A fantastic account of the famous 'Boston Tea Party' when, in 1773, colonists in Boston protested the East India Company's stranglehold on the tea import market by throwing three shiploads of tea into the sea, and the events that followed.

Three classic short ghost stories by the master of spooky fiction: Charles Dickens. Includes The Signal-Man, a story about a railway signalman haunted by ghosts that are harbingers of terrible rail crashes. Dickens himself was involved in the Staplehurst rail crash on 9 June 1865, and undoubtably based some of the story on his experience, as well as the Clayton Tunnel crash that occurred in 1861.

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.

In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in. The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty, sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband, kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look there was a touch of dread or horror. Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his steady gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they were things of usage. 'Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the sweep of it.' Trusting to the girl's skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But, it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as though with diluted blood. This caught the girl's eye, and she shivered. 'What ails you?' said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent on the advancing waters; 'I see nothing afloat.' The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever the strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an instant. At every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or barge that split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets from the piers of Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat the filthy water, at the floating logs of timber lashed together lying off certain wharves, his shining eyes darted a hungry look. After a darkening hour or so, suddenly the rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the Surrey shore. Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.

Чортова дванадцятка — досить змстовна й влучна характеристика збрки жахв за редакцю неперевершеного Ствена Джонса! Пд одню обкладинкою збран 12 гостроцкавих оповдань менитих майстрв горору. Дж. Гаррс, К. Ньюман, М. рей, Р. Кемпбелл та нш гарантують вам безсонну нч в атмосфер тамничост й мстики… Подейкують, що в паризькому Театр Жаху влаштовують кривав вистави. Тридцятидвохрчна Кейт Рд пдбралася надто близько до розгадки… (Гньоль) Вдомий актор Даррен Ловр на пку популярност… був, аж доки не розгнвав вдьму! (Забуття)Chortova dvanadcjatka — dosit' zmstovna j vluchna harakteristika zbrki zhahv za redakcju neperevershenogo Stvena Dzhonsa! Pd odnju obkladinkoju zbran 12 gostrockavih opovdan' menitih majstrv gororu. Dzh. Garrs, K. N'juman, M. rej, R. Kempbell ta nsh garantujut' vam bezsonnu nch v atmosfer tamnichost j mstiki… Podejkujut', shho v pariz'komu Teatr Zhahu vlashtovujut' krivav vistavi. Tridcjatidvohrchna Kejt Rd pdbralasja nadto bliz'ko do rozgadki… (Gn'ol') Vdomij aktor Darren Lovr na pku populjarnost… buv, azh doki ne rozgnvav vd'mu! (Zabuttja)

In 1861 Captain Grant succeeded Captain Burgess on Matinicus, taking his son with him as assistant. The old keeper left Abby on the rock to instruct the newcomers in their duties, and she performed the task so well that young Grant fell in love with her, and asked her to become his wife. Soon after their marriage she was appointed an assistant keeper. A few years later the husband was made keeper and the wife assistant keeper of White Head, another light on the Maine coast. There they remained until the spring of 1890, when they removed to Middleborough, Mass., intending to pass the balance of their days beyond sight and hearing of the rocks and the waves. But the hunger which the sea breeds in its adopted children was still strong within them, and the fall of 1892 found them again on the coast of Maine, this time at Portland, where the husband again entered the lighthouse establishment, working in the engineers' department of the first lighthouse district. With them until his death lived Captain Grant, who in the closing months of 1890, being then aged eighty-five, retired from the position of keeper of Matinicus light, which he had held for nearly thirty years. Not less lonely, but far more perilous than the life of the keepers of a light like that on Matinicus is the lot of the crew of the South Shoal lightship, whose position twenty-six miles off Sankaty Head, Nantucket Island, makes it the most exposed light-station in the world. Anchored so far out at sea, it is only during the months of summer and autumn that the lighthouse tender ventures to visit it, and its crew from December to May of each year are wholly cut off from communication with the land. It is this, however, that makes the South Shoal lightship a veritable protecting angel of the deep, for it stands guard not only over the treacherous New South Shoal, near which it is anchored, but over twenty-six miles of rips and reefs between it and the Nantucket shore—a wide-reaching ocean graveyard, where bleach the bones of more than a half thousand wrecked and forgotten vessels. The lightship is a stanchly built two-hulled schooner of 275 tons burden, 103 feet long over all, equipped with fore-and-aft lantern masts 71 feet high, and with two masts for sails, each 42 feet high. The lanterns are octagons of glass in copper frames, so arranged that they can be lowered into houses built around the masts. In the forward part of the ship is a huge fog bell, swung ten feet above the deck, which, when foggy weather prevails, as it frequently does for weeks at a time, is kept tolling day and night. A two-inch chain fastened to a "mushroom" anchor weighing upward of three tons holds the vessel in eighteen fathoms of water, but this, so fiercely do the waves beat against it in winter, has not prevented her from going adrift many times. She was two weeks at sea on one of these occasions, and on another she came to anchor in New York Harbor. Life on the South Shoal lightship is at all times a hard and trying one, and, as a matter of fact, the crew are instructed not to expose themselves to danger outside their special line of duty. This, however, does not deter them from frequently risking their lives in rescuing others, and when, several years ago, the City of Newcastle went ashore on one of the shoals near the lightship, all hands, twenty-seven in number, were saved by the South Shoal crew and kept aboard of her over two weeks, until the story of the wreck was signalled to a passing vessel. Isaac H. Grant holds a silver medal given him by the Government for rescuing two men from drowning while he was keeper at White Head; while Frederick Hatch, keeper of the Breakwater station at Cleveland was awarded the gold bar. The last mentioned badge of honor is granted only to one who has twice distinguished himself by a special act of bravery. It was given Hatch in the winter of 1898.

Three of the short story collections starring the famous detective are combined here.Contains all the stories originally published in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1892), The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (1894) and The Return of Sherlock Holmes (1905).Conan Doyle first published his fictional character of Holmes in 1887 followed by a series of short stories in the Strand Magazine in 1891. 5 collections of his Holmes short stories were published, and he also wrote 4 novels starring the character.The public could not get enough of Holmes, even demanding his resurrection after his apparent death over Reichenbach Falls, and his popularity still continues.

Can it be possibly believed, by the present eminently practical generation, that a busy people like the English, whose diversified occupations so continually expose them to the chances and changes of a proverbially fickle sky, had ever been ignorant of the blessings bestowed on them by that dearest and truest friend in need and in deed, the UMBRELLA?

Gravesend 1920. A famous mystery writer, while searching through the remains of a damaged church looking for story ideas, happens upon a document that was never meant to be found or read. Any knowledge of its contents could change the terms of the treaty that ended the First World War. There is also a change in the hand that writes and records the cases of Sherlock Holmes.

The famous anti-slavery novel that went a long way to challenge the status quo of pre-Civil War America. The best selling novel of the 19th century, its legacy today is divided, being both a famous "e;vital antislavery tool"e;, but also helping to establish many black stereotypes. DISCLAIMER: This book was written in 1852 and is thus a product of its time. As such much of the language and stereotypes may be shocking or insulting to a modern audience.

Belenéztél már a párod mobiljába? Tényleg ezt akarod? Felkészültél a k?vetkezményekre? Minden egy e-maillel kezd?d?tt. Rachel meg sem akarta nézni. Szereti Jacket, és k?z?s gyermeküket hordja a szíve alatt. Megbízik a férfiban. Most azonban, miután látta, már nem tudja meg nem t?rténtté tenni azt a percet. Sem az események láncolatát, amelyet elindított. Vajon miért hazudik Jack a múltjáról? Mi az, amit rejteget? ?s Rachelnek van joga hozzá, hogy mindenáron megtudja az igazat? Te mit tennél, ha úgy gondolnád, hogy a párod titkol valamit? A Bármit, csak ne az igazat Gillian McAllister leny?g?z?, átüt? thrillere csalásról, árulásról és egy asszony megszállottságáról, hogy kiderítse az igazságot. " Ahogy elkezdtem olvasni, t?bbé nem volt er?m abbahagyni. Bámulatos, okos és életszer?. Imádtam." Jill Mansell "Csodálatos írás, és egy brilliáns sztori.Bámulatos debütálás." B.A. Paris, a Zárt ajtók m?g?tt bestseller szerz?je

Gond van a paradicsomban... Jemma, amióta csak az eszét tudja, a t?kéletes nászutat tervezi. Kéthetes menedék egy ?tcsillagos üdül?helyen a Maldív-szigeteken, luxus villákkal, személyi inassal és teljes visszavonultságban. Paradicsominak kellene lennie, de rémálommá válik. A férfi ugyanis, akihez egy héttel ezel?tt feleségül ment, nyomtalanul elt?nt a szigetr?l, és a t?kéletes új élet épp ilyen gyorsan t?nik el Jemma szeme el?l. Ez hogy t?rténhet meg mindazok után, amin együtt keresztülmentek? Létezik valaki a szigeten, akiben a fiatal n? megbízhat? ?s mindenekel?tt - hová ment a férje? ?rzelmekkel teli és lebilincsel? világsiker? pszichológiai thriller.

Míg Tompa Andrea el?z? k?nyve, A hóhér háza egy magányos leány huszadik századvégi bildungsromanja, addig az új regény egy magányos férfi és egy magányos leány kül?n?s kett?sét rajzolja meg száz évvel kés?bb. Felváltva beszélnek hozzánk: a Brassó k?zeli aljegyz? fia és az enyedi zsidó keresked? lánya. Lehetne e k?nyv romantikus példázat, de nem az. H?seink els? találkozásának emlékét kiradírozza az ?sszeomlás, az új id?számításban mellékesen, véletlenszer?en sodródnak megint egymás mellé. Az igazi nagy, szenvedélyes találkozás a tudásra és hasznos m?k?désre szomjas lelkeké Kolozsvárral, a polgári Erdély kultúrájával, szellemi potenciáljával, a fejl?dés igézetével.

Végre egy férfi szemsz?géb?l is láthatjuk, milyen bonyolult (és csodálatos) párkapcsolatban élni! Norman humora Nick Hornby-éval vetekszik, elképeszt?en k?nnyed stílusban ír a harminc?t éves f?h?sér?l, aki felett ?sszecsapnak a hullámok: a szuper házassága meginogni látszik, de még a reklámsz?vegírói munkája is veszélybe kerül. Tom Violet írói álmokat kerget, de sajnos szinte mindenki az apjához, a t?bbsz?r?s irodalmi díjas, tehetséges íróhoz hasonlítja, akiért bomlanak a n?k, és aki mindig, minden helyzetben feltalálja magát. Tomnak nemcsak magában és maga k?rül kell rendet raknia, de még a család kajla fül?, krónikus szorongással küzd? kutyáját is istápolnia kell... Ez a Fej?s ?va k?nyvtára els? ?pasisan csajos”, imádnivalóan humoros regénye, amely egy férfi szemsz?géb?l mutatja be a párkapcsolat nehézségeit és szépségeit. ?Minden sora leny?g?z?tt. Egy érzékeny szerz? finom humorral megírt t?rténete, ami nemcsak a férfiakról, hanem rólunk, n?kr?l is szól. Egy regény a reményr?l, szerelemr?l, h?ségr?l, családról és a boldogságról...” – Fej?s ?va

One day – actor-turned-detective – Anthony Noir receives a letter from California, in which an old lady asks his help in the investigation of a long-ago case. On New Year’s Eve 1929 a famous Hollywood actress died in a car accident. The mysterious client implies it was – in fact – a deliberate murder. Anthony discovers all the possible details of the extraordinary assignment, even so he has to embark on an extensive journey to the past before he can unveil the secret of the movie star…

Addison Holmes élete romokban hever. Szerelme az oltár el?tt úgy d?nt, mégsem mondja ki a boldogító igent, a balul sikerült esküv? számlái pedig kifizetetlenül hevernek állandóan beázó lakásában. Mit tesz egy elhivatott tanárn?, ha komoly pénzzavarba kerül? Talán kül?nórákat vállal? Esetleg k?lcs?nkér a szüleit?l? Egy józan gondolkodású lány bizonyára ezt tenné, Addison azonban nagyobb haszonnal kecsegtet?, de annál is t?bb kockázattal járó mellékállást vállal, és elszeg?dik sztriptíztáncosn?nek. A lány, aki mágnesként vonzza a bajt, r?vid úton egy gyilkossági ügybe keveredik, így jobb híján felcsap magándetektívnek. Még szerencse, hogy segítséget kap egy hihetetlenül szexi, de elviselhetetlenül szemtelen rend?rnyomozótól, akinek élete titkokat rejt… Kaland, szerelem, romantika, humor és mindenekfelett egy ?rülten szerethet? f?szerepl? teszi felejthetetlenné a Go-go girl sorozatot. Fej?s ?va

Fiatal, gy?ny?r?, gazdag és tehetséges, ráadásul a világ egyik legnépszer?bb színészn?je. Kell ennél t?bb a boldogsághoz? Bizony kell! Ha valaki, hát a huszonnyolc éves Connie pontosan tudja, hogy a jó adag csillámporral beszórt hollywoodi álomgyár valójában darálógép, ami szép lassan kizsigereli az embert. De egy nap betelik a pohár! Amerika üdv?skéje fogja magát, és elsz?kik Los Angelesb?l. Nagy titokban egy aprócska skót faluba utazik, mert cs?ndre és nyugalomra vágyik. Lochnabrae tényleg képeslapra kívánkozóan idilli hely, na de hogy békés lenne? Ugyan! Az amerikai sztár nem számolt a végletekig szókimondó és pletykás helyiekkel, akiket hosszú távon szinte lehetetlen elviselni, mik?zben jóval szerethet?bbek, mint a lány által túl jól ismert sztárok. Színpadra vinni a falubeli amat?r társulattal a Vízkeresztet egyszerre vicces és ideg?rl? feladat Connie számára. Persze valószín?leg k?nnyebben boldogulna, ha a szívd?gleszt? rendez? – aki megfogadta, hogy soha t?bbet nem kezd színészn?kkel ? nem lenne annyira undok vele. ?s f?leg, ha kevésbé szikrázna a leveg?, valahányszor egymásra néznek… ?Kiugrani a sajátunkból, hogy kipróbáljunk egy másik életet? Ki ne játszott volna még el a gondolattal? Hiszen ?másnak mindig k?nnyebb?... Sz?kés, szerelem, újrakezdés – err?l szól Victoria Connelly romantikus regénye. Akinek tetszett a Bárcsak itt lennél, vagy rajong Cecelia Ahern regényeiért, az ezt a k?nyvet is szeretni fogja!” Fej?s ?va

Csak szenvedélyes erd?járóknak! Filozófikus eszmefuttatások erd?r?l, madarakról, fegyverekr?l, vadászírókról és veszend? értékekr?l. Harmincegy állatmese a mátyásmadárról, a ravasz nyúlról, az Apró Vadászok Egyesületér?l - és persze az erd?r?l. A népszer? vadászíró (Az id?r?l és az erd?r?l, Az erd?r?l és az elt?nt id?r?l, Az elveszett erd?r?l és a megtalált id?r?l) újabb párbeszéde a természettel.

Dina Kane számára a szépség több mint vonzer?. Több mint üzlet. A szépség hatalom. Ám Dinának keményen meg kell küzdenie ezért a hatalomért, míg eljut a szegénységb?l és a kiszolgáltatottságból a leggazdagabb New York-i n?k szívéig. Kezdeti naivitásával csúnyán visszaél egy férfi, aki akkor még nem sejti: Dina Kane személyében nem egy eltaposható, buta fruskát gyalázott meg. A lány nem mindennapi képességekkel rendelkezik, ami a kereskedelmet illeti, és egy kis kozmetikai üzletben felfedezi azt, ami igazán érdekli: a szépségipart. Csakhogy a sikert senki nem garantálja. Egy kallódó testvér, egy gonosz anya, a pénztelenség és túl fiatal kora mellett még egy akadály az útjába áll: egykori megszégyenít?je, az aranyifjú Edward Johnson is kemény ellenfélnek bizonyul. Dinának azonban nemcsak szépsége különleges, de kitartása is. Felveszi a keszty?t, hogy megküzdjön mindazokkal, akik útjába állnak. Er?, kreativitás és kitartás – ez Dina mottója.   Nem véletlenül mondják, hogy egy szép n?nek mindig nehezebb érvényesülnie a pályáján, hát még akkor, ha az ötleteivel felülmúlja a kollégáit és a versenytársait. Dina er?s n?, aki akkor sem adja fel, amikor már mindenki más feladná a helyében... Fej?s Éva

1609 októberében?Fabricius Flóra, egy pozsonyi orvos lánya?Báthori Erzsébet ?udvarába érkezik, hogy megkeresse elt?nt n?vérét. Ha tudta volna, mi vár rá, talán útnak sem indul. Hamarosan megtanulja, semmi sem az, aminek látszik, és semmi sem biztos, csak a halál. Ki mozgatja vajon a szálakat? Ki az, aki befolyásolja az eseményeket, és a gyilkolástól sem riad vissza?? Minden erejére szüksége van, hogy legy?zze az akadályokat és kibogozza a s?tét titkot, melyet a csejtei vár falai rejtenek.? Egyetlen emberre számíthat csupán, az Itáliából érkezett, kétes jellem?, mégis rendkívül vonzó férfira, akir?l azt sem tudja pontosan, hogy kicsoda, és azt sem, miért segít neki.? R.?Kelényi Angelika, Terézanyu-díjas írón??17. század elején játszódóregénye kalandos, izgalmas, és vérfagyasztó t?rténetet mesél el, korh? t?rténelmi háttérbe helyezve.? Ahogy azt már megszokhattuk t?le, írása nem nélkül?zi a romantikát és a politikai cselsz?vést sem.?

Constat c literatura mare n-au scris-o, dup 1989, cei care ctigaser puterea, n cultur, sub eticheta biruitoare de postmodernism, ci scriitorii singuratici, indiferent de generaie, indiferent dac unora li s-au pus stigmatul de expirai. Nicolae Breban, o spun de la bun nceput, a dat una dintre marile cri ale literaturii romne moderne i transmoderne, aproape o carte-testament. (...) Singura cale este una dintre cele mai lucide cri care s-au scris vreodat, capodopera-sintez a operei lui Nicolae Breban, susinut la o tensiune narativ excepional. (...) Singura cale este unul dintre marile romane transmoderne, n varianta cinic/kynic.“ – Theodor CodreanuCred c un mare scriitor cum este Nicolae Breban ar merita mult mai mult atenie de ct a avut parte n ultimii douzeci de ani, cnd s-a ncpnat s fac ceea ce a fcut dintotdeauna, indiferent de epoca pe care a traversat-o, indiferent de situaia social pe care a avut-o: s scrie. Ca orice mare creator, Breban a avut mereu puterea de a institui prin scrisul su, n pofida evidenelor, normalitatea.“ – Bogdan Creu)Nicolae Breban, nscut n 1934, continu, de la debutul su literar din 1957 i de la publicarea primului su romn, Francisca, n 1965, s fie o prezen de vrf n literatura romn contemporan. (...) Autorul attor volume a probat, de asemenea, un singular curaj civic, atunci cnd, la nici doi ani de la alegerea sa, exclusiv pentru merite culturale, ca membru supleant al Comitetului Central al Partidului Comunist Romn (august 1969), a dezavuat, la Paris, n mod public, regimul Ceauescu, pentru tezele culturale dogmatice din iulie 1971. Cu acel prilej, i-a dat i demisia din funcia de redactor-ef al principalei reviste literare autohtone, Romnia literar. El a refuzat, totui, exilul i s-a ntors n Romnia, suportnd cu demnitate urmrile gesturilor sale de nesupunere n numele unei contiine scriitoriceti libere...“ – Ion IanoiN. Breban este mai ales unul dintre marii romancieri ai literaturii romne dintotdeauna, cel mai important dintre romancierii notri actuali, sincron, prin formele i substana ficiunii, celei mai semnificative literaturi contemporane universale.“ – Marian Victor Buciu