In giving to the world the record of what, looked at as an adventure only, is I suppose one of the most wonderful and mysterious experiences ever undergone by mortal men, I feel it incumbent on me to explain what my exact connection with it is. And so I may as well say at once that I am not the narrator but only the editor of this extraordinary history, and then go on to tell how it found its way into my hands. Some years ago I, the editor, was stopping with a friend, "vir doctissimus et amicus neus," at a certain University, which for the purposes of this history we will call Cambridge, and was one day much struck with the appearance of two persons whom I saw going arm-in-arm down the street. One of these gentlemen was I think, without exception, the handsomest young fellow I have ever seen. He was very tall, very broad, and had a look of power and a grace of bearing that seemed as native to him as it is to a wild stag. In addition his face was almost without flaw—a good face as well as a beautiful one, and when he lifted his hat, which he did just then to a passing lady, I saw that his head was covered with little golden curls growing close to the scalp. "Good gracious!" I said to my friend, with whom I was walking, "why, that fellow looks like a statue of Apollo come to life. What a splendid man he is!" "Yes," he answered, "he is the handsomest man in the University, and one of the nicest too. They call him 'the Greek god'; but look at the other one, he's Vincey's (that's the god's name) guardian, and supposed to be full of every kind of information. They call him 'Charon.'" I looked, and found the older man quite as interesting in his way as the glorified specimen of humanity at his side. He appeared to be about forty years of age, and was I think as ugly as his companion was handsome. To begin with, he was shortish, rather bow-legged, very deep chested, and with unusually long arms. He had dark hair and small eyes, and the hair grew right down on his forehead, and his whiskers grew right up to his hair, so that there was uncommonly little of his countenance to be seen. Altogether he reminded me forcibly of a gorilla, and yet there was something very pleasing and genial about the man's eye. I remember saying that I should like to know him.

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah. "Why did you come?" she said to the strange woman. "I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me." The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib. There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned. "Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all. She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the ve-randa with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were "full of lace." They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all.

Not many years ago the group Insecta was held even by Zoologists to include numberless small creatures—centipedes, spiders, mites, etc.—which further study has shown to present essential differences of structure, and in popular language any fairly minute animal is still an insect, just as any insect is popularly a “fly”—or, in the United States, a “bug.” Scientifically the use of the term Insect is now much restricted, though still extensive enough in all conscience, since it includes many more than a quarter of a million known species. Zoologists recognise a large group of animals characterised by having no internal skeleton but a more or less firm external coating of a peculiar substance called chitin, often strengthened by calcareous deposits, which necessitates the presence of joints in their bodies, and especially in their limbs if they are to move freely, just as medieval suits of armour required to be jointed. These are the Arthropoda. One subdivision of this group consists of aquatic animals, breathing by gills, and known as Crustacea. Crabs, lobsters, shrimps and “water-fleas” are familiar examples, and with the exception of the so-called land-crabs the only Crustaceans habitually found on land are wood-lice. The other Arthropoda are air-breathing, and since their characteristic breathing organs are branching tubes known as tracheae, the term Tracheata is sometimes used to include them all. They fall naturally into three divisions, the Myriapoda, the Insecta and the Arachnida, and it is in this last-named division that we shall find the spiders. The Myriapoda are the centipedes and millipedes, and having said this we may dismiss them, for insects and arachnids are strictly limited as to legs; and no myriapod can ever be mistaken for a spider. The Arachnida are so varied in structure that it is not easy to give characteristics common to them all, and to any general statement there are bound to be exceptions, but for practical purposes it may be said that while an insect, when mature, has only six legs, and a pair of feelers or antennae of quite different structure, Arachnids have normally eight legs, and their feeling organs are not antennae but leg-like “pedipalps.”

“Let’s hope the horrible nightmare is over, dearest,” whispered Ellen Estabrook to Lee Bentley as their liner came crawling up through the Narrows and the Statue of Liberty greeted the two with uplifted torch beyond Staten Island. New York’s skyline was beautiful through the mist and smoke which always seemed to mask it. It was good to be home again. Once more Lee Bentley is caught up in the marvelous machinations of the mad genius Barter. Certainly it was a far cry from the African jungles where, for the space of a ghastly nightmare, Ellen had been a captive of the apes and Bentley himself had had a horrible adventure. Caleb Barter, a mad scientist, had drugged him and exchanged his brain with that of an ape, and for hours Bentley had roamed the jungles hidden in the great hairy body, the only part of him remaining “Bentley” being the Bentley brain which Barter had placed in the ape’s skull-pan. Bentley would never forget the horror of that grim awakening, in which he had found himself walking on bent knuckles, his voice the fighting bellow of a giant anthropoid.Yes, it was a far cry from the African jungles to populous Manhattan. As soon as Ellen and Lee considered themselves recovered from the shock of the experience they would be married. They had already spent two months of absolute rest in England after their escape from Africa, but they found it had not been enough. Their story had been told in the press of the world and they had been constantly besieged by the curious, which of course had not helped them to forget.________________________________________“Lee,” whispered Ellen, “I’ll never feel sure that Caleb Barter is dead. We should have gone out that morning when he forgot to take his whip and we thought the vengeful apes had slain him. We should have proved it to our own satisfaction. It would be an ironic jest, characteristic of Barter, to allow us to think him dead.”

The excellence of the following Treatise is so well known to all in any tolerable degree conversant with the Art of Painting, that it would be almost superfluous to say any thing respecting it, were it not that it here appears under the form of a new translation, of which fome account may be expected. Of the original Work, which is in reality a selection from the voluminous manuscript collections of the Author, both in Solio and Quarto, of all such passages as related to Painting, no edition appeared in print till 1651. Though its Author died so long before as the year 1519; and it is owing to the circumstance of a manuscript copy of these extracts in the original Italian, having fallen into the hands of “Raphael” that in the former of these years it was published at Paris in a thin folio volume in that language, accompanied with a set of cuts from the drawings of Niccolo Pouissin, and Alberti, the former having designed and defined the human figures, the latter the geometrical and other representations.. The first translation of this Treatise into English, appeared in the year 1721. It does not declare by whom it was made; but though it prosesses to have been done from the original Italian, it is evident, upon a comparison, that more use was made of the revised edition of the French translation. Indifferent, however, as it is, it had become fo scarce, and risen to a price fo extravagant, that, to supply the demand, it was found necessary, in the year 1796, to reprint it as it stood, with all its errors on its head, no opportunity then offering of procuring a french translation. This last impression, however, being now alfo disposed of, and a new one again called for, the present Translator was induced to step forward, and undertake the office of frenh translating it, on finding, by comparing the former versions both in French and English with the original, many passages which he thought might at once be more concisely and more faithfully rendered. ABOUT AUTHOR: Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci (15 April 1452 – 2 May 1519) was an Italian painter, sculptor, architect, musician, mathematician, engineer, inventor, anatomist, geologist, cartographer, botanist, and writer. He is widely considered to be one of the greatest polymaths of all time and perhaps the most diversely talented person ever to have lived. His genius, perhaps more than that of any other figure, epitomized the Renaissance humanist ideal. Leonardo has often been described as the archetype of the Renaissance Man, a man of "unquenchable curiosity" and "feverishly inventive imagination". Marco Rosci states that while there is much speculation about Leonardo, his vision of the world is essentially logical rather than mysterious, and that the empirical methods he employed were unusual for his time. Born out of wedlock to a notary, Piero da Vinci, and a peasant woman, Caterina, in Vinci in the region of Florence, Leonardo was educated in the studio of the renowned Florentine painter Verrocchio. Much of his earlier working life was spent in the service of Ludovico il Moro in Milan. He later worked in Rome, Bologna and Venice, and he spent his last years in France at the home awarded him by Francis I. Leonardo was, and is, renowned as one of the greatest painters of all time. Among his works, the Mona Lisa is the most famous and most parodied portrait and The Last Supper the most reproduced religious painting of all time, with their fame approached only by Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam. Leonardo's drawing of the Vitruvian Man is also regarded as a cultural icon, being reproduced on items as varied as the euro coin, textbooks, and T-shirts. Perhaps fifteen of his paintings have survived, the small number because of his constant, and frequently disastrous, experimentation with new techniques, and his chronic procrastination. Nevertheless, these few works, together with his notebooks, which contain drawings, scientific diagrams, and his thoughts on the nature of painting, compose a contribution to later generations of artists rivalled only by that of his contemporary, Michelangelo. Leonardo is revered for his technological ingenuity. He conceptualised flying machines, an armoured vehicle, concentrated solar power, an adding machine, and the double hull, also outlining a rudimentary theory of plate tectonics.

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.

Лето – прекрасное время для приготовления салатов! Вам понадобятся всего 5 ингредиентов и 5 минут! Для каждого салата приведено 5 вариантов. Заменив один ингредиент, вы получите новые необычные вкусы. Вы удивитесь, сколько новых салатов можно сделать из привычных овощей, сыра, мяса, рыбы! Каждый салат описан пошагово, готовые блюда показаны на фото. Воспользуйтесь рецептами из книги и приготовьте ?Цезарь? или ?Нисуаз?, салат с копченой курицей и черносливом или крабовый, шопский или азиатский салат. Leto – prekrasnoe vremja dlja prigotovlenija salatov! Vam ponadobjatsja vsego 5 ingredientov i 5 minut! Dlja kazhdogo salata privedeno 5 variantov. Zameniv odin ingredient, vy poluchite novye neobychnye vkusy. Vy udivites', skol'ko novyh salatov mozhno sdelat' iz privychnyh ovoshhej, syra, mjasa, ryby! Kazhdyj salat opisan poshagovo, gotovye bljuda pokazany na foto. Vospol'zujtes' receptami iz knigi i prigotov'te ?Cezar'? ili ?Nisuaz?, salat s kopchenoj kuricej i chernoslivom ili krabovyj, shopskij ili aziatskij salat.

On the 12th of August, 18-- (just three days after my tenth birthday, when I had been given such wonderful presents), I was awakened at seven o'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch slapping the wall close to my head with a fly-flap made of sugar paper and a stick. He did this so roughly that he hit the image of my patron saint suspended to the oaken back of my bed, and the dead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped out from under the coverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand, flicked the dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch with sleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing- gown fastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same material, a red knitted cap adorned with a tassel, and soft slippers of goat skin, went on walking round the walls and taking aim at, and slapping, flies. "Suppose," I thought to myself," that I am only a small boy, yet why should he disturb me? Why does he not go killing flies around Woloda's bed? No; Woloda is older than I, and I am the youngest of the family, so he torments me. That is what he thinks of all day long--how to tease me. He knows very well that he has woken me up and frightened me, but he pretends not to notice it. Disgusting brute! And his dressing-gown and cap and tassel too-- they are all of them disgusting."While I was thus inwardly venting my wrath upon Karl Ivanitch, he had passed to his own bedstead, looked at his watch (which hung suspended in a little shoe sewn with bugles), and deposited the fly-flap on a nail, then, evidently in the most cheerful mood possible, he turned round to us."Get up, children! It is quite time, and your mother is already in the drawing-room," he exclaimed in his strong German accent. Then he crossed over to me, sat down at my feet, and took his snuff-box out of his pocket. I pretended to be asleep. Karl Ivanitch sneezed, wiped his nose, flicked his fingers, and began amusing himself by teasing me and tickling my toes as he said with a smile, "Well, well, little lazy one!"For all my dread of being tickled, I determined not to get out of bed or to answer him,. but hid my head deeper in the pillow, kicked out with all my strength, and strained every nerve to keep from laughing."How kind he is, and how fond of us!" I thought to myself, Yet to think that I could be hating him so just now!"

Since my return to liberty, I have not failed to perceive the increasing interest throughout the Northern States, in regard to the subject of Slavery. Works of fiction, professing to portray its features in their more pleasing as well as more repugnant aspects, have been circulated to an extent unprecedented, and, as I understand, have created a fruitful topic of comment and discussion.I can speak of Slavery only so far as it came under my own observation--only so far as I have known and experienced it in my own person. My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage.As far back as I have been able to ascertain, my ancestors on the paternal side were slaves in Rhode Island. They belonged to a family by the name of Northup, one of whom, removing to the State of New York, settled at Hoosic, in Rensselaer county. He brought with him Mintus Northup, my father. On the death of this gentleman, which must have occurred some fifty years ago, my father became free, having been emancipated by a direction in his will.Henry B. Northup, Esq., of Sandy Hill, a distinguished counselor at law, and the man to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for my present liberty, and my return to the society of my wife and children, is a relative of the family in which my forefathers were thus held to service, and from which they took the name I bear. To this fact may be attributed the persevering interest he has taken in my behalf.

You Touched Me was written in the year 1920 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

Щороку ми д?зна?мося дедал? б?льше нових сл?в у галуз? економ?ки, комп’ютерних технолог?й ? маркетингу, натом?сть невпинно убож?? наш лексикон у сфер? етики й морал?. Дев?д Брукс б’? на сполох: очевидно, що сучасне сусп?льство у гонитв? за новац?ями нехту? усталеними етичними принципами, втрача? моральн? стимули й ?деали, руйну? св?й духовний стрижень. ?ДНК особистост?? про те, як переглянути власн? пр?оритети ? зосередитися на внутр?шн?х чеснотах. Вона покаже, як деяким людям вдалося проторувати шлях до сильного характеру ? стати г?дною особист?стю. ?хн? ?стор?? стануть для читача певними ор??нтирами у пошуках власно? стратег?? гартування характеру, допоможуть п?знати себе, в?днайти душевну гармон?ю ? щастя.

The Primrose Path was written in the year 1922 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

…mi hajtja a géniuszokat? Szeretnéd tudni, mit tanulhatsz a t?rténelem nagyjaitól, hogy a legt?bbet hozd ki magadból? Ha igen, vár rád egy kaland. Sean Patrick k?nyve hatalmas sikert aratott a tengerentúlon. Ha elolvasod, tizenegy bámulatos elme életébe pillanthatsz be. Megtudhatod, mi hajtotta ?ket, és hogyan alakította az életüket egy-egy jellemz? tulajdonság. Látni fogod t?bbek k?z?tt, hogyan indult útjára Walt Disney stúdiója, miként vált egy karddal játszó kisfiúból a hódító Nagy Sándor, vagy hogyan lett Nikola Tesla a megannyi nehézség ellenére az elektromosság atyja. A kiválóság nem adottság, hanem egy út, amire Te is ráléphetsz. Mondj ?IGEN!”-t a saját kalandodra, és ébreszd fel a benned rejl? géniuszt!

The Horse-Dealer's Daughter was written in the year 1922 by David Herbert Lawrence. This book is one of the most popular novels of David Herbert Lawrence, and has been translated into several other languages around the world.This book is published by Booklassic which brings young readers closer to classic literature globally.

A 10. 32. egy r?vid t?rténet a magányról, amelyben mindenki rengeteg kávét iszik. De nincs az a mennyiség? kávé, mely segíthetne megbirkózni a felemás emberi kapcsolatokból fakadó érzelmi feszültséggel.Ben, a t?rténet tizenéves f?szerepl?je lépten-nyomon ezzel a nyomasztó problémával kénytelen szembesülni. ?s úgy t?nik, senki nem tudja rá a megoldást. Ahogy a választ sem arra a kérdésre, hogy vajon hova lehetne elmenekülni egy ilyen helyzetb?l, ha kétségbeesésünkben azt sem tudjuk megmondani, mi a valóság, és mi az, ami csak a képzeletünk szürreális játéka.

*** SZENVED?LYESEBB, B?V?TETT KIAD?S ***Aki az els? részt szerette, ezt imádni fogja!Suzanne, a szerelme és a Cosa Nostra el?l menekül? angol lány New Yorkban rejt?zik el, azonban rá kell j?nnie, hogy a saját érzései el?l hiába próbálna elbújni. Sivár mindennapjaiból a Massimóval való váratlan találkozása ragadja ki, amelynek eredményeképpen ismét Szicíliában, a szenvedély és a félelem birodalmában találja magátVajon ezúttal mégiscsak happy enddel végz?dik a t?rténetük? A lánynak legel?sz?r arra kell rád?bbennie, hogy a kül?n t?lt?tt id? alatt minden és mindenki megváltozott.Ugyanakkor azt is megérti, hogy bármennyire küzdenek ellene Massimóval, ?ket ?sszek?ti a kémia, és talán valami más is BORSA BROWN hatalmas sikert aratott trilógiájának új kiadású k?tetében a vágyat veszi górcs? alá, és arra a konklúzióra jut, hogy a végzetszer? vonzódás el?l nincs menekvés, mint ahogyan a maffia ?leléséb?l sem lehet szabadulni. A maffia ágyában érzéki jelenetekben b?velked?, izgalmas folytatása nem fog csalódást okozni a rajongóknak!A maffia-trilógia részei:A maffia ágyában** A maffia ?lelésében **A maffia szívében

Ezek a versek azoknak szólnak, akik úgy érzik, hogy életük felett a gondok hullámai készülnek ?sszecsapni. Szürke hétk?znapokban k?nnyen keseredünk el, vagy csüggedünk, ha nehezen j?nnek a sikerek, ha kevés a pozitív visszajelzés. Legyen szó pénzr?l, egészségr?l, kapcsolatokról, vagy a boldogságról. Néhány lélekemel? gondolat segíthet felfedezni a benned rejl? er?t, a kiaknázatlan er?forrásokat, amik képesek éreztetni veled, hogy olyan életet élsz, amilyet szeretnél és hogy senkivel nem cserélnél! M?nich Krisztina tapasztalta, hogy a szeretetnek és a hitnek hatalmas ereje van. Meger?sít benne, hogy a helyes úton jársz, gyógyít, inspirál és felemel. Verseivel és az Angyalokkal együtt szeretne biztatást, reményt nyújtani.

Milyen lenyomatot hagyott bennünk 1956? T?rténelem alulnézetb?l, avagy családi emlékek, személyes t?rténetek az ominózus ?szr?l, ami után minden más lett. Hogyan lesz egy 17 éves gyárimunkás fiúból néhány nap leforgása alatt forradalmár? Mi t?rtént Erdélyben 56-ban? Mikor eszmél rá a hatéves kislány, hogy a nagyapja Magyarország legfontosabb embere? Hogyan él tovább az, akinek a menyasszonya ?r?kre elhagyta az országot? Hogyan válik a távoli kultúrából érkez? idegen október 23. szellemiségét átérz? emberré? Ilyen és ezekhez hasonló kérdésekre válaszol t?bbek k?z?tt Horgas Eszter, Varga Miklós, Kiss Zoltán Zéro, Tordai Teri, Vámos Miklós, Bornai Tibor és sokan mások. A kül?n?s, szívszorító vagy kalandos emlékekb?l megismerhetjük az ezerarcú forradalom néhány emberi mozzanatát. Naszvadi Judith családi érintettsége okán is kezdte el feltenni a kérdéseket el?bb sz?kebb, majd tágabb k?rnyezetében. A 60. évfordulóra így, ezekb?l az interjúkból állt ?ssze A mi '56-unk.

1944-ben még javában dúl a második világháború, amikor az amerikai hadsereg ifjú hadnagya, Lucas Athan egy egyiptomi sírboltból származó szarkofágot talál az elzász-lotaringiai hadszíntéren. A Princeton Egyetemre szállított k?láda rejtélyeit csak Lucas tudja megfejteni a tehetséges ifjú régészn?, Simone Rashid segítségével. Ezek a rejtélyek magának Albert Einsteinnek a s?tét jóslatait cáfolhatják vagy er?síthetik meg. Lucas és Simone a szarkofág kül?n?s tartalmának vizsgálata k?zben akaratukon kívül a világra szabadítják a jó és a gonosz er?it. A világ sorsa innent?l fogva nemcsak Einstein professzor titkos kutatómunkájától függ, hanem attól is, hogy Lucas képes-e legy?zni egy minden eddiginél elképzelhetetlenebb erej?, démoni ellenséget. Robert Masello az Egyesült ?llamok egyik legsikeresebb t?rténelmi és misztikus krimi írója, regényeit 15 nyelvre fordították le. A díjnyertes újságíró elméjéb?l olyan izgalmas, letehetetlen kalandregény pattant ki, amelyben a modern tudomány csap ?ssze az ?si természetfeletti er?kkel. ? A szerz? k?nnyed, szórakoztató misztikus thrillerei k?zül a most megjelen? Az Einstein-prófécia?a megidézett korszak miatt az Indiana Jones-ra emlékeztet sokakat, de k?nyveit ajánljuk Steve Berry, Dan Brown regényeit kedvel? k?z?nségnek. Masello t?bb k?nyvét tervezi a kiadó a k?zelj?v?ben kiadni.

Segítség a h?tleneknek, segítség a szeret?knek és segítség a megcsaltaknak. A k?tet szerz?je, Gelsei Bernadett szeret?ként maga is volt ilyen helyzetben, és pszichológusként is rendszeresen ad tanácsot azoknak, akik szerelmi háromsz?gbe kerültek. A k?nyvb?l jobban megérheted a társas hármas más résztvev?inek néz?pontját, és kitalálhatod, mit tegyél, ha valahogy szerelmi háromsz?gbe jutottál.

Evie Snowt id?s korában, álmában, a szerettei k?rében ragadja el a halál. Ki az, aki nem ilyen békés eltávozásra vágyik? Amikor azonban megérkezik a mennyország kapujába, rá kell d?bbennie, hogy újra huszonhét éves, és az ajtó nem nyílik. Ahhoz, hogy átjuthasson rajta, meg kell szabadulnia a lelkére nehezed? terhekt?l: három titoktól, amely fél évszázadon át nyomasztotta ?t. Fel kell tárnia titkait, miel?tt kés? lesz. Evie csodálatos utazása során t?bbet tanul az életr?l és a szerelemr?l, mint azt valaha képzelte volna, s talán a rég elvesztett szerelméhez vezet? utat is sikerül megtalálnia. ? Varázslatos regénnyel lepte meg rajongóit Carrie Hope Fletcher, aki az egyik legnépszer?bb fiatal sztár és nemcsak hazájában, Angliában. Népszer? West End-énekesn?, százezrek által k?vetett youtuber, író, második k?tete ez - és egyben els? regénye. ?Napokkal megjelenése után, ahogy el?z? k?tete is, azonnal a Sunday Times els? számú bestsellere lett.