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In this volume we examine the German language. Or rather the authors who wrote in German but are here translated into English. German is most often called the language of philosophers due to its precision and clarity. However, if you’ve studied German, you will know that sentence construction can be difficult to grasp. However, within these stories the language of these great talents express themselves in dazzling prose and searching narratives. And the characters? Clearly the works of genius.

William Morris was born in Walthamstow, London, on 24 March 1834 and is regarded today as a foremost poet, writer, textile designer, artist and libertarian. Morris began to publish poetry and short stories in 1856. Morris' fascination with the ancient Germanic and Norse peoples dominated his writing, and he was the first to translate many of the Icelandic sagas into English. He also published limited-edition illuminated style books, with his design for The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer standing out.

In this series we look at short stories from many of our most accomplished writers. Miniature masterpieces with a lot to say. In this volume we examine some of the short stories of Virginia Woolf. Adeline Virginia Woolf was born in 1882 and was to become a founder of modernist writing. Her background is filled with elements of tragedy that she somehow overcame to become a revered writer. Her mother died when she was 13, her half sister Stella two years later and with that came her first of several nervous breakdowns.

When there really did seem to be more stars in Hollywood than in heaven, Hollywood Stage had them performing films as radio plays - on the sponsor's dime, of course. Classic films now become audiobooks, with many featuring the original stars from way back when. Here's Suspicion starring Joan Fontaine and Brian Aherne.

Dictionaries summon up many words, but none fulfill. Love itself is often ethereal, felt but only seen in a glance, a look, a fleeting touch. Part of love’s beauty is perhaps in the fact that the question never can be adequately answered; it's ephemeral, a chimera of the heart and only felt. Our own experiences are unique and personal to ourselves and of little help defining it for another.

Paul Laurence Dunbar was born on 27th June 1872 in Dayton, Ohio. His parents had been slaves in Kentucky before the Civil War. Dunbar wrote his first poem at age six and gave his first public recital at age nine. By 16, he was already published as a poet in The Herald, a local newspaper. After completing his formal schooling in 1891, Dunbar was employed as an elevator operator, at four dollars a week. His hopes of a legal career floundered on a lack of funds and racial discrimination. However, he wrote his poetry and took every opportunity to publish.

Theatre Royal. The very name summons up something of grandeur and eloquence. And it was. Hosted by Laurence Olivier, these big-name productions also included the creme de la creme of acting talents from John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson and Orson Welles to Trevor Howard, Michael Redgrave and Olivier himself. They were based on works by the world's leading authors, among them Charles Dickens, Henry James, Oscar Wilde and Anton Chekhov. These are but a few of whose company we shall be keeping as we raise the curtain on our first instalment of theatrical history.

When there really did seem to be more stars in Hollywood than in heaven, Hollywood Stage had them performing films as radio plays - on the sponsor's dime, of course. Classic films now become audiobooks, with many featuring the original stars from way back when. Here's Strangers on a Train starring Ray Milland and Ruth Roman.

Short stories have always been a sort of instant access into an author’s brain, their soul and heart. They can lift our lives into locations, people and experiences with a sweep of landscape, narration, feelings and emotions that is difficult to achieve elsewhere. Human beings are, in the main, social animals, they like to gather, to herd together, to share experiences. But some do not. Either through choice or exclusion their way forward is difficult. In this volume our authors and their characters share their stories.

Our quoted authority is not the people in white coats but those with a quill, a heart and a soul that can take these feelings of love and loss and with the ink of words put to verse feelings and emotions that can be re-lived and shared by all. As they venture through depression, war, slavery to heartache and the loss of loved ones our eyes may mist and tears gently fall at what collectively we have done, have experienced, have witnessed and lost.

The question is asked by each of us, but the answer remains elusive. Dictionaries summon up many words, but none fulfill. Love itself is often ethereal, felt but only seen in a glance, a look, a fleeting touch. Part of love’s beauty is perhaps in the fact that the question never can be adequately answered; it's ephemeral, a chimera of the heart and only felt. Our own experiences are unique and personal to ourselves and of little help defining it for another.

Each and every one of us has attempted the feat—to express our feelings on love is one of the joys, or heartaches, of life. In this volume 10 poets add their immortal words on love. Some are tender, some are strident, some beguile with unknown words and play but always, always in tones of love. Genius in every name.

Festus Claudius McKay was born in Sunny Ville, Jamaica on the 15th September 1890, He was the youngest son to parents who had gathered enough assets to secure them the right to vote. As a boy he was fascinated by English Poetry and literature, although at 17 he took on work as an apprentice woodcutter for two years before becoming a police constable in the capital, Kingston. In this mainly white and affluent town racism was rife and its nature awakened his political instincts and pursuit of social justice. He soon returned home and published his first two poetry collections in 1912.

Sometimes we want to be a little scared when we hear a story. Our nerves to tingle, the hair on our necks to gradually stand up. We can suspend our own reality for a while as authors lay out their wares of anxiety, worry, tension, and then increase the levels one by one until we are gripped by forces that make us afraid. It’s a real feeling. In this volume story after story assault our senses with mere words, with thoughts and descriptions that twist and deceive, with outcomes that we dread and shudder at the thought of.

There is something about the number 3. The Ancient Greeks believed 3 was the perfect number, and in China 3 has always been a lucky number, and they know a thing or two. Most religions also have 3 this and 3 that and, of course, in these more modern times, three's a crowd may be too many, except when it's a ménage à trois. It seems good things usually come in threes.

There is something about the number 3. The Ancient Greeks believed 3 was the perfect number, and in China 3 has always been a lucky number, and they know a thing or two.

There is something about the number 3. The Ancient Greeks believed 3 was the perfect number, and in China 3 has always been a lucky number, and they know a thing or two.

The bookshelves of American literature are incredible collections that have gathered together centuries of very talented authors. From this continent their fame spread and whilst among their number many are now forgotten or neglected their talents endure. Among them is the talented but obscure author Benjamin Rosenblatt.

The language of Poetry is an art that most of us attempt at some point in our lives. Although its commonplace exposure has been somewhat marginalised in today’s often fast-paced lives we all recognise good verse that can empathise with our thoughts or open us up to experience new things in new ways

Loss in any form seems to burden us with more weight than anything that can possibly be gained or learnt from. The loss of a person, a loved one, is often overwhelming. Lives so interwoven that the severing or loss of one life leaves the other weakened, unable to function for some time. Recovery comes in a myriad of forms but is usually debilitating, slow and, in the end, we are not as whole as we once were.It is a subject that authors return to again and again.