هذا القسم يحتوي علي العديد من القصص والروايات باللغة الإنجليزية

(Stories and novels) القصص والروايات
الرواية هي سرد نثري طويل يصف شخصيات خيالية أو واقعية وأحداثاً على شكل قصة متسلسلة، كما أنها أكبر الأجناس القصصية من حيث الحجم وتعدد الشخصيات وتنوع الأحداث، وقد ظهرت في أوروبا بوصفها جنساً أدبياً مؤثراً في القرن الثامن عشر، والرواية حكاية تعتمد السرد بما فيه من وصف وحوار وصراع بين الشخصيات وما ينطوي عليه ذلك من تأزم وجدل وتغذيه الأحداث
A novel is a relatively long work of narrative fiction, normally written in prose form, and which is typically published as a book. The present English word for a long work of prose fiction derives from the Italian novella for "new", "news", or "short story of something new", itself from the Latin novella, a singular noun use of the neuter plural of novellus, diminutive of novus, meaning "new". Walter Scott made a distinction between the novel, in which (as he saw it) "events are accommodated to the ordinary train of human events and the modern state of society" and the romance, which he defined as "a fictitious narrative in prose or verse; the interest of which turns upon marvellous and uncommon incidents". However, many such romances, including the historical romances of Scott, Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights and Herman Melville's Moby-Dick, are also frequently called novels, and Scott describes romance as a "kindred term". This sort of romance is in turn different from the genre fiction love romance or romance novel
A short story is a piece of prose fiction that typically can be read in one sitting and focuses on a self-contained incident or series of linked incidents, with the intent of evoking a "single effect" or mood.

A dictionary definition is "an invented prose narrative shorter than a novel usually dealing with a few characters and aiming at unity of effect and often concentrating on the creation of mood rather than plot."

The short story is a crafted form in its own right. Short stories make use of plot, resonance, and other dynamic components as in a novel, but typically to a lesser degree. While the short story is largely distinct from the novel or novella (a shorter novel), authors generally draw from a common pool of literary techniques.

Inkheart    

The moon shone in the rocking horse's eye, and in the mouse's eye, too, when Tolly
fetched it out from under his pillow to see. The clock went tick-tock, and in the stillness
he thought he heard little bare feet running across the floor, then laughter and
whispering, and a sound like the pages of a big book being turned over.
– L. M. Boston, The Children of Green Knowe
Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain. Many years later, Meggie had only to close her eyes
and she could still hear it, like tiny fingers tapping on the windowpane. A dog barked
somewhere in the darkness, and however often she tossed and turned Meggie couldn't get to
sleep.
The book she had been reading was under her pillow, pressing its cover against her ear as if to
lure her back into its printed pages. "I'm sure it must be very comfortable sleeping with a hard,
rectangular thing like that under your head," her father had teased the first time he found a book
under her pillow. "Go on, admit it, the book whispers its story to you at night."
"Sometimes, yes," Meggie had said. "But it only works for children." Which made Mo tweak her
nose. Mo. Meggie had never called her father anything else.
That night — when so much began and so many things changed forever — Meggie had one of
her favorite books under her pillow, and since the rain wouldn't let her sleep she sat up, rubbed
the drowsiness from her eyes, and took it out. Its pages rustled promisingly when she opened it.
Meggie thought this first whisper sounded a little different from one book to another, depending
on whether or not she already knew the story it was going to tell her. But she needed light. She
had a box of matches hidden in the drawer of her bedside table. Mo had forbidden her to light
candles at night. He didn't like fire. "Fire devours books," he always said, but she was twelve
years old, she surely could be trusted to keep an eye on a couple of candle flames. Meggie loved
to read by candlelight. She had five candlesticks on the windowsill, and she was just holding the
lighted match to one of the black wicks when she heard footsteps outside. She blew out the
match in alarm — oh, how well she remembered it, even many years later — and knelt to look
out of the window, which was wet with rain. Then she saw him.
 

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