Below, you can find thefull text of the short story: “The story of Narcissus” (The disciple) by Oscar Wilde,in original englishlanguage. In the top or side menu you can find the fulltext of the short story“The story of Narcissus” (The disciple)translatedin other languages:French, It...
Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured print of the pr...
The parish priest had his first suspicion of an imposter when he saw that he did not understand the language of God or know how to greet His ministers. Then he noticed that seen close up he was much too human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings...
And it was an all-too-rare stroke of luck when the father of a family came by with his children, pointed his finger at the hunger artist, gave a detailed explanation about what was going on here, and talked of earlier years, when he had been present at similar but incomparably more ma...
and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him. ...
My father’s house it is, but each object stands cold beside the next, as though preoccupied with its own affairs, which I have partly forgotten, partly never known. What use can I be to them, what do I mean to them, even though I am the son of my father, the old farmer?
“I would not do it for my life! It is eighteen francs lost, that is all. It will not ruin us.” The next morning he took a walking-stick when he went out, and, luckily, it was a fine day. Left at home alone, Mme. Oreille could not get over the loss of her eighteen francs...
If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!” “Uncle!” pleaded the nephew. ...
but it is singular, that as years rolled away, and the noon of manhood found me still in the mansion of my fathers—it is wonderful what stagnation there fell upon the springs of my life—wonderful how total an inversion took place in the character of my commonest thought. ...
of life, how vigorous and unyielding she was. He knew, too, that she might last another week, in spite of the doctor’s opinion, and so he said resolutely: “No, I would rather you would fix a price until the end. I will take my chance, one way or the other. The doctor says ...