Cili liber iu ka mbetur ne mendje?

[*~Rexhina~*]

Postuar më parë nga Living in Vain
Jam ne perfundim e siper te MARREZIA E FATIT - Danielle Steel

po me pelqen. Ben fjale per nje cift te persosur: Meredit dhe Stive Uitman, te dashuruar prej 15 vjetesh ne NY, kane ende vrullin e takimit te pare, me nje mirkuptim te plote ne te gjitha kendveshtrimet - intelektuale, afektive, seksuale. Ajo nje keshilltare e afirmuar per financen, e nje prej studiove me prestigjoze te Wall street, di si tu pelqeje burrave dhe pse nder mend ka vetem te shoqin.
Ai kirurg, ia kushtonte ate pak kohe te lire gruas qe kishte mbushur eksperiencen e tij me gezime te vogla dhe plot kuptim.

Mirepo fati, perballe nje lumturie kaq te pamate, ndryshon mendje dhe i perzien letrat..........

me shume mesoni vete.....

me pelqejn shume librat e Danille Steel's, libri i fundit te saj ishte "Vanished" tregonte per nje grua qe ishte martuar me kte burrin por ajo se donte haq shume gjithashtu dhe burri, ai rebehu femin e tij dhe me sekretaren vendosen te shkonin ne angli, akuzoj ex-husband te gruas qe ai kishte rembyer ose vrar djalin sepse deshte qe gruaja ta harronte femin...ect... shume ngjarje e bukur

[leci]

Eshte nje periudhe kur shkoj shume dakord me Luis Sepùlveda.
"Plaku qe lexonte histori dashurie"
"Bota ne fund te botes"
"Diari i nje vrasesi sentimental"

"Njeriu qe mbillte pemet" i Jean Giono
"Dopio enderr" i Artur Schnitzler
"Se nje nate dimri nje udhetar" i Italo Calvino

[Klevis2000]

"At sergi "
"Tolstoi"

Me ka bere shume pershtypje jo pse fliste per nje prift por per mynyren se si njeriu e ruan veten per nje kohe pastaj bie.

[Reina]

Oscar Wilde - The Nightgale and the Rose

E kam lexuar kete histori te shkurter ne moshen 12 ne Shqiperi. Sadoqe s'kuptoja mire anglisht dhe c'do sekond shikoja fjalen ne fjalor, me ka prekur jashte mase. Per ate qe se kan lexuar po jua postoj.

She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What I a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

[KaLTerSi]

The Da Vinci Code--Dan Brown
Vitin e kaluar doli per publikun megjithate me ra ne dore jo me larg se javen e kaluar. E kam lexuar me nje fryme, me ka mrekulluar dhe jua rekomandoj denjesisht pasi me te vertete qe eshte nje nga librat me mbrese lenes te kohes se tij.
Libra te tjera qe me kane lene mbrese kane qene
Metamorphosis--Kafka
Angela's Ashes--McCourt
Little Women--Alcott
The Age of Innocence--Wharton
Absalom, Absalom--Faulkner
The Prince--Machiavelli(nje nga idealistet me te medhenj te mendimit politik)
White Orleanders--se mbaj mend kush e shkrojti por nuk e leshoja dot nga duart deri sa e mbarova.
All Quiet on the Western Front--Remarque
Sigurisht shume libra te tjera na kane lene gjurmet e tyre ne zhvillimin tone kompleks te mendjes megjithate momentalisht keto jane me te pashlyerit ne mendjen time.

Lexime te mbara dhe ju lutem lexoni Da Vinci Code se ju premtoj qe nuk do zhgenjeheni aspak, pavaresisht nga preferencat tuaja.


Kaltersi

[s0ni]

Kaltersi kam menduar qe ta lexoj dhe une Da Vinci Code, por nuk dua te behem me nerva. Kam pas lexuar nje liber me te njejtat pikepamje te Da Vinci Code po s'mbaj mend as titullin as autorin per fakt qe kam dy a tre vjet qe e lexova dhe te them te drjeten me teper me beri me nerva dhe pse nuk e hiqa nga dora deri sa ta mbaroja. Me nevrikosnin sekretet qe "Kisha" me vite te tera ruante dhe genjeshtrat qe i benin te verteta. Diskutoja me shoqet disa nga ceshtjet mbi librin, po ata s'donin ta dinin shume sespe jane fetare te medhaja, une mundohesha te merrja pergjigje ata me thonin qe Bibla thote keshtu e ashtu, qe vetem Bibla ka te drejte. Me qe po flasim per Biblen a di njeri kush e ka shkruajtur ate???

Mendoj qe Da Vinci Code pak a shume do kete te njejtat pikepamje si ai libri i mesipert dhe mbase flet per Lady McDaleen dhe vajzen qe ajo mund te kete me Krishtin..etj etj, por jam e sigurt qe historia nen librin do peruli femren, dhe do me bej me teper me nerva. prandaj nderrova mendjen qe mos ta lexoj.

Mbase libri i ri i Dan Brown The secret behin Mona Lisa's smile do jete me i kendshem per tu lexuar.

White Orleanders kete liber kam dashur ta lexoj, Kaltersi neqofse ke kohe me trego pak c'fare tregon ky liber.

Me ne fund, nuk e di neqoftse ndonje nga ju ka lexuar libra mbi republikanin romak "Cicero". Cicero ka pas jetuar ne Rome ne te njejten kohe qe Caeser kishte ne dore pushtetin. Nese dini ndonje veper te Cicero me thuani.

[KaLTerSi]

Me gjithe kenaqesi Eliona, por ta dish qe kisha mbi 10 min qe te shkruaja mbi White Orleanders dhe Ciceron kur padashje mu fshi i ter posti dhe aktualisht me jane skuqur dhe veshet nga inati qe me vajti mundi dem.
Dhe njehere atehere,
White Orleanders eshte shkrojtur nga Janet Fitch dhe eshte nje drame familjare ku karakterit kryesor i duhet te perballet me egersine e jetes qe ne moshen e adoleshences. Figura babait nderkohe eshte nonekzistuese dhe mamaja eshte e ndeshkuar me burgim te perjetshem pasi vrau te dashurin e saj per arsye abandonimi. Vajzes, te cilen e quajne Astrid i duhet te lundroje nga nje shtepi abortimi ne tjetren, ku sejcila prej ketyre familjeve eshte me problematike se tjetra; i duhet te kujdeset per veten e saj; i duhet te luaje here rolin e engjellit naiv e here rolin e prostitutes se deshperuar; i duhet te kuptoje krimin e se jemes; i duhet te pranoje qe e jema, kjo figure idhujtare per te, nuk eshte me teper se nje kriminele ordinere; i duhet te zbuloje identitetin e vetes se saj dhe kete situate te veshtire ajo duhet ta perballoje vete pasi nuk ka asnje njeri te afert. Metaforat, krahasimet, fig. letrare, idiomat e pershkrimet e hollesishme jane te shkrojtura me aq bukuri, me aq hijeshi, me aq elokuence sa magjepsesh qe nga fjalia e pare dhe pa e leshuar librin nga dora deri sa te arrish fundin e tij. E kam gdhire me kete liber dhe me te vertete qe ja vleu ndaj te keshilloj ta lexosh.
Marcus Tullius Cicero--nje nga oratoret me te shquar ne te gjitha koherat. Koincidoi te jetonte gjate periudhes se renies se Rep. te Romes ndaj dhe shkrimet e tij kane orientim politik.
Disa nga shkrimet e tij jane:
Brutus, Academics, On Old Age, On Fate, On Invention, On Orator, On the Laws, On the Rep, e shume te tjera. Une personalisht do te rekomandoja te lexoje STOIC PARADOXES ku Cicero paraqet 6 parime te rrymes Stoike sic jane pasuria eshte varesi ne mencurise, virtytet sigurojne lumturi, vetem i mencuri eshte i lire etj.
Gjithashtu The Orator ku duket haptazi egoizmi i tij i tejkaluar permban dhe thenjen e tij te famshme "To be ignorant of what occured before you were born is to remain always a child."
Shpresoj te te kem ndihmuar disi.
Lexim te kendshem,

Kaltersi

[hope31]

Tre shoke-Remark
Novelat e Cvajkut
Romanet e shkrimtares Agatha Christi
........
jane shume ne fakt

sinqerisht
hope31

[velsa]

librat e preferuar

1. 100 vjet ne vetmi ( G.G.Marquez)
2. Parfumi (P.Süsskind)
3. House of spirits (Isabell Allende)
4.Jeta, loja dhe vdekja e Lul Mazrekut (Ismail Kadare)

Dy librat e fundit qe kam lexuar, jane "Alkimisti" i Paulo Coelhos dhe White Oleander.
Alkimistin do ju kisha rekomanduar ta lexoni patjeter; perveq qe eshte shkruar bukur, eshte nje roman filozofik, ezoterik dhe me perplot gjera te urta e me nje mesazh domethenes ( e gjeni kur e lexoni)
E çka i perket White Oleander, edhe une e lexova pa fryme, shume me pelqeu, po Kaltersi pata rastin ta shof edhe filmin ( me Michelle Pfeiffer etc), te them te drejten filmi me zhgenjeu shume, shume skena kyqe ne lidhje me storien, filmi nuk i permbante,,po libri ama ia vlen gjithsesi
Velsa

[KaLTerSi]

Harrova Eliona te te thoja qe per Da Vinci Code kur ta lexosh jam e disponueshme ta diskutojme bashke meqe miqte e tu te kan privuar nga kjo gje lol.

Ndersa persa i perket filmit White Orleanders nuk e kam pare se mori kritika shume te ashpra dhe nuk doja qe te me prishte shijen e librit.