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.

The Shining    

 Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick.
 Ullman stood five-five, and when he moved, it was with the prissy speed that
seems to be the exclusive domain of all small plump men. The part in his hair
was exact, and his dark suit was sober but comforting. I am a man you can bring
your problems to, that suit said to the paying customer. To the hired help it 
spoke more curtly: This had better be good, you. There was a red carnation in
the lapel, perhaps so that no one on the street would mistake Stuart Ullman for
the local undertaker.
 As he listened to Ullman speak, Jack admitted to himself that he probably
could not have liked any man on that side of the desk — under the circumstances.
 Ullman had asked a question he hadn't caught. That was bad; Ullman was the
type of man who would file such lapses away in a mental Rolodex for later
consideration.
 "I'm sorry?"
 "I asked if your wife fully understood what you would be taking on here. And
there's your son, of course." He glanced down at the application in front of
him. "Daniel. Your wife isn't a bit intimidated by the idea?"
 "Wendy is an extraordinary woman."
 "And your son is also extraordinary?"
 Jack smiled, a big wide PR smile. "We like to think so, I suppose. He's quite
self-reliant for a five-year-old."
 No returning smile from Ullman. He slipped Jack's application back into the
file. The file went into a drawer. The desk top was now completely bare except
for a blotter, a telephone, a Tensor lamp, and an in/out basket. Both sides of
the in/out were empty, too.
 Ullman stood up and went to the file cabinet in the corner. "Step around the
desk, if you will, Mr. Torrance. We'll look at the floor plans."
 He brought back five large sheets and set them down on the glossy walnut plain
of the desk. Jack stood by his shoulder, very much aware of the scent of
Ullman's cologne. All my men wear English Leather or they wear nothing at all
came into his mind for no reason at all, and he had to clamp his tongue between
his teeth to keep in a bray of laughter. Beyond the wall, faintly, came the
sounds of the Overlook Hotel's kitchen, gearing down from lunch.
 "Top floor," Ullman said briskly. "The attic. Absolutely nothing up there now
but bric-a-brac. The Overlook has changed hands several times since World War II
and it seems that each successive manager has put everything they don't want up
in the attic. I want rattraps and poison bait sowed around in it. Some of the
third-floor chambermaids say they have heard rustling noises. I don't believe
it, not for a moment, but there mustn't even be that one-in-a-hundred chance
that a single rat inhabits the Overlook Hotel."
 

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