JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924) was a remarkable figures in Englishliterature. A master stylist, both lush and precise, his outsider'seye gave him special insights into the moral dangers of the greatage of European empires.

Author’s Note2015-03-07
An Outcast of the Islands is my second novel in the absolute sense of the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were in its essence.
Part I Chapter One2015-03-07
When he stepped off the straight and narrow path of his peculiar honesty, it was with an inward assertion of unflinching resolve to fall back again into the monotonous but safe stride of virtue as soon as his little excursion into the wayside quagmires had produced the desired effect.
Chapter Two2015-03-06
The sea, perhaps because of its saltness, roughens the outside but keeps sweet the kernel of its servants soul.
Chapter Three2015-03-06
The opportunity and the temptation were too much for Willems, and under the pressure of sudden necessity he abused that trust which was his pride, the perpetual sign of his cleverness and a load too heavy for him to carry.
Chapter Four2015-03-05
His meditation which resembled slow drifting into suicide was interrupted by Lingard, who, with a loud Ive got you at last! dropped his hand heavily on Willems shoulder.
Chapter Five2015-03-05
It was the writing on his forehead, said Babalatchi, adding a couple of small sticks to the little fire by which he was squatting, and without looking at Lakamba who lay down supported on his elbow on the other side of the embers.
Chapter Six2015-03-04
Lend me your gun, Almayer, said Willems, across the table on which a smoky lamp shone redly above the disorder of a finished meal.
Chapter Seven2015-03-04
There are in our lives short periods which hold no place in memory but only as the recollection of a feeling.
Part II Chapter One2015-03-03
The light and heat fell upon the settlement, the clearings, and the river as if flung down by an angry hand.
Part III Chapter One2015-03-03
Yes! Cat, dog, anything that can scratch or bite; as long as it is harmful enough and mangy enough.
Part IV Chapter One2015-03-02
Babalatchi, coming out of the red and smoky light of his little bamboo house, glanced upwards, drew in a long breath of the warm and stagnant air, and stood for a moment with his good eye closed tightly, as if intimidated by the unwonted and deep silence of Lakamba’s courtyard.
Part V Chapter One2015-03-02
Almayer propped, alone on the verandah of his house, with both his elbows on the table, and holding his head between his hands, stared before him, away over the stretch of sprouting young grass in his courtyard, and over the short jetty with its cluster of small canoes, amongst which his big whale-boat floated high, like a white mother of all that dark and aquatic brood.