"Time enough" – 20646 rezultate
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AFAnatole France
Anatole France, pseudonym for Jacques Anatole Thibault (1844-1924), was the son of a Paris book dealer. He received a thorough classical education at the Collège Stanislas, a boys\' school in Paris, and for a while he studied at the École des Chartes. For about twenty years he held diverse positions, but he always had enough time for his own writings, especially during his period as assistant librarian at the Senate from 1876 to 1890. His literary output is vast, and though he is chiefly known as a novelist and storyteller, there is hardly a literary genre that he did not touch upon at one time or another. France is a writer in the mainstream of French classicism. His style, modelled on Voltaire and Fénélon, as well as his urbane scepticism and enlightened hedonism, continue the tradition of the French eighteenth century. This outlook on life, which appears in all his works, is explicitly expressed in collection of aphorisms, Le Jardin d\'Épicure (1895) [The Garden of...
6 poezii, 0 proze
Radu Contes
The beginning of my childhood was profoundly marked by one of my grandfather’s passions – literature. For him reading, living, the writings of so many did not seem to be enough, so he began writing his own stories that still echo in my memory and in my heart. I remember that one day I went to him and asked “What are you writing about?”. Looking at me for only a second and returning his eyes at the ink stained notebook he answered: “My life”. Regretful, I confess that that was the last dialogue we had. After that I began reading, reading everything he was writing. Two years after his death, I had met someone who changed everything. I stopped reading and began writing myself. It was such a new feeling. It seemed to be never ending. It still feels. Since the first time, you may think I am exaggerating, but it really was the first time I saw her when I felt this sudden urge of writing. Words like “Thank you” seem meaningless compared to the things that you have done for me.
2 poezii, 0 proze
CFColin Forbes
Colin Forbes was the principal pseudonym of British novelist Raymond Harold Sawkins (born in Hampstead, London on 14 July 1923, died on 23 August 2006). Sawkins wrote over 40 books, mostly as Colin Forbes. He was most famous for his long-running series of thriller novels in which the principal character is Tweed, Deputy Director of the Secret Intelligence Service. Sawkins attended The Lower School of John Lyon in Harrow, London. At the age of 16 he started work as a sub-editor with a magazine and book publishing company. He served with the British Army in North Africa and the Middle East during World War II. Before his demobilisation he was attached to the Army Newspaper Unit in Rome. On his return to civilian life he joined a publishing and printing company, commuting to London for 20 years, until he became successful enough to be a full-time novelist. Sawkins was married to a Scots-Canadian, Jane Robertson (born March 31, 1925, died 1993). Together they had one daughter, Janet....
3 poezii, 0 proze
cozianu gina gabriela
singura cu mine...singura cu ceilalti...vorbele zidesc...de obicei nimicul...si asa mai departe...
2 poezii, 0 proze
CBCatalina Bozdoc
7 poezii, 0 proze
ROraluca maria oprescu
aterizata dintr-o cearta de planete bete in acest prea-plin-de-mine pragmatism, inca agatata de coada unei comete ciufulite
7 poezii, 0 proze
Gheorghe Neagu
next time
21 poezii, 0 proze
zero nume
some other time ....it's so lonnnng ....u'll get bored
1 poezii, 0 proze
LALucretia Aerdo
Blissfull Ignorance Ignis And Feelings Overstimulated Neurons Glamour As Hypocrisy Race Against Time Antarctic Emotions Fall of Angels Is it Life? My Life? EnD.
9 poezii, 0 proze
mosh craciun
liceu teologic facultate de litere (engleza franceza) cenaclist in facultate ziarist amator la un cotidian apoi redactor cultura-tineret la un saptamanal time will tell what next...
2 poezii, 0 proze
TIME DIPTYCH
de Gabriel Daniel Dorobantu
We have all the time in the world. There is plenty of time. The time is just enough. We are right on time. Time is passing by. We get short of time. Time is running out. We are out of time.
It was a time of triumph for the morons
de Alexandru Paleologu
Mr. Paleologu, to begin with, let us say that this talk is the result of certain hostile attitudes, especially in the Western media, concerning Mircea Eliade and what we call here “Generation ’27”. I...
Proverbs of Hell
de William Blake
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid...
The Last Question
de Isaac Asimov
The last question was asked for the first time, half in jest, on May 21, 2061, at a time when humanity first stepped into the light. The question came about as a result of a five-dollar bet over...
A Pact
de Ezra Pound
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman-- I have detested you long enough. I come to you as a grown child Who has had a pig-headed father; I am old enough now to make friends. It was you that broke the...
regrets
de Ohm
there are very few things in my life that, given the chance I would do differently...there are even fewer things that I hold important enough to die for...actually, scratch that, wrong word, live...
Silet
de Ezra Pound
When I behold how black, immortal ink Drips from my deathless pen - ah, well-away! Why should we stop at all for what I think? There is enough in what I chance to say. It is enough that we once came...
N-am avut vreme pentru Ură
de Emily Dickinson
N-am avut vreme pentru Ură - Mormîntul Piedică mi-ar fi - Și Viața Este mult prea scurtă Ura - s-o pot desăvîrși Nici de Iubire n-am avut - Dar cît Un Crez să ai e bine - Socot Că al Iubirii Chin...
Necronomikon
de Abdul al-Hazred
THE TESTIMONY OF MAD ARAB THIS is the testimony of all that I have seen, and all that I have learned, in those years that I have possesed the Three Seals of MASSHU. I have seen One Thousand and-One...
To Himself
de Giacomo Leopardi
Now will you rest forever, My tired heart. Dead is the last deception, That I thought eternal. Dead. Well I feel In us the sweet illusions, Nothing but ash, desire burned out. Rest forever. You have...