The clever fox made friends with the crane. The clever fox once had a notion to treat the crane to dinner and went to invite him to her house."Come godfather! Come dear! How I'll entertain you!"The crain went to the dinner party.The clever fox had cooked farina cereal and spread it over a plate.She served it and urged. "Eat, my friend-godfather, I cooked it myself. "

Far out in the ocean the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower, and as clear as the purest glass. But it is very deep too. It goes down deeper than any anchor rope will go, and many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea. It is down there that the sea folk live. Now don't suppose that there are only bare white sands at the bottom of the sea. No indeed! The most marvelous trees and flowers grow down there, with such pliant stalks and leaves that the least stir in the water makes them move about as though they were alive. All sorts of fish, large and small, dart among the branches, just as birds flit through the trees up here. From the deepest spot in the ocean rises the palace of the sea king. Its walls are made of coral and its high pointed windows of the clearest amber, but the roof is made of mussel shells that open and shut with the tide. This is a wonderful sight to see, for every shell holds glistening pearls, any one of which would be the pride of a queen's crown.

ONCE time ago, there lived an old man and old woman. The old man said, "Old woman, make me a little bun." "What can I make it from? I have no flour." "Eh, eh, old woman! Scrape the cupboard, sweep the flour bin, and you will find enough flour. "The old woman picked up a duster, scraped the cupboard, swept the flour bin and gathered about two handfuls of flour. She mixed the dough with sour cream, fried it in butter, and put the bun on the window sill to cool. The bun lay and lay there. Suddenly it rolled off the window sill to the bench, from the bench to the floor, from the floor to the door. Then it rolled over the threshold to the entrance hall, from the entrance hall to the porch, from the porch to the courtyard, from the courtyard trough the gate and on and on.

This don't pretend to be "Literature."??This is just a tale for red-blooded folks who want a story and not just a lot of "psychological" stuff or "analysis."??Boy, you'll love it! Read it here, see it in the movies, play it on the phonograph, run it through the sewing-machine.??* * *??It was night in the mountains of Kentucky. Wild hills rose on all sides. Swift mountain streams flowed rapidly up and down the mountains.?Jemima Tantrum was down at the stream, brewing whiskey at the family still.??She was a typical mountain girl.

"Gadsby" is a 1939 novel by Ernest Vincent Wright. The plot revolves around the dying fictional city of Branton Hills, which is revitalized thanks to the efforts of protagonist John Gadsby and a youth group he organizes.The novel is written as a lipogram and does not include words that contain the letter "e". Though self-published and little-noticed in its time, the book is a favourite of fans of constrained writing and is a sought-after rarity among some book collectors. Later editions of the book have sometimes carried the alternative subtitle "50,000 Word Novel Without the Letter 'E'". In 1968, the novel entered the public domain in the United States due to failure to renew copyright in the 28th year after publication.

Este Leopardi un poet pesimist, aa cum l-a clasat tradiia Nu. Din perspectiva zilei de azi, el apare mai degrab ca un poet tragic, ca un exponent al categoriilor existeniale fundamentale. Nu moartea ca atare l sperie pe Leopardi, ci murirea, adic manifestarea ei procesual. Tot astfel viaa leopardian este vieuire. Desfurarea acestora e inversat: trirea vieii (vieuirea) e retrospectiv, iar trirea morii (murirea) e perspectiv. Inversiunea ontologic este temeiul mitopo(i)eticii leopardiene. Cartea ne propune un Leopardi modern i postmodern, un spirit intercultural i multicultural n siajul integrrii europene. Nu lipsete, bineneles, odiseea receptrii lui n spaiul cultural romnesc, ca pattern al lirismului arhetipal, alturi de Eminescu.” (Mihai Cimpoi)Un studiu incitant despre unul dintre cei mai mari poei ai lumii.

ONCE upon a time there was a very beautiful doll's-house; it was red brick with white windows, and it had real muslin curtains and a front door and a chimney.??IT belonged to two Dolls called Lucinda and Jane; least it belonged to Lucinda, but she never ordered meals.?Jane was the Cook; but she never did any cooking, because the dinner had been bought ready-made, in a box full of shavings. ??THERE were two red lobsters and a ham, a fish, a pudding, and some pears and oranges.?They would not come off the plates, but they were extremely beautiful.?ONE morning Lucinda and Jane had gone out for a drive in the doll's perambulator. There was no one in the nursery, and it was very quiet. Presently there was a little scuffling, scratching noise in a corner near the fire-place, where there was a hole under the skirting-board.?Tom Thumb put out his head for a moment, and then popped it in again.?Tom Thumb was a mouse. ??A MINUTE afterwards, Hunca Munca, his wife, put her head out, too; and when she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she ventured out on the oilcloth under the coal-box.

Stories:?HOW TOOTS WENT TO BED.?TOOTS AT THE KINDERGARTEN.?THE HAPPY HOUR.?ELFIE.?PAUL BROWN.?PAUL'S VIEWS AT EIGHT YEARS OF AGE.?MAX THE MEDDLER.?OUR MAY.?A BUBBLE PARTY.?SEWING A SEAM.?A FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND.?NAUGHTY SANDY?FLOSSIE'S HANDS.?JAMIE DOON.?FIVES.?OLIVER TWIST AT HOME.?MRS. WHITE'S FAMILY.?BUD AND BUNNIE.?DAISY DEAN.?THE COMMISSARY.?HARRY'S GUEST.?A TIRED VISITOR.?MR. SMITH'S FAMILY.?WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH BABY??DADDY TOUGH.?BUTTON BLUE.?THE STORY OF THE CUCKOO.?MAJOR AND BENJAMINA.?THE COMMODORE'S GUESTS.?HARVEST FESTIVAL.??TOOTS is our baby. He is a queer one too; up early, and always in dread of bed-time. One morning, not long ago, we heard him singing, and on looking for him, found the little rogue in the very middle of our best bed in the guest chamber, where he was playing hand-organ with a long hairpin put through the pretty pillow covers which had just come home from the laundry. There he sat singing a droll medley of "Uncle Ned," "Blessed Desus," and "Down in the Coal Mine." He had been watching two soldiers with a hand-organ, and Toots likes to do everything he sees done. While we were putting the guest-room in order, Toots marched out as a blind man, with his eyes shut and a cane in his hand. This brought him to grief, for he was picked up at the foot of the stairs with two large bumps on his pretty white brow. ??Toots was quiet then for a little while, a very little while, for as soon as we decided that his bones were all sound and a doctor need not be called, he "played sick," and asked for "shicken brof" and toast.

This is a Pussy called Miss Moppet, she thinks she has heard a mouse!??This is the Mouse peeping out behind the cupboard, and making fun of Miss Moppet. He is not afraid of a kitten.??This is Miss Moppet jumping just too late; she misses the Mouse and hits her own head.??She thinks it is a very hard cupboard!??The Mouse watches Miss Moppet from the top of the cupboard.??Miss Moppet ties up her head in a duster, and sits before the fire.??The Mouse thinks she is looking very ill. ?He comes sliding down the bell-pull.??Miss Moppet looks worse and worse. The Mouse comes a little nearer.??Miss Moppet holds her poor head in her paws, and looks at him through a hole in the duster. The Mouse comes very close.??And then all of a sudden—Miss Moppet jumps upon the Mouse!!

Trees filtering light onto dapple grass. Trees like tall, languid ladies with feather fans coquetting airily with the ugly roof of the monastery. Trees like butlers, bending courteously over placid walks and paths. Trees, trees over the hills on either side and scattering out in clumps and lines and woods all through eastern Maryland, delicate lace on the hems of many yellow fields, dark opaque backgrounds for flowered bushes or wild climbing garden. Some of the trees were very gay and young, but the monastery trees were older than the monastery which, by true monastic standards, wasn't very old at all. And, as a matter of fact, it wasn't technically called a monastery, but only a seminary; nevertheless it shall be a monastery here despite its Victorian architecture or its Edward VII additions, or even its Woodrow Wilsonian, patented, last-a-century roofing. Out behind was the farm where half a dozen lay brothers were sweating lustily as they moved with deadly efficiency around the vegetable-gardens. To the left, behind a row of elms, was an informal baseball diamond where three novices were being batted out by a fourth, amid great chasings and puffings and blowings. And in front as a great mellow bell boomed the half-hour a swarm of black, human leaves were blown over the checker-board of paths under the courteous trees.Some of these black leaves were very old with cheeks furrowed like the first ripples of a splashed pool. Then there was a scattering of middle-aged leaves whose forms when viewed in profile in their revealing gowns were beginning to be faintly unsymmetrical. These carried thick volumes of Thomas Aquinas and Henry James and Cardinal Mercier and Immanuel Kant and many bulging note-books filled with lecture data.

In 1915 Horace Tarbox was thirteen years old. In that year he took the examinations for entrance to Prince-ton University and received the Grade A—excellent—in C?sar, Cicero, Vergil, Xenophon, Homer, Algebra, Plane Geometry, Solid Geometry, and Chemistry.??Two years later while George M. Cohan was composing "Over There," Horace was leading the sophomore class by several lengths and digging out theses on "The Syllogism as an Obsolete Scholastic Form," and during the battle of Ch?teau-Thierry he was sitting at his desk deciding whether or not to wait until his seventeenth birthday before beginning his series of essays on "The Pragmatic Bias of the New Realists."??After a while some newsboy told him that the war was over, and he was glad, because it meant that Peat Brothers, publishers, would get out their new edition of "Spinoza's Improvement of the Understanding." Wars were all very well in their way, made young men self-reliant or something but Horace felt that he could never forgive the President for allowing a brass band to play under his window the night of the false armistice, causing him to leave three important sentences out of his thesis on "German Idealism."

A room in the down-stairs of a summer cottage. High around the wall runs an art frieze of a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and a ship on a crimson ocean, a fisherman with a pile of nets at his feet and so on. In one place on the frieze there is an overlapping—here we have half a fisher-man with half a pile of nets at his foot, crowded damply against half a ship on half a crimson ocean. The frieze is not in the plot, but frankly it fascinates me. I could continue indefinitely, but I am distracted by one of the two objects in the room—a blue porcelain bath-tub. It has character, this bath-tub. It is not one of the new racing bodies, but is small with a high tonneau and looks as if it were going to jump; dis-couraged, however, by the shortness of its legs, it has submitted to its environment and to its coat of sky-blue paint. But it grumpily refuses to allow any patron completely to stretch his legs—which brings us neatly to the second object in the room: SHE is a girl—clearly an appendage to the bath-tub, on-ly her head and throat—beautiful girls have throats instead of necks—and a suggestion of shoulder ap-pearing above the side. For the first ten minutes of the play the audience is engrossed in wondering if she really is playing the game fairly and hasn't any clothes on or whether it is being cheated and she is dressed. The girl's name is JULIE MARVIS. From the proud way she sits up in the bath-tub we deduce that she is not very tall and that she carries herself well. When she smiles, her upper tip rolls a little and reminds you of an Easter Bunny, She is within whispering distance of twenty years old.

Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean. Much as I desire to make him an appealing character, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on that point. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-nine three-quarters per cent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all during Jelly-bean season, which is every season, down in the land of the Jelly-beans well below the Mason-Dixon line.Now if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pull a long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenient telegraph-pole. If you Call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he will probably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Gras ball. The particular Jelly-bean patch which produced the protagonist of this history lies somewhere between the two—a little city of forty thousand that has dozed sleepily for forty thousand years in southern Georgia occasionally stirring in its slumbers and muttering something about a war that took place sometime, somewhere, and that everyone else has forgotten long ago.

Par Perfeito: Episódio 3

Par Perfeito: Episódio 2

Cartea e ca o pies? de teatru alc?tuit? din personaje, parantezele autorului, dialoguri, secven?e, scene, acte, cu leg?tura necesar?, intre acestea. ?n treac?t fie spus, critica poate s? ?ntre?in? longevitatea operei, dac? are destul? vigoare ?i dac? opera e de calitate. Sunt vorbe optimiste la vremea Internetului care, deocamdat?, nu de?ine puterea controlului critic ?i nici nu se ?ntrev?d ?anse de aceast? natur?. Tocmai de aceea pericolul dispari?iei c?rt?ii de h?rtie pare anun?area unui cataclism. Noi mai credem ?n ceva. R?m?ne hot?r?t c? interpretarea critic?, pentru a fi c?t mai aproape de text, trebuie s? se asocieze cu "partea estetic?" a demersului, care e scriitura, citatul, descrierea ?i altele. O "conversa?ie", pe c?t posibil neretoric?.

Her ?ey ?evresiyle etkile?imsel bütünlükte anlaml? olmaktad?r. Soral?m yine de; Bütünü par?alar?ndan fazlas? yapan nedenler nelerdir? Evrende neyin ifadesiyiz? Canl?l?k, bilin?, ruh, duygular art?k anla??labilir midir? Canl?l?k h?z farklar?ndan m? olu?maktad?r? H?zl? bile?enimiz olan elektri?in; canl?l???n ve bilincimizin olu?umunda nas?l bir etken olmaktad?r? Bizleri olu?turanlardan beden, duygular, bilin?, ruh diye tan?mlad?klar?m?z aras?nda ba?lant?lar nas?l kurulmaktad?r? Sorular?, günümüzde enerjiler aras? ba?lant?, etkile?im nas?l kurulmaktad?r? Sorusu gibi oldu?u, yani her?ey gibi onlar?nda enerji oldu?u anla??lm??t?r. Ruh olarak tan?mlad?k, zihin-beden aras?nda ba?lant?y? kurmaya, duygular? anlamaya ?al??t?k. Bilincin, alg?n?n tüm bunlarla nas?l bir ili?kisi olabilece?ini sorgulad?k. Genelde ?yle oluyor ya, bütünün ?nce par?alar?n? anlamaya, par?alara ay?r?p anlamaya ?al??man?n sorunlar?n?n izlerini sürüp bütünle olan etkile?imini g?rmeye y?neliyoruz. Zaman?n i?inde zaman ge?irmemize ra?men bilincimizle, canl?l???m?zla nas?l ba?lant?l? oldu?unu g?rmezden geldik. Günümüz dünyas?n?n ula?t??? bilgi, ya?amsal deneyimlerin kaydedilip aktar?lmas?, izledi?imiz filmlerden tutun da, deneyimlerimizin h?zl? etkile?imiyle zaman aral?klar?n? orduk. S?n?r sistemimize benzeyen internet a?lar? olu?turduk. ?nsanl?k olarak yapay zekalar geli?tirdik. Hücre ile beden benzeri; canl?yla tüm canl?l???n, ekosistemin, varl???n etkile?im ?rüntüsü oldu?unu, etkile?imsel ?rüntüde anlam? oldu?unu ??rendik. Belki de olu?turdu?umuz yeni anlamlar gelecekte olu?acaklar?n par?alar?d?r. De?i?im devam ediyor. G?rünen o ki, canl?lar bu evrenin en ileri evrensel enerji alanlar?d?r. Soral?m kendimize; Evrende canl?l?ktan daha anlaml? bir ?ey var m?d?r? Dünya bilinci ?a?lard?r. Biriktirdi?i bilgi ve deneyimlerini, olu?umun ba?lang?c?ndan itibaren nesiller boyu aktarm??, ekosistemiyle bir bütün olarak evrilmi?tir. Ula?t??? bilin? halini ?evresiyle etkile?imsel d?ngü i?inde hep yeniden ?ekillendirmi?tir. D?nü?ümsel etkile?imin hi?bir zaman?n?n ayn? olmay??? temel evrensel durumun etkisiyle de zamanda evrilmi? ve günümüz dünyas?n?n paradigmas?na ula?m??t?r. Evrimsel ?rüntüye paralel geli?en teknolojik entegrasyonla bilgi, zamanda ?ok yo?un etkile?ebilmi?tir. Dünya üzerinde artan s?n?r hücresi say?s? yani artan canl? say?s?n?n olumlu bir yan? ise, bilginin etkile?imini art?rm?? olmas?d?r. Platon’un idealar dünyas?nda var olan?n kendi ba??na var olamayaca??n?, var olan?n ?ncül bir mükemmeli olmal? dü?üncesiyle hareket etti?i g?rülüyor. Bu dü?ünceye bi ele?tiriyle ba?lay?p daha sonra ele?tiriyide ele?tirelim. Diyelim ki bu dü?ünceye evrimin, zaman?n itiraz? var. Buna b?yle devam edersek ba?lang?? i?inde, uzaylar i?inde ba?layan evrenler olsa bile bugünki mant?k yine en ba?a d?nmemizi s?ylüyor. Yani ilk nas?l olu?tu? Bu olu?um ?ncesi uzay diyeyim en mükemmel saf hali olan B?R nas?l olu?tu. 1’de ise hi?bir ?zellik olmamal? yani nas?l olurda idea’lar oradan kaynaklan?r. Demek ki varl?k olu?umu bi süre?, evrim olur gibi. Sondan ba?a d?nsekte bi süre?, ba?tan ba?lam?? olsakta bi süre?. Bu ifadeler B?R d?ngüsü i?inde do?ru olabilir. ?dealar nereden geldi ?ünki sonu? olarak idealar B?R de olmamal? ?ünkü B?R farkl?l?k bar?nd?rm?yor. Asl?nda her ?eyi B?R kapsar, o kaynak potansiyeller alan?d?r. Haliyle her ?eyle ayn? alandad?r. Bi nevi potansiyeller alan?yla varl?k ayn? ?eydir, benzerdir. O halde Platon’un idealar kuram?n?n kayna?? ve kendisi bu evrendedir, bu evrendir. Günümüz bilim dünyas?nda ?oklu evrenler dü?üncesi olduk?a yayg?nd?r. O halde evrenlerin oldu?u daha dev uzaysal kaynaklar, alanlar olmal?d?r. ??te B?R belkide bizimde i?inde evrildi?imiz vede k?smen farkl?la?t???m?z her ?eyin kayna??, alan?d?r. Evren büyük tabii ancak büyüklük hep yan?lt?c? olmaya devam etmi?tir. Belkide hiper bir uzay hatta uzaylar alan?nda olabiliriz. Belki ama e?er do?ru b? dü?ünce ?ekliyse bu ilk soruyu yinede de?i?tirmiyor. ?lk ba?lang?? diye bir ?ey var m??

i acest volum intr ?n seria celor pregtitoare, anun?nd O istorie politic a literaturii rom?ne postbelice. Nu e vorba de un ?rzboi cu estetismul”, reanim?nd fantoma lui Gherea, ci de reevaluri pe temei estetic, la mai multe m?ini, folosind achiziiile criticii literare; i, firete, de recontextualizri (interog?nd epoca), in?nd cont, ?ns, de fluctuaiile recepiei i de capricioasa meteorologie politic. ?n fond, suntem consecveni cu programul, anunat ?nc de la debut (Orizontul lecturii, 1983), ?neleg?nd c, sociologic judec?nd, nu putem examina fenomenul literar retez?ndu-i ombilicul istoric. Generaia orfelin discut, prin profiluri sintetizatoare, despre o serie creatoare, av?nd drept numitor comun vitregele condiii formative; ea a fost modelat de interdicii (lecturi clandestine, maetri ?ascuni”, biblioteci epurate), provoc?nd o reacie polemic (ruptura) i promov?nd, astfel, la start, un program negativ. Dar, ?n acelai timp, este o generaie auroral, cu rol de verig, redescoperind – euforic – tradiia, definind o stare de spirit, angaj?ndu-se, prin combustie creatoare, la o lucrare comun, recuperatoare, fecund, susinut, prin propulsie adjectival, de o critic solidar, risipind i cronici ?tactice”, cum recunotea Matei Clinescu. Chiar dac noi discutm, ?n acest volum, poeii ei, evident nu poate fi vorba doar despre o generaie de poei, transport?nd legenda Labi, anun?nd, prin voci tinere, o nou epoc de lirism. Nu e vorba, aadar, de o compact ?echip” liric, ci de un buchet de personaliti, cu voci distincte, evolu?nd ?n direcii imprevizibile, isc?nd, ?n timp, disensiuni, controverse ?nfierb?ntate, ierarhizri provizorii. i propun?nd un inventar tematic, hrnind un imaginar, p?n la un punct, comun, definind o fizionomie specific. (Adrian Dinu Rachieru)

In this foundational classic play, Christopher Marlowe beautifully retells the legend of Doctor Faustus in a masterful combination of verse and prose. The celebrated moral of the play is about how excessive ambition and unlimited lust for knowledge and power lead to self-destruction and damnation. The protagonist in the story is a talented lower-class man who is obsessed with the study of sciences and the secrets of life. His excessive academic ambition and his reliance solely on logic and reason lead him to cogitate about the nature of the world and its existence and to question the utility of the "e;doctrine of Divinity."e; Unsatisfied with the knowledge that pure and experimental sciences can offer, he eventually decides to explore the curious world of Black Magic. Through the recital of a strange incantation, Faustus succeeds in summoning a devil called Mephistopheles who informs him that he will only obey his orders once a pact is signed between Faustus and the devil's master: Lucifer. The pact is signed by Faustus' own blood and stipulates that in return of Mephistopheles' services, which unexpectedly turn to be unworthy by the end, he must give his soul over to Lucifer. The denouement of the play opens the floor for different speculations about Faustus' damnation or salvation.

Austin Hall (c. 1885 - 1933) was an American short story writer and novelist. He began writing when, while working as a cowboy, he was asked to write a story. He wrote westerns, science fiction and fantasy for pulp magazines.??The story opens on an oppressively hot day with a poor little newspaper boy, Charley, playing with a "burning glass" (a magnifying glass) which he uses to concentrate sunlight onto a small focal spot, thus intensifying the heat on some paper until it burns a hole, perhaps a portent of things to come. He is noticed by a recluse scientist, Dr. Robold, who takes interest in Charley's scientific curiosity and calls him a young Archimedes, referring to the ancient Greek who, as legend tells, used a "burning glass" from shore to set enemy ships ablaze as they were approaching. Charley has no parents to care for him. Dr. Robold takes Charley away from his pitiful life, to a mountain retreat in Colorado.??Years later, bizarre, terrifying events begin to occur. At a street intersection in Oakland, California, everything within a large circular area--streetcars, autos, people, pavement--suddenly vanishes without a sound, during a flash of bright, multi-colored light, leaving a vastly deep hole with perfectly smooth sides as though cut with a knife.

THREE GHOST STORIES??Though best known for his heartwarming holiday tales and sweeping social novels such as A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations, Charles Dickens was a prolific writer who was always willing to experiment with new styles. The chilling tales collected in Three Ghost Stories are a result of his brief but successful foray into the mystery and detective genres.??Under none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece.??I saw it in the daylight, with the sun upon it. There was no wind, no rain, no lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted circumstance, of any kind, to heighten its ef-fect. More than that: I had come to it direct from a railway station: it was not more than a mile distant from the railway station; and, as I stood outside the house, looking back upon the way I had come, I could see the goods train running smoothly along the embankment in the valley. I will not say that everything was utterly commonplace, because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly commonplace people—and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take it on myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it, any fine autumn morning.??The manner of my lighting on it was this.