When young cat Simon is smuggled on board a ship, his quiet little life soon becomes an adventure fit for heroes.With new friend Peggy, the ship ;s dog, he bravely fights King Rat and his gang, rescues the crew from their problems, and shows the joy an animal can bring to our lives.Winning the hearts of the sailors and people across the world, Seacat Simon ;s inspiring and moving true tale of love, friendship and adventure is sure to enthrall a new generation of children. ;Action packed read, rich in detail, harrowing in places, heart-warming in others, and with a beautiful ending. ; - Sheila Jeffries, author of Solomon's Tale .NOTE: Children's version contains bonus quiz material.VERSION FOR ADULTS: Able Seacat Simon ;s story is also available as Simon Ships Out: How one brave, stray cat became a worldwide hero in ebook, paperback and audio formats.VERSION FOR SMALL CHILDREN: Able Seacat Simon ;s story will soon be available as Seacat Simon: An illustrated picture book in ebook and paperback formats.

This is a literary gem that has inspired many for years, and a must for any book collection. Allow yourself to be transported to other worlds and take part in one of the greatest tales ever told.Baron Munchausen was a real German adventurer known for his fondness for tall tales and exaggeration. But the exploits that Rudolf Erich Raspe attributed to him in his book quite clearly drew on folklore and on Raspe's own whimsical inventiveness. The Baron's escapades include a balloon expedition to visit the King of the Moon, an encounter with the goddess Venus, a battle with the Turkish army, and an enormous sea creature who swallows him up in the South Seas.

FIRE MOUNTAIN IS "A THRILLING SEA STORY BY "NORMAN SPRINGER", AUTHOR OF "THE BLOOD SHIP" Years. Bright, aslant eyes, and a suave and ever-ready smile that broke immediately Martin met his gaze. "You will be so good as to inform the honorable that Dr. Ichi is here?" he asked in precise and stilted voice. Ever the same—the noiseless entry, the quietly spoken request for the lawyer. Martin repressed a flash of irritation; the little Japanese, with his uncanny soft-footedness and stereotyped address, got upon his nerves. However, his orders were explicit; Mr. Smatt would see Dr. Ichi without delay or preliminary, whenever Dr. Ichi favored the office with a visit. It was already the third visit that day, but orders were orders. So, Martin inclined his head toward the door of Smatt's private office. The Japanese crossed the room. He bowed to Martin, as stately a bow as if Martin were also an "honorable," instead of a poor devil of a law clerk; then, noiselessly as he had entered the outer office, Dr. Ichi disappeared within Smatt's sanctum. Martin turned to his window again. But his bright day dream was fled, and he could not conjure it back again. The view was without charm. His thoughts, despite himself, persisted in centering upon the dapper little figure now closeted with his employer. The dandified Jap aroused Martin's interest. What manner of client was this Dr. Ichi? Martin had not seen a single scrap of paper, nor had Smatt dropped a single hint, concerning the case. It was mysterious! Martin was not an overly curious chap, but he was human. It was another of Smatt's secret cases, thought Martin. Another token of those hidden activities of the old vulture, which he sensed, but did not know about. For, though Martin attended to the routine work, though his duties were responsible—Smatt specialized and was prominent in maritime law—still Martin knew he did not enjoy his employer's complete confidence. Much of Smatt's time was taken up with cases Martin knew nothing about, with clients who appeared to shun the daylight of the courts. The Nippon Trading Company, for instance! Martin knew Smatt was interested in a company of that name—a strange company, that apparently conducted business without using the mails. And there was business between Ichi and Smatt—money, or Smatt would have nothing to do with it. The mystery aroused Martin's dormant curiosity. But all his speculation was pointless. Martin bethought himself of the marine affidavit lying uncompleted upon his desk. He turned from the window with the intention of applying himself to that task—and he discovered the office to have a second visitor. Another unusual figure who possessed the penchant for surreptitious entry. He observed the fellow in the very act of closing the office door.

– Itt Zachary Horner beszél! Miben segíthetek? – Jó estét kívánunk Zachary James Horner! A Brit Szerencsejáték Sz?vetség ?r?mmel értesíti ?nt, hogy megnyerte a British Bonus f?nyereményét, azaz nyolcvan?tmillió fontot. – A rohadt élet! – d?bbent meg a fiatalember a hír hallatán, majd felülve az ágyán, nagy ?r?mmel folytatta – Ez most azt jelenti, hogy eltalálták mind a négy számot, amit megjátszottam? – Igen, tisztelt uram! Ez a legmagasabb ?sszeg, amit ember eddig valaha nyert. Nyereményét bármikor átveheti a londoni k?zpontunkban is személyesen, de akár bankszámlára is elutalhatjuk ?nnek.

Fegyverek lehetnek-e pusztítóbb, gyilkos fegyverek, Mint a ragyogó n?i szemek? Lágy természet sátrába bekuporodva, A nap csak mécsesként pislákolva, ?rzi szerelmedet. Hallottál még annyi árulásról, Mit egy szép h?lgy magába tárol? ?szi es?ként patakba folyt a k?nny, F?ld anyánk méhében új gy?trelem k?sz?n. Burkában fogva vagy. Menekültél már asszonyi kacagás el?l, Mi kíméletlenül, hátadba t?rként kerül? Ha igen, keress meg engem kedvesem, ?n már régen letettem fegyverem. Szeg?dj társamul. Ajánlások... ?Els?re nagyon szép! Azok a k?lt?i képek, hasonlatok. Tudom, nem lehet egy m?b?l kiragadni részeket /nem is illik/, de mégis... ?Ha igen, keress meg engem kedvesem, ?n már régen letettem fegyverem.” Nem gy?ny?r?? A hangulata is tetszik.” - Szabó Mihály ?Fantasztikusan szép vers!” - Lehoczky Judit ?nekesn? ?Mária versei a mindennapi emberhez szólnak. Helyettünk fogalmazza meg az ?r?m?t, bánatot, érzéseket, melyek olyan ismer?sek számunkra. Hiszen mindenki volt szerelmes, a szerencséseknek még van szeretett ?desanyja, és mindenki találkozik élete során azzal a kérdéssel, mi végre is született erre a világra. Ezért olyan k?zeliek számunkra Mária sorai, hiszen az életünk legfontosabb gondolatait formálja meg k?lteményeiben.” - Geberle Zsóka

Lelakatolt ajtók, szokatlan fények, mutáns csótányok. Nate lakásával valami nincs rendben. De a gondolatait most más k?ti le. Utálja a munkáját, a bankszámlája lassan kimerül, és még barátn?je sincs. Elképzelni sem tudja, mit vár az életét?l. ?j lakása nem éppen ideális, de legalább élhet?, és megengedheti magának. A bérleti díj egészen alacsony, a házkezel? cég ügyn?ke szuperbarátságos, és a rendellenességek inkább csak idegesít?ek, mint nyugtalanítóak. Egészen addig, amíg a férfi nem találkozik Mandyvel, a szomszédjával, és fel nem fedezi a lány lakásának furcsaságait. ?s a másik szomszédjáét, Xela-ét . ?s Tim és Veek lakásáét is. Merthogy a régi, Los Angeles-i téglaépület minden egyes bérlakása szolgál némi rejtéllyel. Olyan rejtélyekkel, amelyeknek a t?rténete t?bb mint száz évvel korábbra nyúlik vissza. Némelyik furcsaság szembe?tl?, míg másokat zárt ajtók rejtenek el a kíváncsi tekintetek el?l. Viszont ha e kül?n?s rejtélyek ?sszeadódnak, az akár a véget is jelentheti Nate és barátai számára. Vagy az egész világ számára…

Owen élete fenekestül felfordul, amikor apja, akit a fiú meggy?z?dése szerint ártatlanul ítéltek el, meghal a b?rt?nben. Monroe, a fiú iskolájának informatikusa felajánlja neki, hogy egy Animus használatával lehet?vé teszi Owen számára, hogy tisztázza apja nevét. Az eszk?z segítségével ugyanis feltárhatja a saját DNS-ében rejl? genetikus emlékeket. ?m Owen nagyobb fába vágta a fejszéjét, mint hitte. A szimuláció alatt ugyanis felfedez egy ?si és nagy hatalmú, rég elveszettnek hitt relikviát – az ?denszigonyt. Két rivális titkos szervezet, az Orgyilkos Testvériség és a Templomos Rend semmit?l sem riad vissza, hogy megszerezze ezt az ereklyét. Owen számára hamarosan nyilvánvalóvá válik, hogy csak úgy menekülhet meg, ha ? találja meg el?sz?r a Szigonyt. Monroe irányítása alatt Owen és néhány másik fiatal egy olyan szimulációba lépnek be, amely a DNS-eikben lév? k?z?s emlékeken alapul: az 1863-as New York-i felkelés idejébe térnek vissza. Owen és társai súlyos kihívásokkal kerülnek szembe a forrongó város utcáin, ott megélt tapasztalatiknak pedig hosszú távú k?vetkezményei lesznek a jelenben. A t?bbsz?r?sen díjnyertes Matthew J. Kirby trilógiájában egy az Assassin’s Creed világában játszódó teljesen új t?rténetet ismerhetünk meg, amely szorosan illeszkedik a kánonba, számtalan utalással a játékokra és a decemberben mozikba kerül? filmre.

Miután John és Brooke magára maradt, városról városra stoppolva vadásznak Amerika k?zép-nyugati részén a még megmaradt utolsó Sorvadtakra. Csakhogy a Sorvadtak is vadásznak rájuk, ráadásul az FBI is a nyomukban van. Minden újabb várossal, minden újabb kamionos pihen?vel, minden újabb autópályával egyre k?zelebb kerülnek egy olyan kegyetlen gyilkoshoz, akire John semmilyen jól bejáratott analitikus és el?rejelz? módszere nem alkalmazható. K?zben Brooke meghasadt pszichéje az elméjén osztozó t?bb százezer halott személyiségt?l túlterhelve tántorog az ?sszeomlás peremén. Hol birtokában van szellemi képességeinek, hol nem, és minden nap új nevek, gondolatok és emlékek t?rnek felszínre benne, mígnem felbukkan az a személyiség, akire John végképp nem számított: Senki utolsó áldozata, csapdába esve John egyetlen megmaradt barátjának testében.

A New York Times bestseller Hollóárnyék-trilógia Magyarországon is nagy sikert elért szerz?jének új sorozata! TARTALOM: Véráldottak – olyan férfiak és n?k, akik a vad sárkányok véréb?l készült elixírek elfogyasztásával mérhetetlen er?knek parancsolnak. A Vashajó Szindikátust a véráldottak hatalma tette naggyá. Most azonban pusztító vihar k?zeleg: a sárkányok vérvonala gyengül?ben, a felemelked? Korvantin Birodalom pedig ugrásra készen várja a pillanatot, hogy kihasználhassa a Szindikátus gyengeségét. Ráadásul a vadonban is mozgolódás támad: a sárkányok támadásai egyre gyakoribbá válnak – és ami még ennél is rosszabb, szervezettnek t?nnek. Az utolsó reménysugár nem más, mint egy mitikus sárkány, amelynek nagyerej? vére valódi csodákra képes – ha egyáltalán létezik ez a rejtélyes lény. A sors végül három h?st választ ki magának. Claydon Tocreekre, a lajstromozatlan véráldottra és kisstíl? tolvajra hárul a feladat, hogy az ismeretlen vadonban felkutassa a legendás sárkányt, aminek a létezésében még csak nem is hisz. Lizanne Lethridge, a Szindikátus félelmetes erej?, ifjú elit kéme hirtelen találja magát ellenséges terepen, küldetése egyre veszedelmesebb helyzetekbe sodorja. Corrick Hilemore, az ismert világ peremén cirkáló kalózvadász Vashajó parancsnokhelyettese k?nnyen lehet, hogy túl nagy fába vágta a fejszéjét, amikor a k?ny?rtelen rablók nyomába eredt – és helyettük egy jóval komolyabb ellenséggel kerül szembe. Ahogy a birodalmak egymásnak feszülnek, mindhármuknak harcolni kell azért, amiben hisznek, ha nem akarják, hogy a világot elnyelje az ébred? t?z.

Cirilla, a cintrai trón?r?k?s a Fecske-toronyban elt?nik saját világáról, és olyan útra indul, ahová sem védelmez?je, a fehér hajú vaják, sem mentora, a fekete hajú varázslón? nem k?vetheti. Olyan útra, amelynek a végén a végzet várja – az a végzet, amelyr?l már oly sok látomás kísértette. Minden a helyére kerül, a kígyó a saját farkába harap, valami véget ér, és valami elkezd?dik… A Vaják-saga befejez? k?tetében Sapkowski még magához képest is elképeszt? bravúrral ábrázol nagyszabású háborút és ugyanakkor az egyes ember drámai sorsát. Képzeletének és érzékletes leírásainak hatására megelevenednek el?ttünk az országok, városok és falvak, a t?le megszokott néz?pontváltások pedig gondoskodnak róla, hogy a sorssz?tte t?rténet végét a lehet? legalaposabb, legmélyebb módon kapjuk meg. A sagát átsz?v? fekete humor pedig tükr?t tart nemcsak a társadalom, de az egyes ember kicsinyessége és nagysága elé. ??

". . . aphorism are seldom couched in such terms, that they should be taken as they sound precisely, or according to the widest extent of signification; but do commonly need exposition, and admit exception: otherwise frequently they would not only clash with reason and experience, but interfere, thwart, and supplant one another." ? ? ? ? Issac Barrow "The very essence of an aphorism is that slight exaggeration which makes it more biting whilst less rigidly accurate." ? ? ? ?—Leslie Stephen There are of course, girls and girls; yet at heart they are pretty much alike. In age, naturally, they differ wildly. But this is a thorny subject. Suffice it to say that all men love all girls-the maid of sweet sixteen equally with the maid of untold age. There is something exasperatingly something-or-otherish about girls. And they know it—which makes them more something-or-otherish still:—there is no other word for it. A girl is a complicated thing. It is made up of clothes, smiles, a pompadour, things of which space and prudence forbid the enumeration here. These things by themselves do not constitute a girl which is obvious; nor is any one girl without these things which is not too obvious. Where the things end and the girl begins many men have tried to find out. Many girls would like to be men—except on occasions. At least so they say, but perhaps this is just a part of their something-or-otherishness. Why they should want to be men, men cannot conceive. Men pale before them, grow hot and cold before them, run before them (and after them), swear by them (and at them), and a bit of a chit of a thing in short skirts and lisle-thread stockings will twist able-bodied males round her little finger.It is an open secret that girls are fonder of men than they are of one another—which is very lucky for the men. Girls differ; and the same girl is different at different times. When she is by herself, she is one thing. When she is with other girls she is another thing. When she is with a lot of men, she is a third sort of thing. When she is with a man. . . But this baffled even Agur the son of Jakeh.As a rule, a man prefers a girl by herself. This is natural. And yet is said that you cannot have too much of a good thing. If this were true, a bevy of girls would be the height of happiness. Yet some men would sooner face the bulls of Bashan.Some foolish men—probably poets—have sought for and asserted the existence of the ideal girl. This is sheer nonsense: there is no such thing. And if there were, she could not compare with the real girl, the girl of flesh and blood—which (as some one ought to have said) are excellent things in woman. Other men, equally foolish, have regarded girls as playthings. I wish these men had tried to play with them. They would have found that they were playing with fire and brimstone. Yet the veriest spit-fire can be wondrous sweet.Sweet? Yes. On the whole a girl is the sweetest thing known or knowable. On the 6 whole of this terrestrial sphere Nature has produced nothing more adorable than the high-spirited high-bred girl.—Of this she is quite aware—to our cost (I speak as a man). The consequence is, her price has gone up, and man has to pay high and pay all sorts of things—ices, sweets, champagne, drives, church-goings, and sometimes spot-cash.

It is a cumulative tale that does not tell the story of Jack's house, or even of Jack who built the house, but instead shows how the house is indirectly linked to other things and people, and through this method tells the story of "The man all tattered and torn", and the "Maiden all forlorn", as well as other smaller events, showing how these are interlinked. Origins: It has been argued that the rhyme is derived from an Aramaic hymn Chad Gadya (lit., "One Young Goat") in Sepher Haggadah, first printed in 1590; but although this is an early cumulative tale that may have inspired the form, the lyrics bear little relationship. It was suggested by James Orchard Halliwell that the reference to the "priest all shaven and shorn" indicates that the English version is probably very old, presumably as far back as the mid-sixteenth century. There is a possible reference to the song in The Boston New Letter of 12 April 1739 and the line: "This is the man all forlorn, &c". However, it did not appear in print until it was included in Nurse Truelove's New-Year's-Gift, or the Book of Books for Children, printed in London in 1755. It was printed in numerous collections in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Randolph Caldecott produced an illustrated version in 1878. Cherrington Manor, a handsome timber-framed house in North East Shropshire, England, is reputed to be the actual house that Jack built. There is a former malt house in the grounds. Syntactic structure: Each sentence in the story is an example of an increasingly deeply nested relative clause. The last version, "This is the horse...", would be quite difficult to untangle if the previous ones were not present. See the Noun Phrase for more details about postmodification of the noun phrase in this manner. References in popular culture: The rhyme continues to be a popular choice for illustrated children's books, with recent examples by Simms Taback and Quentin Blake showing how illustrators can introduce a fresh angle and humour into a familiar tale. The popularity of the rhyme can be seen in its use in a variety of other cultural contexts..

In writing upon any matter of experience, such as art, the possibilities of misunderstanding are enormous, and one shudders to think of the things that may be put down to one's credit, owing to such misunderstandings. It is like writing about the taste of sugar, you are only likely to be understood by those who have already experienced the flavour; by those who have not, the wildest interpretation will be put upon your words. The written word is necessarily confined to the things of the understanding because only the understanding has written language; whereas art deals with ideas of a different mental texture, which words can only vaguely suggest. However, there are a large number of people who, although they cannot viibe said to have experienced in a full sense any works of art, have undoubtedly the impelling desire which a little direction may lead on to a fuller appreciation. And it is to such that books on art are useful. So that although this book is primarily addressed to working students, it is hoped that it may be of interest to that increasing number of people who, tired with the rush and struggle of modern existence, seek refreshment in artistic things. To many such in this country modern art is still a closed book; its point of view is so different from that of the art they have been brought up with, that they refuse to have anything to do with it. Whereas, if they only took the trouble to find out something of the point of view of the modern artist, they would discover new beauties they little suspected. If anybody looks at a picture by Claude Monet from the point of view of a Raphael, he will see nothing but a meaningless jargon of wild paint-strokes. And if anybody looks at a Raphael from the point of view of a Claude Monet, he will, no doubt, only see hard, tinny figures in a setting devoid of any of the lovely atmosphere that always envelops form seen in nature. So wide apart are some of the points of view in painting. In the treatment of form these differences in point of view make for enormous variety in the work. Works showing much ingenuity and ability, but no artistic brains; pictures that are little more than school studies, exercises in the representation of carefully or carelessly arranged objects, but cold to any artistic intention. At this time particularly some principles, and a clear intellectual understanding of what it is you are trying to do, are needed. We have no set traditions to guide us. The times when the student accepted the style and traditions of his master and blindly followed them until he found himself, are gone. Such conditions belonged to an age when intercommunication was difficult, and when the artistic horizon was restricted to a single town or province. Science has altered all that, and we may regret the loss of local colour and singleness of aim this growth of art in separate compartments produced; but it is unlikely that such conditions will occur again. Quick means of transit and cheap methods of reproduction have brought the art of the whole world to our doors. Where formerly the artistic food at the disposal of the student was restricted to the few pictures in his vicinity and some prints of others, now there is scarcely a picture of note in the world that is not known to the average student, either from personal inspection at our museums and loan exhibitions, or from excellent photographic reproductions. Not only European art, but the art of the East, China and Japan, is part of the formative influence by which he is surrounded; not to mention the modern science of light and colour that has had such an influence on technique. It is no wonder that a period of artistic indigestion is upon us. Hence the student has need ixof sound principles and a clear understanding of the science of his art, if he would select from this mass of material those things which answer to his own inner need for artistic expression.

An afternoon of a cold winter’s day, when the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow. The elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her parents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call Violet. But her brother was known by the style and title of Peony, on account of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. The father of these two children, a certain Mr. Lindsey, it is important to say, was an excellent, but exceedingly matter-of-fact sort of man, a dealer in hardware, and was sturdily accustomed to take what is called the common-sense view of all matters that came under his consideration. With a heart about as tender as other people’s, he had a head as hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty, as one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to sell. The mother’s character, on the other hand, had a strain of poetry in it, a trait of unworldly beauty—a delicate and dewy flower, as it were, that had survived out of her imaginative youth, and still kept itself alive amid the dusty realities of matrimony and motherhood. So, Violet and Peony, as I began with saying, besought their mother to let them run out and play in the new snow; for, though it had looked so dreary and dismal, drifting downward out of the gray sky, it had a very cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shining on it. The children dwelt in a city, and had no wider play-place than a little garden before the house, divided by a white fence from the street, and with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing it, and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor windows. The trees and shrubs, however, were now leafless, and their twigs were enveloped in the light snow, which thus made a kind of wintry foliage, with here and there a pendent icicle for the fruit. “Yes, Violet,—yes, my little Peony,” said their kind mother; “you may go out and play in the new snow.”

Holmes decodes a warning from Porlock, an informant against arch-criminal Moriarty, for "Douglas" resident five years at "Birlstone". Scotland Yard's MacDonald asks them to investigate a corpse with the same look and circle-in-triangle brand on the forearm as Birlstone owner Douglas. The head was blown off by an American-style sawed-off shotgun. Apparently, an intruder dropped a card with VV341, and left across a shallow moat. Watson observes the bereaved English wife and best male friend in unusually good spirits. When Holmes pretends the moat will be drained, the conspirators retrieve a missing dumb-bell weighting down the visitor's clothes beneath the water. Douglas comes from hiding, to explain he killed the assassin Baldwin in self-defence; the plan was to save him from more attacks by criminal survivors of Vermissa Valley. He hands Dr. Watson the following account. Young McMurdo gains reputation as tough counterfeiter, Freemen Lodge member fleeing murder charges in Chicago. In the Vermissa coal mine area, McGinty rules Scowrers branded by a circle in square, the local Lodge 341 who extort, murder, and exchange vicious deeds with nearby Lodges. Pretty Ettie prefers McMurdo to nasty Baldwin, and wants to flee, but will wait some months. When word comes that Pinkerton sent Edwards, McMurdo gathers ringleaders in one room, and springs his trap on them, surrounded by the law. Although the worst were hanged, after ten years, villains were freed, and chased McMurdo-Edwards-Douglas, despite changes of name, location, and wife. He married Ettie, then she died in California, where he made a fortune. The Valley of Fear, notable for Professor Moriarty's involvement, is set before "The Final Problem", the short story in which Moriarty was introduced. This introduces a logical difficulty, as in "The Final Problem" Dr. Watson has never heard of Moriarty, whereas by the end of The Valley Of Fear he is, or should be, familiar with his name and character. The "Moriarty" element in the story is tied into the fate of the informer in the story. It ties the Molly Maguire background to another event of that period: the murder of James Carey, an informer who was shot on board a ship off the coast of Natal, South Africa in 1883 by Patrick O'Donnell, an Irish republican who had relatives in the Mollies and briefly visited the Pennsylvania coal mining district, supposedly looking for the suspected informer among them.

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gavelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow. 'This is fine!' he said to himself. 'This is better than whitewashing!' The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side. 'Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. 'Sixpence for the privilege of passing by the private road!' He was bowled over in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about. 'Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other. 'How STUPID you are! Why didn't you tell him——' 'Well, why didn't YOU say——' 'You might have reminded him——' and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is always the case. It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering 'whitewash!' he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

Strumming a harp while floating on a white cloud might be Paradise for some people, but it would bore others stiff. Given an unlimited chance to choose your ideal world, what would you specify—palaces or log cabins? I'll take beer, son, and thanks again for the offer. As you can see, I'm kinda down on my luck. I know what you're thinking, but I'm not really on the bum. I usually make out all right—nothing fancy, mind you, but it's a living. Odd jobs in the winter and spring, follow the harvests in the summer and fall. Things are slack right now.You? Electronics, huh? Used to know a fellow in electronics.... His name was Joe Shannon, used to work for Stellar Electric up in Fremont. Young fellow, not more'n twenty-five or so. Rail thin, wispy hair, serious look—you know, the one suit, absent-minded type. Joe was a brain. A triple-A, gold-plated, genuine genius. Had a wife named Marge. Not beautiful but pretty and a nice figure and a cook you never saw the likes of. Like I say, she was married to Joe but Joe was married to his work and after you'd been around a while, you could tell there was friction. But that ain't the beginning.

"When all the gods had assembled in conference, Zeus arose among them and addressed them thus" . . . "it is with this line that Plato's story of Atlantis ends; and the words of Zeus remain unknown." -- Francis Bacon, New Atlantis Of all the writings of Plato the Timaeus is the most obscure and repulsive to the modern reader, and has nevertheless had the greatest influence over the ancient and mediaeval world. The obscurity arises in the infancy of physical science, out of the confusion of theological, mathematical, and physiological notions, out of the desire to conceive the whole of nature without any adequate knowledge of the parts, and from a greater perception of similarities which lie on the surface than of differences which are hidden from view. To bring sense under the control of reason; to find some way through the mist or labyrinth of appearances, either the highway of mathematics, or more devious paths suggested by the analogy of man with the world, and of the world with man; to see that all things have a cause and are tending towards an end—this is the spirit of the ancient physical philosopher. He has no notion of trying an experiment and is hardly capable of observing the curiosities of nature which are 'tumbling out at his feet,' or of interpreting even the most obvious of them. He is driven back from the nearer to the more distant, from particulars to generalities, from the earth to the stars. He lifts up his eyes to the heavens and seeks to guide by their motions his erring footsteps. But we neither appreciate the conditions of knowledge to which he was subjected, nor have the ideas which fastened upon his imagination the same hold upon us. For he is hanging between matter and mind; he is under the dominion at the same time both of sense and of abstractions; his impressions are taken almost at random from the outside of nature; he sees the light, but not the objects which are revealed by the light; and he brings into juxtaposition things which to us appear wide as the poles asunder, because he finds nothing between them. He passes abruptly from persons to ideas and numbers, and from ideas and numbers to persons,—from the heavens to man, from astronomy to physiology; he confuses, or rather does not distinguish, subject and object, first and final causes, and is dreaming of geometrical figures lost in a flux of sense. He contrasts the perfect movements of the heavenly bodies with the imperfect representation of them (Rep.), and he does not always require strict accuracy even in applications of number and figure (Rep.). His mind lingers around the forms of mythology, which he uses as symbols or translates into figures of speech. He has no implements of observation, such as the telescope or microscope; the great science of chemistry is a blank to him. It is only by an effort that the modern thinker can breathe the atmosphere of the ancient philosopher, or understand how, under such unequal conditions, he seems in many instances, by a sort of inspiration, to have anticipated the truth. The influence with the Timaeus has exercised upon posterity is due partly to a misunderstanding. In the supposed depths of this dialogue the Neo-Platonists found hidden meanings and connections with the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, and out of them they elicited doctrines quite at variance with the spirit of Plato. Believing that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost, or had received his wisdom from Moses, they seemed to find in his writings the Christian Trinity, the Word, the Church, the creation of the world in a Jewish sense, as they really found the personality of God or of mind..

*** BELLWETHER-D?JAS REG?NY ***Egyedül Rachel, egy dán édesanya és egy fekete édesapa gyermeke éli túl azt a családi tragédiát, amely egy végzetes reggelen k?vetkezett be chicagói házuk tetején.A kislány új gyámot kap, az afroamerikai nagyanyjával egy t?bbnyire feketék lakta k?z?sségbe kerül, ahol világosbarna b?re, kék szeme és szépsége miatt folyamatosan a figyelem k?zéppontjába kerül. Ez a figyelem végigkíséri, ahogy cseperedik és próbálja feldolgozni a gyászát, mik?zben lassan megérti, hogy az anyja titka és tragédiája milyen kapcsolatban áll saját bizonytalan identitásával.A fiatal félvér lány megrázó és szívbemarkoló t?rténete a társadalom rassz- és osztályfelfogását veszi célba, és a Washington Post a megjelenés évében az év regényének választotta a társadalmi igazságossággal kapcsolatos témákkal foglalkozó legjobb irodalmi kéziratért járó Bellwether-díjas írást.?A lány az égb?l – szárnyal… Energiájáról az élénk színekkel megrajzolt szerepl?k gondoskodnak, s az, ahogyan egymást látják. Durrow-nak fantasztikus füle van a párbeszédekhez, képes egyetlen sorral remények és félelmek egész tárházát életre kelteni.”– New York Times ??géretes debütálás… [Durrow] modern t?rténetet sz?tt identitásról és túlélésr?l.”– The Washington Post ?Komplex és komoly regény a félvér amerikaiak életér?l… Magával ragadó és elgondolkodtató olvasmány”– Minneapolis Star Tribune ?Megindító, csodálatos els? regény… Durrow er?t sugárzó regénye méltó rá, hogy helyet kapjon az amerikai életérzés klasszikus t?rténetei k?z?tt.”– The Miami Herald Durrow Rachelje fiatal félvér n?, akit semmiképp sem neveznék tragikus szerepl?nek. Bár bonyolult utat tesz meg az elidegenedés és a kétségbeesés útveszt?jében, végül olyan n?vé érik, akinek saját hangja van, és nyitott a világ számtalan lehet?ségére… Emelkedj fel! Szárnyalj! Lépj tovább! Elegáns csomagolásban ezt az üzenetet kapja kézhez az olvasó.” – The Huffington Post ?Feszes próza, konfliktusos végkifejlet, és mély reflexió rasszizmusra és faji identitásra: ezek visszhangoznak a m?ben, anélkül, hogy az politikai vagy bármilyen más túlságosan konkrét üzenetet k?zvetítene, mik?zben a t?rténet egyszerre m?k?dik mind modern feln?ttéválási meseként, mind releváns társadalmi kommentárként.”– Publishers Weekly

– A rosszak gyztek – kérdezte csalódottan a lány. Lecvekelt, és a kórházfolyosó fehérre festett falához simult, mintha ezzel is jelezni akarná, hogy nem hajlandó annyiban hagyni a dolgot. – Ez nem gyerekmese, kislány! A küzdelem gyakran a gonosz boszorka és a tzokádó sárkány kzt dl el – tárta szét a kezét Varga –, a bátor lovag már az elején meghalt szifiliszben.” Egyetlen, kiskaliber golyó a fejbe. A tettes profi bérgyilkos. Varga László nyomozó ügyész számára nagyon hamar személyes kérdéssé válik a megbízó felkutatása: három olyan n is belekeveredik az ügybe, aki fontos neki. A hajsza tbb szálon fut, a víg zvegy, az ukrán kokaincsempészek és a polgármester is célkeresztbe kerül. A fejesek legszívesebben eltussolnák az egészet, de a helyi média lecsap a botrányra. Kzben Varga félreérthetetlen üzenetet kap: jobban tenné, ha visszavenne az elánból. s még a helyi futballcsapat bennmaradása is tle függ. Egyszer féltékenység, alvilági leszámolás vagy politikai gyilkosság Melyik az a pont, ahol Varga végre rájn, hogy bábként rángatják Albert Levente krimisorozatának els ktete. Hiteles karakterek, váratlan fordulatok, elképzelt vidéki nagyváros, foci, szerelem, gasztronómia és humor. Sok humor.

A tévéproducer Laurie Moran boldog, amikor A gyanú árnyékában cím?, megoldatlan b?nügyekkel foglalkozó reality-drámájának kísérleti epizódja sikert arat. ?s most megtalálta az ideális esetet, mely a k?vetkez? rész témája lehet: ez A Hamupip?ke-gyilkosság. Amikor Susan Dempsey-t, a gy?ny?r? és tehetséges Los Angeles-i egyetemistát holtan találták, a gyilkosság számos kérdést vetett fel. Miért parkolt az autója kilométerekre a holttestét?l? Megjelent egyáltalán azon a meghallgatáson, amelyre egy felt?rekv? filmrendez? várta az otthonában? Miért akarja Susan barátja elkerülni a kapcsolatukra vonatkozó kérdéseket? ?sszefüggésben volt az elt?nése egy ellentmondásos egyházzal? Ragyogó m?szaki érzéke miatt állt k?zel a számítástechnika-tanárához, vagy t?bbr?l volt szó? ?s miért hiányzott Susanr?l az egyik cip?je, amikor felfedezték a holttestét? Laurie tudja, hogy a t?rténet t?kéletesen alkalmas a képerny?re, kül?n?sen, hogy a korábbi gyanúsítottak k?z?tt ott vannak Hollywood elitjének tagjai és a technika milliárdosai. De vajon a gyilkos is így gondolja-e? Mary Higgins Clark és Alafair Burke? ?rengeteg intrikát és izgalmat” szállítanak a sorozat új, idegfeszít? darabjában. - Publishers Weekly Talán a perg? iram, talán a sokrét? karakterek miatt, de az els? oldaltól az utolsóig találgat az olvasó.? – Booklist