Showing posts with label Robert Louis Stevenson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Louis Stevenson. Show all posts

The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde / Robert Louis Stevenson

Title: The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde 
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Subjects: Classic; Fiction; Science Fiction; Horror; Psychological 

It is about dual personality an unpredictably dual nature: usually very good, but sometimes shockingly evil. The novella is frequently interpreted as an examination of the duality of human nature, usually expressed as an inner struggle between good and evil. Can be read for psychological theme.

Treasure Island / Robert Louis Stevenson

Title: Treasure Island (Illustrated)
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson 
Illustrator: Louis Rhead
Subjects: Adventure; Classic; Fiction; Pirates

Its influence is enormous on popular perceptions of pirates, including such elements as treasure maps marked with an “X,” one-legged seamen and more. Treasure Island was originally considered a coming-of-age story and is noted for its atmosphere, characters, and action. It is one of the most frequently dramatised of all novels. 

Requiem / Robert Louis Stevenson

Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will. 

This is the verse you grave for me:
'Here he lies where he longed to be;
Here is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.'

Moral Emblems / Robert Louis Stevenson



Contents:

NOT I, AND OTHER POEMS

I. Some like drink
II. Here, perfect to a wish
III. As seamen on the seas
IV. The pamphlet here presented

A Child's Garden of Verses / Robert Louis Stevenson



To Alison Cunningham
From Her Boy

For the long nights you lay awake
And watched for my unworthy sake:
For your most comfortable hand
That led me through the uneven land:
For all the story-books you read:
For all the pains you comforted:

The Waif Woman / Robert Louis Stevenson


This unpublished story, preserved among Mrs. Stevenson's papers, is mentioned by Mr. Balfour in his life of Stevenson. Writing of the fables which Stevenson began before he had left England and "attacked again, and from time to time added to their number" in 1893, Mr. Balfour says: "The reference to Odin [Fable XVII] perhaps is due to his reading of the Sagas, which led him to attempt a tale in the same style, called 'The Waif Woman.'"


THE WAIF WOMAN

A CUE

FROM A SAGA

This is a tale of Iceland, the isle of stories, and of a thing that befell in the year of the coming there of Christianity.

The Sea Fogs / Robert Louis Stevenson

A sheeted spectre white and tall,
The cold mist climbs the castle wall
And lays its hand upon thy cheek.
~Longfellow.


A change in the colour of the light usually called me in the morning. By a certain hour, the long, vertical chinks in our western gable, where the boards had shrunk and separated, flashed suddenly into my eyes as stripes of dazzling blue, at once so dark and splendid that I used to marvel how the qualities could be combined. At an earlier hour, the heavens in that quarter were still quietly coloured, but the shoulder of the mountain which shuts in the canyon already glowed with sunlight in a wonderful compound of gold and rose and green; and this too would kindle, although more mildly and with rainbow tints, the fissures of our crazy gable. If I were sleeping heavily, it was the bold blue that struck me awake; if more lightly, then I would come to myself in that earlier and fairier light.

The Body-Snatcher / Robert Louis Stevenson



Every night in the year, four of us sat in the small parlour of the George at Debenham--the undertaker, and the landlord, and Fettes, and myself. Sometimes there would be more; but blow high, blow low, come rain or snow or frost, we four would be each planted in his own particular arm-chair. Fettes was an old drunken Scotchman, a man of education obviously, and a man of some property, since he lived in idleness. He had come to Debenham years ago, while still young, and by a mere continuance of living had grown to be an adopted townsman. His blue camlet cloak was a local antiquity, like the church-spire. His place in the parlour at the George, his absence from church, his old, crapulous, disreputable vices, were all things of course in Debenham. He had some vague Radical opinions and some fleeting infidelities, which he would now and again set forth and emphasise with tottering slaps upon the table. He drank rum - five glasses regularly every evening; and for the greater portion of his nightly visit to the George sat, with his glass in his right hand, in a state of melancholy alcoholic saturation. We called him the Doctor, for he was supposed to have some special knowledge of medicine, and had been known, upon a pinch, to set a fracture or reduce a dislocation; but beyond these slight particulars, we had no knowledge of his character and antecedents.

Markheim / Robert Louis Stevenson



"Yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. Some customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so that the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he continued, "I profit by my virtue."

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside.

Fables / Robert Louis Stevenson



I. - THE PERSONS OF THE TALE.


AFTER the 32nd chapter of TREASURE ISLAND, two of the puppets 
strolled out to have a pipe before business should begin again, and 
met in an open place not far from the story.

"Good-morning, Cap'n," said the first, with a man-o'-war salute, 
and a beaming countenance.

A Lodging For The Night / Robert Louis Stevenson



It was late in November, 1456. The snow fell over Paris with rigorous,
relentless persistence; sometimes the wind made a sally and scattered
it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after flake
descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous, interminable.
To poor people, looking up under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder
where it all came from. Master Francis Villon had propounded an
alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window: was it only pagan
Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus? or were the holy angels moulting?
He was only a poor Master of Arts, he went on; and as the question
somewhat touched upon divinity, he durst not venture to conclude. A
silly old priest from Montargis, who was among the company, treated the
young rascal to a bottle of wine in honour of the jest and grimaces with
which it was accompanied, and swore on his own white beard that he had
been just such another irreverent dog when he was Villon's age.

A Christmas Sermon / Robert Louis Stevenson



By the time this paper appears, I shall have been talking for twelve
months;[1] and it is thought I should take my leave in a formal and
seasonable manner. Valedictory eloquence is rare, and death-bed sayings
have not often hit the mark of the occasion. Charles Second, wit and
sceptic, a man whose life had been one long lesson in human incredulity,
an easy-going comrade, a manoeuvring king--remembered and embodied all
his wit and scepticism along with more than his usual good humour in the
famous "I am afraid, gentlemen, I am an unconscionable time a-dying."

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