18 Works in the "L" Index

Little Men - Louisa May Alcott
at gate at which the omnibus left him. "Yes. Who sent you?" "Mr. Laurence. I have got a letter for the lady." "All right; go up to the house, and give it to her; she'll see to you, little chap." The man spoke pleasantly, and the boy went on, feeling much cheered by the words. Through the soft spring rain that fell on sprouting grass and budding trees, Nat saw a large square house befor

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
dful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff. "We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth contentedly from her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened

Last Words - Emily Brontë
lips or heart shall sue. That wild hill-side, the winter morn, The gnarled and ancient tree, If in your breast they waken scorn, Shall wake the same in me. I can forget black eyes and brows, And lips of falsest charm, If you forget the sacred vows Those faithless lips could form. If hard commands can tame your love, Or strongest walls can hold, I would not wish to grieve above A

Loud Without The Wind Was Roaring - Emily Brontë
, Spoke of winter nigh. All too like that dreary eve, Did my exiled spirit grieve. Grieved at first, but grieved not long, Sweet--how softly sweet!--it came; Wild words of an ancient song, Undefined, without a name. "It was spring, and the skylark was singing:" Those words they awakened a spell; They unlocked a deep fountain, whose springing, Nor absence, nor distance can quell. In

Love And Friendship - Emily Brontë
se-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with the holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.

Love And Friendship - Emily Brontë
se-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with the holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.

Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed From a Skull - Lord George Gordon Byron
d, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee; I died: let earth my bones resign: Fill up -thou canst not injure me; The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape Than nurse the earthworm's slimy brood, And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods than reptile's food. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, In aid of othe

Lines Written Beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow - Lord George Gordon Byron
here now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, And frequent mused the twilight hours away; Where, as they once were wont, my

Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill - Lord George Gordon Byron
ht that joy and health alone could be Where I was not -and pain and sorrow here. And is it thus? -it is as I foretold, And shall be more so; for the mind recoils Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold, While heaviness collects the shattered spoils. It is not in the storm nor in the strife We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more, But in the after-silence on the shore, When all is lo

Love's Secret - William Blake
invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart, Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears. Ah! she did depart! Soon after she was gone from me, A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh.

Love - Anton Chekhov
ng at me with its stars. I can't sleep, I am so happy! "My whole being from head to heels is bursting with a strange, incomprehensible feeling. I can't analyse it just now -- I haven't the time, I'm too lazy, and there -- hang analysis! Why, is a man likely to interpret his sensations when he is flying head foremost from a belfry, or has just learned that he has won two hundred thousand? Is he

Ladies - Anton Chekhov
st and generous man, was one day interviewing in his office a schoolmaster called Vremensky. "No, Mr. Vremensky," he was saying, "your retirement is inevitable. You cannot continue your work as a schoolmaster with a voice like that! How did you come to lose it?" "I drank cold beer when I was in a perspiration. . ." hissed the schoolmaster. "What a pity! After a man has served fourteen

Lights - Anton Chekhov
, and I went out of the hut to see at whom it was barking. I was the visitor, and might have remained indoors, but I must confess my head was a little dizzy from the wine I had drunk, and I was glad to get a breath of fresh air. "There is nobody here," said Ananyev when we went out. "Why are you telling stories, Azorka? You fool!" There was not a soul in sight. "The fool," Azorka, a bl

Lord Jim - Joseph Conrad
t at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull. His voice was deep, loud, and his manner displayed a kind of dogged self-assertion which had nothing aggressive in it. It seemed a necessity, and it was directed apparently as much at himself as at anybody else. He was spotlessly neat, apparelled in immaculate white fr

Love - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listened to my l

Little Dorrit - Charles Dickens


Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
found the Origin of the Saying: Don't lose the Card This is what had taken place above the coffin in which lay Jean Valjean. When the hearse had driven off, when the priest and the choir boy had entered the carriage again and taken their departure, Fauchelevent, who had not taken his eyes from the grave-digger, saw the latter bend over and grasp his shovel, which was sticking upright in the

Lady Chatterley's Lover - D.H. Lawrence
are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen. This was more or less Constance Chatterley's position. The war had brought the roof down over her head. And she had realised that on