Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?'So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her. There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually TOOK A WATCH OUT OF ITS WAISTCOAT-POCKET, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled 'ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it. 'Well!' thought Alice to herself, 'after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!' (Which was very likely true.) Down, down, down. Would the fall NEVER come to an end! 'I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?' she said aloud. 'I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—' (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a VERY good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) '—yes, that's about the right distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.) ? ? ABOUT AUTHOR: ??Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (1832 – 1898), better known by his pen name, as “Lewis Carroll”, was an English writer, mathematician, logician, Anglican deacon and photographer. His most famous writings are Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and its sequel Through the Looking-Glass, as well as the poems "The Hunting of the Snark" and "Jabberwocky", all examples of the genre of literary nonsense.

F?szerepl?nk Kópé, egy erdei manó, aki kirándulók fogságábae sik, majd az erd?b?l egy f?városi lakótelepre kerül. A manó megsz?kik a rabságból, és meghúzódik egy limlommal zsúfolter kélyen. Nem esik kétségbe, hanem kényelmes kuckót alakít ki a kacatok k?z?tt. Kópé az épület el?tt magasodó akácfán k?zlekedik az erkélyek k?z?tt. ?gy talál egy barátot, Dórit, aki egyedül él az anyukájával, és soha nem járt erd?ben. A manó mesélni kezd az otthonáról, az odvas t?lgyrol, a barátairól. A mesékhez Dóri rajzokat készít. A rideg lakótelepen nem ismerik egymást az emberek, és éppen Kópé kalandozása, kíváncsisága hozza ?ket ?szsze. Dóri megismerkedik Olga nénivel, akit?l kertész kedni tanul,virágokat nevel az erkélyen, másoktól cicát kap. A k?nyvben az izgalmas kalandokat, mint például amikor Kópét majdnem elüti egy autó, vagy amikor lepottyan egyik erkélyrol a másikra, mulatságos részek gazdagítják. Az erdei él?világ valóságh? bemutatása keveredik a fantáziavilágbeli lények, tündérek és manók jellemzésével. Megtudhatjuk például, milyen is egy manó esküv?! Ajánlott korosztály: 5 és 10 év k?z?tt.

When does life begin?... A well-known book says "forty". A well-known radio program says "eighty". Some folks say it's mental, others say it's physical. But take the strange case of Mel Carlson who gave a lot of thought to the matter. Mel felt as if he were floating on clouds in the deepest, most intense dark he had ever experienced. He tried opening his eyes but nothing happened, only a sharp pain. Little bits of memory flashed back and he tried to figure out what could have happened, where he was. The last thing he could remember was the little lab hidden back in the mountains in an old mine tunnel. Remote, but only an hour's drive from the city. What had he been doing? Oh yes, arguing with Neil again. He even recalled the exact words."Damn it, Mel," his partner had said. "We've gone about as far as possible working with animal brains. We've got to get a human one." "We can't," Mel had disagreed. "There'd be enough of an uproar if the papers got hold of what we've been doing with animals. If we did get someone in a hospital to agree to let us use his brain on death, they would close us up tighter than a drum.""But our lab's too well hidden, they'd never know." "It wouldn't work anyway. The brain might be damaged for lack of oxygen and all of our work would go for nothing. Worse, it might indicate failure where a fresh, healthy brain would mean success.""We'll never know unless we try," said Neil almost violently, dark eyes glittering. "Our funds aren't going to last forever."

To the irreverent—and which of us will claim entire exemption from that comfortable classification—there is something very amusing in the attitude of the orthodox criticism toward Bernard Shaw. He so obviously disregards all the canons and unities and other things which every well-bred dramatist is bound to respect that his work is really unworthy of serious criticism (orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about the dramatic art than, according to his own story in "The Man of Destiny," Napoleon at Tavazzano knew of the Art of War. But both men were successes each in his way—the latter won victories and the former gained audiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war and the theatre. Shaw does not know that it is unpardonable sin to have his characters make long speeches at one another, apparently thinking that this embargo applies only to long speeches which consist mainly of bombast and rhetoric. There never was an author who showed less predilection for a specific medium by which to accomplish his results. He recognized, early in his days, many things awry in the world and he assumed the task of mundane reformation with a confident spirit. It seems such a small job at twenty to set the times aright. He began as an Essayist, but who reads essays now-a-days—he then turned novelist with no better success, for no one would read such preposterous stuff as he chose to emit. He only succeeded in proving that absolutely rational men and women—although he has created few of the latter—can be most extremely disagreeable to our conventional way of thinking. As a last resort, he turned to the stage, not that he cared for the dramatic art, for no man seems to care less about "Art for Art's sake," being in this a perfect foil to his brilliant compatriot and contemporary, Wilde. He cast his theories in dramatic forms merely because no other course except silence or physical revolt was open to him. For a long time it seemed as if this resource too was doomed to fail him. But finally he has attained a hearing and now attempts at suppression merely serve to advertise their victim. It will repay those who seek analogies in literature to compare Shaw with Cervantes. After a life of heroic endeavor, disappointment, slavery, and poverty, the author of "Don Quixote" gave the world a serious work which caused to be laughed off the world's stage forever the final vestiges of decadent chivalry. The institution had long been outgrown, but its vernacular continued to be the speech and to express the thought "of the world and among the vulgar," as the quaint, old novelist puts it, just as to-day the novel intended for the consumption of the unenlightened must deal with peers and millionaires and be dressed in stilted language. Marvellously he succeeded, but in a way he least intended. We have not yet, after so many years, determined whether it is a work to laugh or cry over. "It is our joyfullest modern book," says Carlyle, while Landor thinks that "readers who see nothing more than a burlesque in 'Don Quixote' have but shallow appreciation of the work." Shaw in like manner comes upon the scene when many of our social usages are outworn. He sees the fact, announces it, and we burst into guffaws. The continuous laughter which greets Shaw's plays arises from a real contrast in the point of view of the dramatist and his audiences. When Pinero or Jones describes a whimsical situation we never doubt for a moment that the author's point of view is our own and that the abnormal predicament of his characters appeals to him in the same light as to his audience. With Shaw this sense of community of feeling is wholly lacking. He describes things as he sees them, and the house is in a roar. Who is right If we were really using our own senses and not gazing through the glasses of convention and romance and make-believe, should we see things as Shaw does Must it not cause Shaw to doubt his own or the public's sanity to hear audiences laughing boisterously over tragic situations And yet, if they did not come to laugh, they would not come at all. Mockery is the price he must pay for a hearing. Or has he calculated to a nicety the power of reaction Does he seek to drive us to aspiration by the portrayal of sordidness, to disinterestedness by the picture of selfishness, to illusion by disillusionment It is impossible to believe that he is unconscious of the humor of his dramatic situations, yet he stoically gives no sign. He even dares the charge, terrible in proportion to its truth, which the most serious of us shrinks from—the lack of a sense of humor. Men would rather have their integrity impugned. In "Arms and the Man" the subject which occupies the dramatist's attention is that survival of barbarity—militarism—which raises its horrid head from time to time to cast a doubt on the reality of our civilization. No more hoary superstition survives than that the donning of a uniform changes the nature of the wearer. This

BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW is one of the few books for beginners in reading that may be classed as literature. Written in words of mostly one syllable, it has a story to tell, which is related in so attractive a manner as to immediately win the favor of young children. It teaches English and English literature to the child in the natural way: through a love for the reading matter. It is the character of story that will, in the not distant future, replace the ordinary primer or reader with detached sentences, and which seldom possesses any relation to literature.The ultimate objects of any story can only be effected through the love for a story. The prominent point in this story is development of good character, which may well be regarded as the highest purpose of education. The transformation from bad to good traits in the dog and cat cannot but have a desirable effect on every child that reads the story. Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew become dissatisfied with their home and their surroundings, and ungrateful toward their benefactress. As the story tells, "They did not find good in any thing." But after running away and suffering hunger, neglect, and bad treatment, their characters begin to change. They naturally come to reflect their mistress's goodness. They learn the value of companionship and friendship, and the appreciation of a home. However, the ethical thoughts in the story are presented without a moral. The child really lives the scenes described. He has the emotions of the characters and feels their convictions. And this determines the worth of a story as an agent in character development.The narrative furnishes, further, the proper kind of exercise for the imagination. It affords abundant opportunity for the play of the dramatic instinct in the child, and effects a happy union of the "home world" and the "school world." The illustrations, drawn by Miss Hodge, have been planned and executed with considerable care.

A mérf?ldk?nek számító Sons of Anarchy - Kemény motorosok cím? televíziós sorozat negyedik évadja után játszódó t?rténetét Kurt Sutter, a széria vezet? producere találta ki. A klubtagság fele éppenhogy csak kiszabadult a Stockton állami b?rt?nb?l, de a Galindo drogkartell máris a nyakukban liheg, így nem unatkoznak a motorosok. Jax Teller, a SAMCRO aleln?ke mégis kénytelen egy másik problémával foglalkozni, amikor megtudja, hogy ír féltestvére, Trinity már hónapok óta az Egyesült ?llamokban tartózkodik - és az orosz Bratva-gengszterekkel lóg. Most azonban elt?nt, és Jax biztos abban, hogy ehhez az életét fenyeget? maffiaháborúnak van k?ze. Jax, Chibs és Opie társaságában Nevadába utazik, hogy megkeresse, és hazavigye. Trinity ugyan félig ír, félig viszont Teller, és ahol a Tellerek megjelennek, ott k? k?v?n nem marad. ?A Maffiózók óta nem uralta így a tévéképerny?t egy csapat izzadt, er?szakos vadállat...” - Rolling Stone. ?Els? osztályú... A mai napig az egyik legjobb tévésorozat.” - Newsday. ?Az egyik legjobb dráma a tévében.” - Time. ??t csillagból négy... A Sons csúcsra járatja a drámát.” - New York Daily News.?

The Discovery of the Future is a philosophical lecture by H. G. Wells that argues for the knowability of the future. It was originally delivered to the Royal Institution on January 24, 1902. Before appearing in book form. Wells begins by distinguishing between “two divergent types of mind,” one that judges and attaches importance principally to what has happened in the past and one that judges and attaches importance principally to what will happen in the future. To the former he attributes the adjectives “legal or submissive,” “passive,” and “oriental,” and to the latter the adjectives “legislative, creative, organizing, or masterful,” and “active,” calling it “a more modern and much less abundant type of mind.” ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?*** It will lead into my subject most conveniently to contrast and separate two divergent types of mind, types which are to be distinguished chiefly by their attitude toward time, and more particularly by the relative importance they attach and the relative amount of thought they give to the future. The first of these two types of mind, and it is, I think, the predominant type, the type of the majority of living people, is that which seems scarcely to think of the future at all, which regards it as a sort of blank non-existence upon which the advancing present will presently write events. The second type, which is, I think, a more modern and much less abundant type of mind, thinks constantly and by preference of things to come, and of present things mainly in relation to the results that must arise from them. The former type of mind, when one gets it in its purity, is retrospective in habit, and it interprets the things of the present, and gives value to this and denies it to that, entirely with relation to the past. The latter type of mind is constructive in habit, it interprets the things of the present and gives value to this or that, entirely in relation to things designed or foreseen. While from that former point of view our life is simply to reap the consequences of the past, from this our life is to prepare the future. The former type one might speak of as the legal or submissive type of mind, because the business, the practice, and the training of a lawyer dispose him toward it; he of all men must constantly refer to the law made, the right established, the precedent set, and consistently ignore or condemn the thing that is only seeking to establish itself. The latter type of mind I might for contrast call the legislative, creative, organizing, or masterful type, because it is perpetually attacking and altering the established order of things, perpetually falling away from respect for what the past has given us. It sees the world as one great workshop, and the present is no more than material for the future, for the thing that is yet destined to be. It is in the active mood of thought, while the former is in the passive; it is the mind of youth, it is the mind more manifest among the western nations, while the former is the mind of age, the mind of the oriental. Things have been, says the legal mind, and so we are here. The creative mind says we are here because things have yet to be. Now I do not wish to suggest that the great mass of people belong to either of these two types. Indeed, I speak of them as two distinct and distinguishable types mainly for convenience and in order to accentuate their distinction. There are probably very few people who brood constantly upon the past without any thought of the future at all, and there are probably scarcely any who live and think consistently in relation to the future. The great mass of people occupy an intermediate position between these extremes, they pass daily and hourly from the passive mood to the active, they see this thing in relation to its associations and that thing in relation to its consequences, and they do not even suspect that they are using two distinct methods in their minds.

Soman Chainani els? regénye, a New York Times bestseller Jók és Rosszak Iskolája folytatásában Sophie és Agatha visszatér Gavaldonba, és boldogan élnek saját világukban, ám az élet nem olyan tündérmese, amilyennek képzelték… Agatha már úgy érzi, bárcsak más boldog befejezést kívánt volna a mesének, ám ekkor véletlenül megtalálja és kinyitja a Jók és Rosszak Iskolájának kapuját. A lányok azzal szembesülnek, hogy az a világ, amit az els? tanévben tapasztaltak, megváltozott. A boszorkányok és a hercegn?k a Lányok Iskolájában laknak. Elhatározták, hogy kirekesztik életükb?l a hercegeket. Tedros és a fiúk a Rossz Iskolája régi tornyainak lakói lettek. A két iskola k?z?tt háború van kit?r?ben. Vajon Agatha és Sophie helyre tudják állítani a békét? Vajon Sophie jó tud maradni úgy, hogy Tedros állandóan üld?zi? ?s kihez húz Agatha szíve? A barátn?jéhez vagy a hercegéhez? Soman Chainani kül?nleges világot teremtett. A Newbery-díj legutóbbi jutalmazottja, Ann M. Martin ?páratlan mesének” nevezi, amely ?csupa romantika, varázslat, humor és rejtvény. Legszívesebben egyhuzamban olvasnánk végig.”

The stories were written when Irish nationalism was at its peak, and a search for a national identity and purpose was raging; at a crossroads of history and culture, Ireland was jolted by various converging ideas and influences. They centre on Joyce's idea of an epiphany: a moment where a character experiences self-understanding or illumination. Many of the characters in Dubliners later appear in minor roles in Joyce's novel Ulysses. The initial stories in the collection are narrated by child protagonists, and as the stories continue, they deal with the lives and concerns of progressively older people. This is in line with Joyce's tripartite division of the collection into childhood, adolescence and maturity. THERE was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought, I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. He had often said to me: "I am not long for this world," and I had thought his words idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the word paralysis. It had always sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.Old Cotter was sitting at the fire, smoking, when I came downstairs to supper. While my aunt was ladling out my stirabout he said, as if returning to some former remark of his: "No, I wouldn't say he was exactly... but there was something queer... there was something uncanny about him. I'll tell you my opinion...." He began to puff at his pipe, no doubt arranging his opinion in his mind. Tiresome old fool! When we knew him first he used to be rather interesting, talking of faints and worms; but I soon grew tired of him and his endless stories about the distillery. "I have my own theory about it," he said. "I think it was one of those... peculiar cases.... But it's hard to say...." He began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory. My uncle saw me staring and said to me:"Well, so your old friend is gone, you'll be sorry to hear." "Who?" said I."Father Flynn.""Is he dead?" ? ABOUT AUTHOR: ? James Augustine Aloysius Joyce (1882 – 1941) was an Irish novelist and poet, considered to be one of the most influential writers in the modernist avant-garde of the early 20th century. Joyce is best known for Ulysses (1922), a landmark work in which the episodes of Homer's Odyssey are paralleled in an array of contrasting literary styles, perhaps most prominent among these the stream of consciousness technique he perfected. Other major works are the short-story collection Dubliners (1914), and the novels A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916) and Finnegans Wake (1939). His complete oeuvre also includes three books of poetry, a play, occasional journalism, and his published letters.

A kis szellem minden éjjel pontban éjfélkor f?lébred. Vígan járja Bagolyk? várának ?sszes termét, és meglátogatja ?reg barátját, Uhu bácsit. De k?zben arról ábrándozik, milyen jó lenne nappal látni a világot! Csupán egyetlenegyszer… Addig nem nyugszik, míg egy ver?fényes napon a kívánsága váratlanul nem teljesül. Ekkor izgalmas kalandok sora veszi kezdetét, és nemcsak a kis szellem számára… A Kolibri Klasszikusok sorozatban a Torzonborz-t?rténetek után egy újabb Otfried Preussler meseh?s, a kis szellem válhat generációk kedvencévé.

t lány, t nézpont, t knyv. Cherry trténete, a Cseresznyés ábránd az els. Cherry Costello élete hamarosan rkre megváltozik. Somersetbe kltzik az apukájával, ahol egy új anyuka és egy csomó vadiúj testvér vár rá. Rgtn az els napon megismeri Shay Fletchert, aki annyira szívdgleszt, hogy az már kzveszélyes. Csakhogy Shay foglalt: Cherry új mostohatestvérével, Honey-val jár. Cherry pontosan tudja, milyen kockázatos Shayjel barátkoznia – hiszen ezzel mindent tnkretehet. Csakhogy ez még nem jelenti azt, hogy távol is tudja tartani magát tle… Csajok és csokik. Egy knyvsorozat, melyben minden testvérnek megvan a maga trténete… Neked melyik lány lesz a kedvenced Talán a Cseresznyés ábránd fhse, Cherry Az a lány, akinek tejeskávé szín a bre, stétbarna szeme pedig mandulavágású. Akinek élénk a képzelete, szórakoztató a társaságában lenni, és aki mindig kiáll magáért. Cathy Cassidy nyolc-kilencéves korában írta meg els képesknyvét kisccsének, és azóta ontja magából a trténeteket. Magyarul elsként a Csajok és csokik-sorozata (a Cseresznyés ábránd az 1. ktet) jelenik meg, melynek a vagány Tanberry-nvérek a fhsei, de mellettük feltnik néhány szupermen srác is, valamint Cathy egyik legnagyobb szerelme, a csokoládé is fontos szerepet kap. Cathy Skóciában él a családjával. Az sszes munka kzül, amivel valaha megpróbálkozott, az írást szereti a legjobban – hiszen amikor ír, mást sem kell csinálnia, mint ébren álmodozni egész álló nap.

36 тижн?в у списку бестселер?в The New York Times! Евел?н пережива? глибоку особисту кризу. Вона знайомиться з? старенькою Н?нн?, яка, попри важку долю, не втрача? жаги до життя. Н?нн? розпов?да? Евел?н ?стор?? ?хнього м?стечка: про д?вчину, яка п?сля загибел? брата знаходить сили жити дал?; про розбите серце красун? Рут; про мандр?вного роб?тника, який закохався в Рут; про безроб?тних, яких у кафе ?Зупинка? годували безкоштовно... Ц? ?стор?? мають таку силу, що зм?нюють на краще життя тих, хто ?х чита?. 36 tizhn?v u spisku bestseler?v The New York Times! Evel?n perezhiva? gliboku osobistu krizu. Vona znajomit'sja z? staren'koju N?nn?, jaka, popri vazhku dolju, ne vtracha? zhagi do zhittja. N?nn? rozpov?da? Evel?n ?stor?? ?hn'ogo m?stechka: pro d?vchinu, jaka p?slja zagibel? brata znahodit' sili zhiti dal?; pro rozbite serce krasun? Rut; pro mandr?vnogo rob?tnika, jakij zakohavsja v Rut; pro bezrob?tnih, jakih u kafe ?Zupinka? goduvali bezkoshtovno... C? ?stor?? majut' taku silu, shho zm?njujut' na krashhe zhittja tih, hto ?h chita?.

Minden bonyodalom azzal kezd?dik, hogy Ríviai Geralt kardjainak rejtélyes módon lába kél. Ezt k?veti egy démonidéz? rejtélye, egy furcsa hajóút és egy meglehet?sen fordulatos királyi esküv?. A régi barát, K?k?rcsin szokás szerint most is Geralt ?segítségére siet”, akár akarja a vaják, akár nem. Felbukkan egy varázslón? is, aki megpróbálja irányítani Geraltot, szokás szerint. ?s ismét akadnak olyanok, akik a vaják útjába állnak, szokás szerint. Ez a k?tet Sapkowski utolsó regénye a Vaják-világban, és a sagához csak k?nny? szállal kapcsolódik, de a szerz? nem okoz csalódást: ismét egyszerre szembesülünk népek sorsával és az egyes ember drámájával, de mindezt ismét olyan gazdag képzeletvilággal ?tv?zve és olyan humorral tálalva, ami letehetetlenné teszi a k?tetet. Szokás szerint.

High into air are the great New York buildings lifted by a ray whose source no telescope can find.It seemed only fitting and proper that the greatest of all leaps into space should start from Roosevelt Field, where so many great flights had begun and ended. Fliers whose names had rung—for a space—around the world, had landed here and been received by New York with all the pomp of visiting kings. Fliers had departed here for the lands of kings, to be received by them when their journeys were ended. Of course Lucian Jeter and Tema Eyer were disappointed that Franz Kress had beaten them out in the race to be first into the stratosphere above fifty-five thousand feet. There was a chance that Kress would fail, when it would be the turn of Jeter and Eyer. They didn't wish for his failure, of course. They were sports-men as well as scientists; but they were just human enough to anticipate the plaudits of the world which would be showered without stint upon the fliers who succeeded. The warship simply vanished into the night sky. "At least, Tema," said Jeter quietly, "we can look his ship over and see if there is anything about it that will suggest something to us. Of course, whether he succeeds or fails, we shall make the attempt as soon as we are ready.""Indeed, yes," replied Eyer. "For no man will ever fly so high that another may not fly even higher. Once planes are constructed of unlimited flying radius ... well, the universe is large and there should be no end of space fights for a long time."

The Metamorphosis (German: Die Verwandlung, also sometimes translated as The Transformation) is a novella by Franz Kafka, first published in 1915. It has been cited as one of the seminal works of fiction of the 20th century and is studied in colleges and universities across the Western world. The story begins with a traveling salesman, Gregor Samsa, waking to find himself transformed (metamorphosed) into a large, monstrous insect-like creature. The cause of Samsa's transformation is never revealed, and Kafka never did give an explanation. The rest of Kafka's novella deals with Gregor's attempts to adjust to his new condition as he deals with being burdensome to his parents and sister, who are repulsed by the horrible, verminous creature Gregor has become. Part I: One day, Gregor Samsa, a traveling salesman, wakes up to find himself transformed into a "ungeheures Ungeziefer", literally "monstrous vermin", often interpreted as a giant bug or insect. He believes it is a dream, and reflects on how dreary life as a traveling salesman is. As he looks at the wall clock, he realizes he has overslept, and missed his train for work. He ponders on the consequences of this delay. Gregor becomes annoyed at how his boss never accepts excuses or explanations from any of his employees no matter how hard working they are, displaying an apparent lack of trusting abilities. Gregor's mother knocks on the door and he answers her. She is concerned for Gregor because he is late for work, which is unorthodox for Gregor. Gregor answers his mother and realizes that his voice has changed, but his answer is short so his mother does not notice the voice change. His sister, Grete, to whom he was very close, then whispers through the door and begs him to open the door. All his family members think that he is ill and ask him to open the door. He tries to get out of bed, but he is incapable of moving his body. While trying to move, he finds that his office manager, the chief clerk, has shown up to check on him. He finally rocks his body to the floor and calls out that he will open the door shortly.

Видано 45 мовами! Донна Тартт — лауреат Пул?тцер?всько? прем?? № 1 у списку 100 видатних книжок за верс??ю The New York Times Отямившись п?сля вибуху в музе?, тринадцятир?чний Тео ще не розум??, що там, п?д уламками, залишилися його мат?р ? його дитинство. Пробираючись до виходу, повз кам?ння та т?ла, в?н п?дбира? безц?нну картину фламандського майстра, яку так любила його мати. Дивний старий, вмираючи, в?дда? йому свого персня та просить винести картину зв?дси... Тео буде кидати ?з родини в родину, ?з Нью-Йорка до Амстердама, ?з глибин в?дчаю до ейфор??. Викрадений ?Щиголь? стане його прокляттям та над??ю на порятунок... Vidano 45 movami! Donna Tartt — laureat Pul?tcer?vs'ko? prem?? № 1 u spisku 100 vidatnih knizhok za vers??ju The New York Times Otjamivshis' p?slja vibuhu v muze?, trinadcjatir?chnij Teo shhe ne rozum??, shho tam, p?d ulamkami, zalishilisja jogo mat?r ? jogo ditinstvo. Probirajuchis' do vihodu, povz kam?nnja ta t?la, v?n p?dbira? bezc?nnu kartinu flamands'kogo majstra, jaku tak ljubila jogo mati. Divnij starij, vmirajuchi, v?dda? jomu svogo persnja ta prosit' vinesti kartinu zv?dsi... Teo bude kidati ?z rodini v rodinu, ?z N'ju-Jorka do Amsterdama, ?z glibin v?dchaju do ejfor??. Vikradenij ?Shhigol'? stane jogo prokljattjam ta nad??ju na porjatunok...

Underground* *The author of the diary and the diary itself are, of course, imaginary. Nevertheless it is clear that such persons as the writer of these notes not only may, but positively must, exist in our society, when we consider the circumstances in the midst of which our society is formed. I have tried to expose to the view of the public more distinctly than is commonly done, one of the characters of the recent past. He is one of the representatives of a generation still living. In this fragment, entitled "Underground," this person introduces himself and his views, and, as it were, tries to explain the causes owing to which he has made his appearance and was bound to make his appearance in our midst. In the second fragment there are added the actual notes of this person concerning certain events in his life.--AUTHOR'S NOTE. II am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand. Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad, well--let it get worse! I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years. Now I am forty. I used to be in the government service, but am no longer. I was a spiteful official. I was rude and took pleasure in being so. I did not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at least. (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on purpose!) When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I succeeded in making anybody unhappy. I almost did succeed. For the most part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners. But of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could not endure. He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a disgusting way. I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over that sword. At last I got the better of him. He left off clanking it. That happened in my youth, though. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite? Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be appeased. I might even be genuinely touched, though probably I should grind my teeth at myself afterwards and lie awake at night with shame for months after. That was my way.

Rachel Jenner csak egy pillanatra engedett, csak egy pillanatra fordult el, és ennyi elég volt, hogy nyolc éves fia, Ben elt?nj?n. Vajon mi t?rténhetett azon a szürke, es?s délutánon ott az erd?ben, ahova csak a szokásos kutyasétáltatásra mentek. Végzetes hibát vétett Rachel? Vagy bárkivel megeshetett volna? Az anya legrettenetesebb rémálmát éli át, és még a k?zvélemény is ellene fordul. Nem bízhat meg sem a volt férjében, sem a n?vérében, sem a barátn?jében. Egyedül maradt. Nincs kivel megossza gondolatait, kétségeit, egyre er?s?d? félelmét, vajon hol lehet Ben, mi lehet vele, egyáltalán él-e még. A rend?rség nyomoz, de ott is emberek dolgoznak… Az óra pedig ketyeg… Ebben a regényben semmi és senki nem az, mint aminek hiszed. Akaratlanul is elgondolkodsz: talán te sem? Szívbemarkoló, letehetetlenül izgalmas regény, téged sem hagy majd nyugodni a gondolat, mi lett a kisfiúval. Fej?s ?va

Szívszaggató t?rténet a minden akadályt leküzd? szerelemr?l, és a legnehezebb d?ntésr?l, amit életünkben hozhatunk. "Lucy, minden házasság tánchoz hasonló: id?nként bonyolult, máskor csodás, ám az id? túlnyomó részében igencsak eseménytelen. Mickey-vel viszont lesznek id?k, amikor üvegszilánkokon táncoltok majd. Fájni fog. Két lehet?séged van: vagy elmenekülsz ez el?l a fájdalom el?l, vagy szorosan ?sszekapaszkodtok, és együtt táncoltok át a k?vetkez? biztos helyre." Lucy Houstonnak és Mickey Chandlernek nem lett volna szabad egymásba szeretniük, még kevésbé ?sszeházasodniuk. Mindkettejüket hibás génekkel sújtotta ugyanis a sors: a férfi bipoláris személyiségzavarral küzd, a n? családjában a mellrák szedi áldozatait. ?m amikor Lucy huszonnegyedik születésnapján útjaik ?sszetalálkoznak, fellángol a szikra, és t?bbé le sem tagadhatják az egymás iránti vonzalmukat. Elt?kélten és megfontoltan küzdenek azért, hogy a kapcsolatuk m?k?dhessen, ezért írásba foglalják ígéreteiket. Mickey szedi a gyógyszereit. Lucy nem hibáztatja azért, ami felett nincs hatalma. A férfi ?szinteséget fogad. A n? türelmet. Mint bármely házasságban, nekik is vannak jó, rossz és néha nagyon rossz napjaik. Annak érdekében, hogy megbirkózhassanak az egyedülálló kihívásokkal, szívszaggató d?ntést hoznak: nem vállalnak gyermeket. Amikor azonban Lucy megjelenik egy rutin orvosi vizsgálaton, olyan meglepetés éri, ami mindent megváltoztat. Mindent. Egy pillanat alatt értelmüket vesztik a szabályok, és ?k ketten kénytelenek újradefiniálni a szerelem valódi lényegét. A K?nyvjelz? magazin 2015. szeptemberi számában megjelent cikk: Harc a szerelemért

jvári Hanna a tinik megszokott életét élte egészen egy évvel ezelttig, egy családi tragédia azonban mindent megváltoztatott. Most apukájával kettesben tlti a hétkznapokat, és rég nem a korosztályának átlagos problémái foglalkoztatják. Miután átveszi a tizenegyedikes bizonyítványát, az évzáró után váratlan felkérést kap az igazgatótól: részt vehet egy iskolai versenyen, ahol kiváló matekosként fleg a logikai feladatok megoldásában számítanak rá. Hanna krnyezete ragaszkodik hozzá, hogy elmenjen a megmérettetésre, így a Szirtes Gimnázium négyfs csapata elindul az Iskolák Országos Versenyén.

Rejt? Jen? 1941 táján írhatta életm?vének eme kevéssé ismert darabját. Az Afrikában játszódó kisregény f?h?se egy orvos-kalandor: az abszurdba hajló alaphelyzet, illetve Morbicer és a bennszül?ttek kulturális kül?nbségei számos komikus helyzetet eredményeznek. Az elbeszélés azonban jóval mélyebb üzenetet is hordoz: a humoron túl a hagyományos életrend és a modern civilizáció ütk?zésének tragédiájáról is szól. Mindez nem meglep?, hisz a II. világháború idején Rejt? maga is megtapasztalhatta a 20. század technikai fejl?désének zsákutcáit, a szilárdnak hitt értékek amortizálódását, a morális értékek morzsálódását (fegyverkezés, az államhatalom túlburjánzása, jogfosztottság stb.). A nyersanyag-lel?helyeket hajszoló, szerelmi csalódásában verg?d?, a bennszül?ttek szemében mitikus lénnyé váló Morbicer azonban gyógyít is - teszi ezt annak dacára, hogy nem jár érte k?sz?net. Figuráját Rejt? részben Albert Schweitzerr?l mintázta: a világhír? orvos és humanista afrikai kórházépítésér?l és gyógyító tevékenységér?l szóló k?nyve magyarul is olvasható volt, Rejt? innét vette az alap?tletet. A kisregény 75 évig lappangott az író szétzilált hagyatékában: annak idején vélhet?en az elbeszélésb?l kiolvasható háborúellenesség miatt nem jelenhetett meg. Kül?nleges annyiban is, hogy számos, egymástól markánsan eltér? változatban maradt f?nn, miáltal szinte egyedülálló módon nyílik rálátás a rejt?i sz?vegalakítás dzsungelkonyhájára, az általa teremtett figurák alakulására. A kisregény most el?sz?r jelenik meg ?nálló k?tetben - ráadásul r?gt?n 3 változatban! - Konzílium j?n. Nekünk kell megállapítani, hogy mi baja van a f?n?knek. - De uram, akkor csak róla állapítsuk meg a betegség okát. Rólam az egész világ tudja, hogy még sohasem loptam. - Bejártam az egész világot, és mindenütt tisztában vannak azzal, hogy te vagy a legnagyobb tolvaj. - Uram, te nemcsak rossz szív? vagy, hanem okos is, de most megtévesztett az egész világ. Kül?nben sem értem, hogy egy konzíliumon miért kell az én betegségeimr?l beszélni, hála Balongának, nem fáj semmim, tehát nem fontos, hogy loptam-e. Ha reméljük, r?videsen meghalsz, ezt a konzílium nev? gyógyítást én nem fogom csinálni. - Te is orvos vagy, tehát tudnod kell szintén, hogy vannak ragályos betegségek, ami azt jelenti, hogyha az egyik ember lop, akkor a másiknak sokszor olyan lesz a gyomra, mint a nadrág. - Vagy a b?r lábszárvéd?. Ezzel tisztában vagyok. De itt senki se beteg, csak a f?n?k. - Mi, orvosok tudjuk jól, hiszen magunk k?z?tt vagyunk, T?kász: hogy vannak úgynevezett bacilusgazdák, ez annyit jelent, hogy valaki lop, nem lesz semmi baja, és egy másiknak a k?zelében olyan lesz a gyomra, mint a b?r lábszárvéd?. Ezért te mint a t?rzs varázslója elmondod, hogy kit?l és mit loptatok, addig nem tudom meggyógyítani a f?n?k?t, mert gondolhatod, hogy más betegség lesz, ha valaki egy négert?l ellopja a halászózsákját, vagy egy misszionáriustól a hosszú cs?vet, amin keresztül befolynak a távoli fák és hegyek, egészen az ember szemébe. Vagy más betegsége lesz valakinek, akit megrúgok, mert elvitte házam el?l a f?lf?z?tt szárított húst...