Fragmente interesante librash

[Fiori]

The Successor - Ismail Kadare


The young man bit his lip. She had tried to minimize the effect of her words by adding, in a joking tone, "Are we really so terrifying, my father and I?...."
The despair that was written on the boy's face seemed irremediable. She had taken his hand, bent to kiss it, placed it on her breast, then between her legs. Abandoning all modesty made things easier for her. "Don't look away," she said sweetly.

....

"Nothing wrong...I just wanted to say that from now on we should be prepared."
"Prepared for what?"
"Don't you remember Aunt Memë's final piece of advice?-'Be prepared, know your words."
"Know what we will say.. You mean, about the night of December 13? But we've already told them everything we know!"
"The old woman wasn't reffering to the investigators."
"What did she mean, then?"
"SHe meant Papa. Know what your are going to say to him when he appears before you. That's what she was talking about."
"Are you trying to scare the living daylighs out of me?" Suzana complained.
"There's no reason for you to be afraid. The old woman's mind works the same way as people's did two thousand years ago. For the ancients, encounters with the dead were unavoidable. It didn't matter so much where the encounter took place -- it could be in a dream, in the hereafter, or in our own conscience..."

....

Then, looking like death warmed over, he explained, as if he was talking to himself, why even if the opportunity arose he would not avenge his father's spilled blood. As he'd already told her on a previous occasion, his father's blood was different from blood that had been spilled, it flowed in a different direction, belonged to a different group. Just as their mother's breasts were different. His father, his mother, his blood, her milk, were ruled by different laws.

....

That's how the whole business they did not want to recall must have started. After seizing power, and after they had spawned their own offspring, they turned the other way.
He laughed a bitter laugh.
"They brought us into the world, but you have to realize that that gives us only provisional status. When the hour of duty sounds, they won't hesitate to trample us into the groud if the Party requires it.

[Dara]

-"Take freely , Gregori. My life for your life. I am here for you, Gregori. I offer what you need freely"
-"Savannah"!
-"Feel me, my body joining with yours. I belong to you and you to me. Feel me with you. Reach for me. I will not let you go. Whereever you are, I am with you. Where yu go, I will follow. I offer my life freely to yours. You can not take what is given to yuo. You have commited no wrong in taking. There is only us. There is no me , no you. I will not leave, nor I will let the darkness to take you away from me. I claim you as my lifemate"


Feehan, Christine, Dark Magic, July 2000, page 66.

Librat e shkurara nga kjo shkrimatre jane ne seri. Personazhet kryesore jane Carpathians(Dark Hunters) dhe Vampire(te cilet jane Carpathians te shnderruar duke e lejuar erresiren ti zabtoje pasi nuk kane gjetur *Njeriun e jetes*)

[[xeni]]

Beautiful!
Xeni c'fare permbledhje ka ky liber?

Ne ate liber perfshihen "essay" ne lidhje me shkencen dhe jeten, personalitete te shquara, besimet dhe bindjet e ndryshme (dhe mendimet e Ajnshtajnit per to). Flitet per hebrenjte, gjithashtu, dhe per probleme te tjera, qe s'i mbaj mend t'i them te gjitha. Po ia vlen te lexohet, si çdo liber i Ajnshtajnit qe s'ka te beje thjeshte me fiziken. :)

[s0ni]

Me hape pune sot, vij ne librari per te mesuar dhe ngela me shume se dy ore duke lexuar Einstein lol...Libri qe permende ti ishte si roman i gjate dhe i rash shkurt me nje tjeter "The expanded quotable Einstein", theniet e Einstein per jeten e tij, njerezimin, politike, dhe sic the vete per probleme te tjera.
Flm se me shtyre te lexoj, s'besoj do te kapja me dore ndonje liber per te.


Po ju sjell citim te Einstein nga libri qe lexova.....se dija qe ishte filozof :)

How strange is the lot of us mortals! Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people.

Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellow men, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received.

A human being is part of the whole called by us universe , a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty .. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if mankind is to survive.

[Fiori]

Memories Of My Melancholy Whores - Gabriel García Márquez

The year I turned ninety, I wanted to give myself the gift of a night of wild love with an adolescent virgin.

...

The only unusual relationship was the one I maintained for years with the faithful Damiana. She was almost a girl, Indianlike, strong, rustic, her words few and brusque, who went barefoot so as not to disturb me while I was writing. I remember I was reading La lozana andaluza - The Haughty Andalusian Girl - in the hammock in the hallway, when I happened to see her bending over in the laundry room wearing a skirt so short it bared her succulent curves.

....

I ask myself how I could give in to this perpetual vertigo that I in fact provoked and feared. I floated among erratic clouds and talked to myself in front of the mirror in the vain hope of confirming who I was. My delirium was so great that during a student demonstration complete with rocks and bottles, I had to make an enormous effort not to lead it as I held up a sign that would sanctify my truth: I am mad with love.

[Dara]

" To be bred in a place of estimation;
to see nothing low and sordid from one's infancy;
to be tought to respect one's self;
to be habituated to the sensorial inspection of the public eye;
to llok early to public opinion;
to stand upon such elevated ground as to be enable to take large views of the widespread and infinity diversified;
to have leisure to read, to reflect, to converse, to be enable to draw the court nad attention of the wise and learned, wherever they are to be found;
to be habituated in armies to comman and to obey;
to be tought to despise danger in the pursuit of honor and duty;
to be formed to the greatest degree of vigilance, foresight, and circumspection, in a state of things in which no fault is commited with impunity and the slightest mistakes draw on the most ruinous consenquences;
to be led to a guarded and regulated conduct, from a sense that you are considered as an instructor of your fellow citizens in their highest concerns, and that you act as a reconcilier between God and Man;
to be employed as an administrator of law and justice, and to be thereby among the first benefactors to mankind;
to be professor of high science, or of liberal an ingenuous art;
to be amongst rich traders, who from their success are presumed to ahve sharp and vigorous understandings, and to possess the virtues of diligence, order, constancy, and regularity, and to have cultivated an habitual regard to commutative justice: The are the circumastances of men that form I should call a natural aristrocracy, without which there is no nation."

Edmund Burke, An Appeal From the New to the Old Whigs

The rise of the educated class

[nausika]

A man who sets out to make himself up is taking on the Creator’s role, according
to one way of seeing things; he’s unnatural, a blasphemer, an
abomination of abominations. From another angle, you could see pathos
in him, heroism in his struggle, in his willingness to risk: not all mutants
survive. Or, consider him sociopolitically: most migrants learn, and can
become disguises. Our false descriptions to counter the falsehoods invented
about us, concealing for reasons of security our secret selves. 

The Satanic Verses-Salman Rushdie

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

And what then? For she felt that he was still looking at her, but that his look had changed. He wanted something—wanted the thing she always found it so difficult to give him; wanted her to tell him that she loved him. And that, no, she could not do. He found talking so much easier than she did. He could say things—she never could. So naturally it was always he that said the things, and then for some reason he would mind this suddenly, and would reproach her. A heartless woman he called her; she never told him that she loved him. But it was not so—it was not so. It was only that she never could say what she felt. Was there no crumb on his coat? Nothing she could do for him? Getting up, she stood at the window with the reddish-brown stocking in her hands, partly to turn away from him, partly because she remembered how beautiful it often is—the sea at night. But she knew that he had turned his head as she turned; he was watching her. She knew that he was thinking, You are more beautiful than ever. And she felt herself very beautiful. Will you not tell me just for once that you love me? He was thinking that, for he was roused, what with Minta and his book, and its being the end of the day and their having quarrelled about going to the Lighthouse. But she could not do it; she could not say it. Then, knowing that he was watching her, instead of saying anything she turned, holding her stocking, and looked at him. And as she looked at him she began to smile, for though she had not said a word, he knew, of course he knew, that she loved him. He could not deny it. And smiling she looked out of the window and said (thinking to herself, Nothing on earth can equal this happiness)— “Yes, you were right. It’s going to be wet tomorrow. You won’t be able to go.” And she looked at him smiling. For she had triumphed again. She had not said it: yet he knew.
- Virginia Woolf

ps. I love this passage. I think I have posted a translation but I'm sure it's nowhere close to its original intensity. :)

[whisper]

...And she looked at him smiling. For she had triumphed again. She had not said it: yet he knew.[/I]
- Virginia Woolf

Hmmm...great ! I really liked what you brought here Goricaqi...

[Cupke_pe_Korce]

One of the main reasons I am so fond of this passage is because it goes against the general belief that love dies with marriage - a belief which, I too, strongly disagree with. Who said women are a frail sex????

Anyways, you won't make me eat my words if I post something else:

"....She stopped, choking with sobs, and, overcome by emotion, flung herself face downward on the bed, sobbing in the quilt. Gabriel held her hand for a moment longer, irresolutely, and then, shy of intruding on her grief, let it fall gently and walked quietly to the window.

She was fast asleep.

Gabriel, leaning on his elbow, looked for a few moments unresentfully on her tangled hair and half-open mouth, listening to her deep-drawn breath. So she had had that romance in her life: a man had died for her sake. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life. He watched her while she slept, as though he and she had never lived together as man and wife. His curious eyes rested long upon her face and on her hair: and, as he thought of what she must have been then, in that time of her first girlish beauty, a strange, friendly pity for her entered his soul. He did not like to say even to himself that her face was no longer beautiful, but he knew that it was no longer the face for which Michael Furey had braved death.

Perhaps she had not told him all the story....

The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."

From "The Dead" James Joyce

ps. I haven't been called "goricaqi" since I used to wear ponytails. It's about time to wear them again :p