"then I didn't feel my hand anymore" – 16948 rezultate
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SMStephenie Meyer
Stephenie Meyer\'s life changed dramatically on June 2, 2003. The stay-at-home mother of three young sons woke up from a dream featuring seemingly real characters that she could not get out of her head. \"Though I had a million things to do, I stayed in bed, thinking about the dream. Unwillingly, I eventually got up and did the immediate necessities, and then put everything that I possibly could on the back burner and sat down at the computer to write—something I hadn\'t done in so long that I wondered why I was bothering.\" Meyer invented the plot during the day through swim lessons and potty training, and wrote it out late at night when the house was quiet. Three months later she finished her first novel, Twilight. With encouragement from her older sister (the only other person who knew she had written a book), Meyer submitted her manuscript to various literary agencies. Twilight was picked out of a slush pile at Writer\'s House and eventually made its way to the publishing...
12 poezii, 0 proze
ITIoan Tițian
Prenume: Ioan Nume: Tițian email: maa_eendo@yahoo.com Photo: by Me ... 1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? 3 Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod? 4 Or Love in a golden bowl? (by W. Blake) ... I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale, a deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked what could I ail My life and all seemed turned to clay. And then my blood rushed to my face And took my eyesight quite away. The trees and bushes round the place Seemed midnight at noonday. I could not see a single thing, Words from my eyes did start. They spoke as chords do from the string, And blood burnt round my heart. Are flowers the winter's choice Is love's bed always snow She seemed to hear my silent voice Not love appeals to know. I never saw so sweet a face As that I stood before. My heart has left its dwelling place And can...
6 poezii, 0 proze
DIDan Iordache
Am imigrat cu familia in Québec, Canada. In tara am fost traducator, profesor de istorie si engleza, fotoreporter si jurnalist. In Québec, am reluat studiile de arte plastice, am obtinut un Certificat in Artele Visuale. Din 2002 sunt artist visual profesionist iar din 2003 predau expresiunea artistica (in special pictura acrilica si acuarela).O parte din ce am facut se poate vedea fie pe www.artsquebec.ca (ca Ion Danu) fie pe id.sito.org/yan. I've immigrated to Sherbrooke, Quebec, Canada, with my family. In the old country I was a translator, a history teacher, a reporter, journalist and such. Here, in Quebec, I've did all kind of odd jobs and studied art until I've found my last job as an art teacher (and freelance visual artist). If interested, you can see what I do at : http://id.sito.org/yan/ J'ai imigré au Québec avec ma famille. En Roumanie, j'étais traducteur, professeur d'historie et d'anglais, photo reporter, journaliste. Au Québec, j'ai étudié à l'Université (j'ai une...
5 poezii, 0 proze
Duca Horia
So why did I do it? I could offer a million answers, all false. The truth is that I'm a bad person, but that's gonna change. I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on. Going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc, and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, D.I.Y., game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, 9:00 to 5:00, good at golf, washing the car,choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by,looking ahead to the day you die.
1 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
Don McLean
Famed for -- and ultimately defined by -- his perennial \"American Pie,\" singer/songwriter Don McLean was born October 2, 1945, in New Rochelle, NY. After getting his start in the folk clubs of New York City during the mid-\'60s, McLean struggled for a number of years, building a small following through his work with Pete Seeger on the Clearwater, a sloop that sailed up and down the eastern seaboard to promote environmental causes. Still, McLean was primarily singing in elementary schools and the like when in 1970 he wrote a musical tribute to painter Vincent Van Gogh; the project was roundly rejected by a number of labels, although MediaArts did offer him a contract to record a number of his other songs under the title Tapestry. The album fared poorly, but Perry Como earned a hit with a cover of the track \"And I Love Her So,\" prompting United Artists to pick up McLean\'s contract. He returned in 1971 with American Pie; the title track, an elegiac eight-and-a-half-minute folk-pop...
1 poezii, 0 proze
Mirela Roznoveanu
Critic literar,eseist,romancier,poet.Stabilită din 1991 în Statele Unite ale Americii,unde este membru al Facultății de Drept de la New York University.Volume publicate: Lecturi moderne, eseuri,București, Editura Cartea Românească 1978;D.R.Popescu,Monografie critică,București,Editura Albatros, 1983;Civilizația romanului.Eseu despre romanul universal,București,Editura Albatros, vol I - 1983,Cartea Românească vol.II - 1991; Totdeauna toamna, roman, București,Editura Cartea Românească, 1988; Viața pe fugă, roman,București, Editura Sirius,1997;Învățarea lumii, poeme, București, Editura Fundației Luceafărul,1998; Platonia, roman,București, Editura Cartea Românească,1999; Timpul celor aleși, roman, București,Editura Univers, colecția Ithaca, 1999; Toward a Cyberlegal Culture (Către o cultură legală virtuală), eseuri, New York.Transnational Publishers (2001,ediția a doua 2002);Born Again in Exile,,poeme,New York, iUniverse,2004; The Life Manager and Other Stories, nuvele, New York,...
2 poezii, 0 proze
MBMaria Bungău
Nsscuta pe 6 martie 1987. In prezent studenta in anul I la Facultatea de Litere din Brasov. Si cum zice Fernando Pessoa "If, after I die, they should want to write my biography, There's nothing simpler. I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death. In between the one thing and the other all the days are mine. "
1 poezii, 0 proze
DFDesăvârșita Domniță Florentină
Compiuta Donzella Fiorentina este pseudonimul unei poete din secolul XIII. Existența ei, îndelung contestată, este astăzi în general acceptată de către critică. Contemporană cu Nina Siciliana, iubita lui Dante da Maiano *** La) Compiuta Donzella, called either di Firenze or Fiorentina, was the earliest poetess of the Italian language. Three of her sonnets survive in a single manuscript, and one is half of a tenzone. Compiuta may be her given name, but more probably a senhal (code name). Her full name translates "the accomplished young lady from Florence". Her existence was once in doubt and she was considered a construct of the poets, but this view has been discarded. In A la stagion che 'l mondo foglia e fiora ("In the season when the world sends forth leaves and flowers"), Compiuta complains of her father's choice of a husband for her. She is miserable at sprintime, when other lovers are rejoicing. In Lasciar voria lo mondo e Dio servire ("I would like to leave the world to serve...
1 poezii, 0 proze
Hal Sirowitz
Pretending We went to Dan Lynch's, & listened to White musicians pretending that they were Black. And the people next to us jumped up & down, pretending that they were rock stars. And I put my hand on your knee, pretending that I was your lover. You remained aloof. Why did you have to be the only one who insisted on being yourself?
0 poezii, 0 proze
to hell and back
de oana stanescu
Sometimes I feel like I’m falling appart Sometimes I’m just dying without any questions..or thoughts..or reasons.. Sometimes my head is so heavy almost like a burden how can I get rid of that single...
letter-thaughts
de petrut marinescu
I was thinking about you last night.About what we\'re talking,about whatwe\'re dreaming,about how our lives are.Some of my thaughts are the same as yours and that makes me feel close to you.Some of...
Cyber Lesson Learned
de Ohm
A letter is being written for you. 10/26 Written in draft form, why? Because I know not what else to do? It is as cold here, in draft, as it is in my heart. My body chilled, by your absence. My mind...
Ghost
de Alin Niculae
\"...and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted Nevermore.\" on a sweet scented summer day with the ashes falling from the sky the ashes he once loved for they...
I always say
de Lia Miruna Dumitrache
So there we were, in hell. Burning programme’s nine to four – the perpetual thing is bogus cause there’s too many of us and they have to have shifts and besides they gotta cool the place down at...
My farewell
de Crisan Iulian
Long lost city, what is left of you? Where is your grace and glamour? Where is your shining? Lost… And then I saw it, in His right hand The One sitting on the throne, a book Written inside and out,...
Interview with Enrique Iglesias
de A.M. Rika
Enrique Iglesias reaches for the stars with his feet on the ground Enrique Iglesias is the boy next door, someone who grew up doing things quietly, but effectively. Dreaming of becoming a pop star...
The Star-Splitter
de Robert Frost
`You know Orion always comes up sideways. Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains, And rising on his hands, he looks in on me Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something I should have done by...
House with no door
de Peter Hamill
There\'s a house with no door and I\'m living there at nights it gets so cold and the days are hard to bear inside. There\'s a house with no roof, so the rain creeps in, falling through my head as I...
There was a time
de Nicusor Porumboium
There was a time, and I'm ashamed When I felt love, and happiness I thought, I'll never feel the pain In our little, secret, universe. I gave you all and even more Until I couldn't offer something...