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Young Adult Books for Women

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Works, V1

Works, V1

It is not to be understood that all statements here made are either ascertained facts or universally admitted conjectures. The introduction is intended merely to put those who are not scholars, and probably have not books of reference at hand, in a position to approach the translation at as little disadvantage as may be. Accordingly, we give the account that commends itself to us, without discussion or reference to authorities. Those who would like a more complete idea of Lucian should read Croiset's Essai sur la vie et les oeuvres de Lucien, on which the first two sections of this introduction are very largely based. The only objections to the book (if they are objections) are that it is in French, and of 400 octavo pages. It is eminently readable. With the exception of a very small number of statements, of which the truth is by no means certain, all that we know of Lucian is derived from his own writings. And any reader who prefers to have his facts at first rather than at second hand can consequently get them by reading certain of his pieces, and making the natural deductions from them. Those that contain biographical matter are, in the order corresponding to the periods of his life on which they throw light, The Vision, Demosthenes, Nigrinus, The Portrait-study and Defence (in which Lucian is Lycinus), The Way to write History, The double ndictment (in which he is The Syrian), The Fisher (Parrhesiades), Swans and Amber, Alexander, Hermotimus_ (Lycinus), Menippus and Icaromenippus (in which Menippus represents him), A literary Prometheus, Herodotus, Zeuxis, Harmonides, The Scythian, The Death of Peregrine, The Book-fancier, Demonax, The Rhetorician's Vade mecum, Dionysus, Heracles, A Slip of the Tongue, Apology for 'The dependent Scholar.'_ Of these The Vision is a direct piece of autobiography; there is intentional but veiled autobiography in several of the other pieces; in others again conclusions can be drawn from comparison of his statements with facts known from external sources. Lucian lived from about 125 to about 200 A.D., under the Roman Emperors Antoninus Pius, M. Aurelius and Lucius Verus, Commodus, and perhaps Pertinax. He was a Syrian, born at Samosata on the Euphrates, of parents to whom it was of importance that he should earn his living without spending much time or money on education. His maternal uncle being a statuary, he was apprenticed to him, having shown an aptitude for modelling in the wax that he surreptitiously scraped from his school writing-tablets. The apprenticeship lasted one day. It is clear that he was impulsive all through life; and when his uncle corrected him with a stick for breaking a piece of marble, he ran off home, disposed already to think he had had enough of statuary. His mother took his part, and he made up his mind by the aid of a vision that came to him the same night.
Love Letter, Public Shame

Love Letter, Public Shame

The crumpled note in my locker felt like a ticking time bomb. It was a love letter, addressed to me, Chloe, from a handwriting I didn't recognize. But before I could even process it, Principal Albright, hawk-eyed and always on the prowl, spotted a corner peeking from my pocket. "What is that, Ms. Davis?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the hall. I was caught, forced to hand over the painfully private confession. She read it, her face hardening into a mask of disgust, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her own pocket. "My office. After school," she said, her heels clicking like a death knell. Dread coiled in my stomach, but a sliver of relief, too-at least it would be private. I was wrong. Ms. Albright, perched behind her mahogany desk like a queen on her throne, deemed the letter "poetic" and "overly emotional," a "distraction" that derailed "promising students." Then she dropped the bomb: I would be reading it aloud, for everyone, at the Parent-Teacher Meeting tomorrow night. It wasn't a choice; it was a command, a public shaming she framed as a "teachable moment." My blood ran cold. Her voice, now dripping with self-righteous conviction, painted the letter as a "serious problem," a "symptom of a lack of focus," a "derailment of academic career." She demanded I not only read it, but identify the author. She was turning a tender, private sentiment into a weapon, attempting to break me and publicly humiliate some anonymous boy. But Ms. Albright, so certain in her rigid worldview, had no idea just how spectacularly her plan was about to backfire. She had no idea that the "problem" boy she wanted to expose, the one whose heartfelt words she was about to use as a performance of moral superiority, was her own son. Ethan Albright. Her perfect, valedictorian, star-athlete son.
Tying Her Laces: The Devil's Submission

Tying Her Laces: The Devil's Submission

I thought surviving the elite academy's boot camp would be my biggest challenge, especially with my childhood nemesis, Julian Astor IV, suddenly back in my life. But the real nightmare started when my cabin mate, Blair, targeted me out of pure, toxic jealousy. Because Julian showed me secret, protective attention, Blair decided to destroy me. Right before a strict military formation, she stole my mandatory uniform belt. I was publicly humiliated by the ruthless instructor, forced to do grueling physical punishments in the freezing mud while the entire freshman class watched. But Blair didn't stop there. During a terrifying 2 AM night drill, she maliciously exposed my hidden snacks to the instructors. "Oh my god! Sloane is eating contraband during an emergency drill!" I was dragged out into the freezing cold to run endless laps. My muscles screamed in agony, and my lungs burned like swallowed glass. Through it all, Blair stood in the warm cabin, wearing a triumphant smirk. I was exhausted, freezing, and pushed to my absolute physical limits. Why was I being tortured and framed over a boy I claimed to hate? But I wasn't going to just lie down and let her ruin me. Noticing a tiny sliver of my stolen canvas belt peeking out of Blair's poorly latched locker, I wiped the mud from my pants. As the strict instructor marched in for the morning inspection, I stood perfectly still, ready to spring my trap.
Beyond the Bell: A Bias Exposed

Beyond the Bell: A Bias Exposed

Ashley, a diligent high school student, usually focused intently on Ms. Davison's history lectures, diligently preparing for her big exam. But one ordinary day, a sudden, brutal pain, deeper and more sinister than any muscle cramp, surged through her right side, accompanied by an unsettling wave of feverish heat. Despite Ashley's desperate plea to see the nurse, Ms. Davison, with icy contempt, casually dismissed her suffering as "dramatic theatrics" designed to skip class, even offering her questionable, unlabeled pills from a dusty drawer before physically blocking Ashley from leaving the classroom, threatening severe detention as Ashley swayed, on the verge of collapse. The raw, infuriating injustice burned through Ashley and later, her distraught nurse mother, Sarah, who had overheard the chaos of her daughter’s collapse over a disconnected phone call, only to receive the terrifying ER diagnosis of a severe, life-threatening kidney infection that, hours earlier, could have claimed Ashley’s life, all because Ms. Davison prioritized her arbitrary biases over a child's urgent medical need. Fueled by an unshakeable resolve to ensure no other child endures such callous neglect, Ashley’s parents, Sarah and Mark, begin their meticulously planned public reckoning, deciding to expose Ms. Davison’s alarming negligence and deeply ingrained prejudices, not with a lawsuit, but with a scathing, sarcastically-worded "award" and a pointed "care package" at the school's widely attended PTA meeting, setting the stage for a dramatic showdown.
The Cricket on the Hearth: A Fairy Tale of Home

The Cricket on the Hearth: A Fairy Tale of Home

Dodo Collections brings you another classic from Charles Dickens, 'The Cricket on the Hearth: A Fairy Tale of Home.' Dickens gave his first formal expression to his Christmas thoughts in his series of small books, the first of which was the famous "Christmas Carol." There followed four others: "The Chimes," "The Cricket on the Hearth," "The Battle of Life," and "The Haunted Man." The five are known today as the "Christmas Books." Of them all the "Carol" is the best known and loved, and "The Cricket on the Hearth," although third in the series, is perhaps next in popularity, and is especially familiar to Americans through Joseph Jefferson's characterisation of Caleb Plummer. The title creature is a sort of barometer of life at the home of John Peerybingle and his much younger wife Dot. When things go well, the cricket on the hearth chirps; it is silent when there is sorrow. Tackleton, a jealous old man, poisons John's mind about Dot, but the cricket through its supernatural powers restores John's confidence and all ends happily. Charles Dickens was an English writer and social critic. He created some of the world's best-known fictional characters and is regarded as the greatest novelist of the Victorian era. His works enjoyed unprecedented popularity during his lifetime, and by the twentieth century critics and scholars had recognised him as a literary genius. His novels and short stories enjoy lasting popularity.Born in Portsmouth, Dickens left school to work in a factory when his father was incarcerated in a debtors' prison. Despite his lack of formal education, he edited a weekly journal for 20 years, wrote 15 novels, five novellas, hundreds of short stories and non-fiction articles, lectured and performed extensively, was an indefatigable letter writer, and campaigned vigorously for children's rights, education, and other social reforms. A prolific 19th Century author of short stories, plays, novellas, novels, fiction and non-fiction; during his lifetime Dickens became known the world over for his remarkable characters, his mastery of prose in the telling of their lives, and his depictions of the social classes, morals and values of his times. Some considered him the spokesman for the poor, for he definitely brought much awareness to their plight, the downtrodden and the have-nots. He had his share of critics, like Virginia Woolf and Henry James, but also many admirers, even into the 21st Century.
Animal Ghosts

Animal Ghosts

In opening this volume on Animals and their associations with the unknown, I will commence with a case of hauntings in the Old Manor House, at Oxenby.My informant was a Mrs. Hartnoll, whom I can see in my mind's eye, as distinctly as if I were looking at her now. Hers was a personality that no lapse of time, nothing could efface; a personality that made itself felt on boys of all temperaments, most of all, of course, on those who—like myself—were highly strung and sensitive.She was classical mistress at L.'s, the then well-known dame school in Clifton, where for three years—prior to migrating to a Public School—I was well grounded in all the mysticisms of Kennedy's Latin Primer and Smith's First Greek Principia.I doubt if she got anything more than a very small salary—governesses in those days were shockingly remunerated—and I know,—poor soul, she had to work monstrously hard. Drumming Latin and Greek into heads as thick as ours was no easy task.But there were times, when the excessive tension on the nerves proving too much, Mrs. Hartnoll stole a little relaxation; when she allowed herself to chat with us, and even to smile—Heavens! those smiles! And when—I can feel the tingling of my pulses at the bare mention of it—she spoke about herself, stated she had once been young—a declaration so astounding, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that we were rendered quite speechless—and told us anecdotes.Of many of her narratives I have no recollection, but one or two, which interested me more than the rest, are almost as fresh in my mind as when recounted. The one that appealed to me most, and which I have every reason to believe is absolutely true,[1] is as follows:—I give it as nearly as I can in her own somewhat stilted style:—"Up to the age of nineteen, I resided with my parents in the Manor House, Oxenby. It was an old building, dating back, I believe, to the reign of Edward VI, and had originally served as the residence of noble families. Built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and edged and buttressed with cut grey stone, it had a majestic though very gloomy appearance, and seen from afar resembled nothing so much as a huge and grotesquely decorated sarcophagus. In the centre of its frowning and menacing front was the device of a cat, constructed out of black shingles, and having white shingles for the eyes; the effect being curiously realistic, especially on moonlight nights, when anything more lifelike and sinister could scarcely have been conceived. The artist, whoever he was, had a more than human knowledge of cats—he portrayed not merely their bodies but their souls.
The Player Wants Me?!

The Player Wants Me?!

Sequel To "My Bestfriends, The Players And I". You should probably read that first but it isn't necessary but for it to make more sense. "So you know who I am then?" He asked, smirking. "Most people do. But yes, you're Kian Wilde. The Bad boy. The Player. The Heart breaker." I say and he smirked. "Nice to know what you think of me as" he says with a wink. "That isn't what I think of you" I smirk back, returning the wink. "What do you think of me then?" He asked with a small smirk. "Oh you know. It isn't what most of the girls would say." I say with a small giggle. His smirk widens. "I'd say you were an absolute asshole, A manwhore, A jerk who needs to learn that using girls gets you nowhere in life." I say giving him a sweet smile. The smirk on his face, dropped. Issabelle Evans. She is popular, she is pretty, she is nice. She has boys dropping at her feet but since her previous boyfriend, she is scared of getting close to boys. Ryder Evans. He is popular, he is good looking, he is nice. Girls are lining up to be with him but he doesn't really care about having a girlfriend though, he just cared about looking and protecting his twin sister, Issabelle. Kian Wilde. He is the player, the bad boy, the player of the school. He has girls queuing to be with him, like Ryder. He was also gorgeous. When he notices Issabelle for the first time, he thinks she is beautiful. With heart break, dark daunting pasts and bright, fun futures, Kian and Issabelle find themselves finding themselves getting closer and closer. Closer than ever.