChuaThe Odyssey
They cast lots in a helmet—one captain sailed off with twenty-two men while those left behind wept.
HomerNarrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
At every gate a watchman, at every wood a patrol—how do you plan escape when every path looks like death?
John ChuaEssays — First Series
There is a pure nature that visits without bell—how would your life change if its walls were removed?
Ralph Waldo EmersonThe Odyssey
Six days of fruitless rowing ended at a rocky stronghold where men work day and night as if sleep were optional.
HomerThe Prophet
The wind bids me leave—wanderers never begin a day where they ended another day; why do some souls keep moving?
Kahlil Gibranدَدِ میان گوشهایت
بگذار صورتم را نیمی سیاه و نیمی سفید رنگ زنم و راهی آشتیِ ناممکن شوم — برای چه آشتیای حاضری؟
سلیم قاضی سعیدیThe Odyssey
Tell me, O Muse, of the ingenious man who travelled far and wide and could not save his men from ruin.
HomerThe Republic
Light can hurt so much you'll choose dim illusions that feel clearer than reality.
PlatoPride and Prejudice
If you thank me, make it for yourself alone—my actions were for you, not your family.
Jane AustenJane Eyre
Who have you made of me, witch? Have you plotted to drown me—what fate have you designed here?
Charlotte BrontëThe Adventures of Tom Sawyer
A single drop has fallen through empires and centuries — tourists still stare at the stone that caught it. Why does such patience haunt us?
Mark Twain