Sta citate?

[nautilus]

kupio na sajmu knjiga i tek sad mi je dopala saka. nakon prvih 50 strana cini mi se cu je procitati za jedan dan. lako, jednostavno, beskrajno interesantno i lijepo.

[gospa buba]

hvalio mi lokalni knizar onoliko, i ja nikako.

[nautilus]

Imam jos pedesetak strana. dobra je knjiga ali su prethodne za klasu bolje.edit: nakon prvih 100 strana postaje predvidljiva.

Edited January 4, 2013 by nautilus

[gospa buba]

Imam jos pedesetak strana. dobra je knjiga ali su prethodne za klasu bolje.edit: nakon prvih 100 strana postaje predvidljiva.

daj mi kazi pliz koje su te prethodne dve, kad vec znash, da ne plivam po izdavachu ^_^tj i imaju li veze u redosledu ili ne? Edited January 4, 2013 by thermal bug

[MayDay]

meni tetka non-stop drvi o toj senci vetra, a ja nesto skepticna. trenutno nista ne citam, ali za koji dan kad se vratim u francusku, u sanducetu me ceka pre-ordered:

[Frau Gabrijela]

neću ništa da prijavim, samo da vas odvratim od safona, neka prašta safon. :)pročitala sam samo senku vetra jer sam dobila knjigu i bila mi je potpuno neubedljiva jer sam je čitala posle ove genijalnosti.dobro se toga sećam jer sam pomislila da je safon mersije za siromašne. daleko od toga da ne može da se čita, ali nedostajala mi je esencijalna ideja i snaga. noćni voz za lisabon me je temeljno prodrmao.evo još jedna koju sam čitala u poslednjih nekoliko godina, a još je se živo sećam i misaono i emotivno prerađujem: kratki i čudesni život oskara vaa.preporučujem vam da se ne obazirete previše na one prikaze knjiga na linkovima. kao da je pisao neko ko nije pročitao.

[nautilus]

daj mi kazi pliz koje su te prethodne dve, kad vec znash, da ne plivam po izdavachu ^_^tj i imaju li veze u redosledu ili ne?

pa imaju nekakav redosljed ali se mogu i ovako citati. naslovi su senka vetra i igra andjela.

[gagilija]

Imam jos pedesetak strana. dobra je knjiga ali su prethodne za klasu bolje.edit: nakon prvih 100 strana postaje predvidljiva.

slazem se skroz, podsetilo me kako sam se razocarala posle "dodatne lektire" od akunjina prethodno procitavsi ceo opus o fandorinu i pelagija trilogijups...ne mogu da verujem za onoliku pomamu oko 50 nijansi sive...uzela od drugarice koja je odusevljena. a nije da devojka cita gluposti, ali knjiga je smesna. jos ja mislila da je to napisala neka klinka, kad ono zena koja je 63. godiste....danijela stil i mirjam, sve vam je oprosteno!

[Sludge Factory]

trenutno nista ne citam, ali za koji dan kad se vratim u francusku, u sanducetu me ceka pre-ordered:

Moglo je i na stripove, ali ipak...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU8L-sGeWaI Edited January 5, 2013 by Sludge Factory

[Sludge Factory]

U sklopu priprema za novu sezonu Justified-a, procitao Tisomingo Bluz Elmora Lenarda. Super je, bas mi je prijalo u ove praznicne dane, mada je prevod ocajan, ovo izdanje puno je stamparskih gresaka (Narodna knjiga, jbg, sta se moglo drugacije i ocekivati), ali i pored toga zabava nije izostala, iako verujem da EL ima i boljih knjiga.

[ilija7777]

http://www.hellycherry.com/2013/01/viktor-jerofejev-enciklopedija-ruske.html

[Hamlet Strašni]

Kako jezivo depresivna knjiga.Послато са GT-I9100 користећи Тапаток 2

[Indy]

Even if his guide hadn't told, everything signalled arrival. The act of getting down to open gates, even the rustiest, the more resistance, the most perversely chained, gave the stranger a sense of belonging somewhere. A mob of sheep scampering in initial fright was persuaded to turn, halt, and observe those who were possibly not the intruders of its first impression. The phalanx of sheep stood firm, some stamping, coughing, every one of them archaic inside a carapace of what could have passed for stone wool, down to a tinge of parasite moss suffusing its general dinginess. Winter was well on the way at 'Bogong'. It showed in the staring, wind-ruffled coats of half a dozen horses in the next paddock. Wheeling and pig-rooting, the near brumbies halted only when almost on top of the car, their bright expressions from under wispy forelocks prepared to enjoy such entertainment as human beings had to offer. Here too there was a glint of moss in quizzical muzzles and, possibly by reflection, in fetlocks rising out of a short-pile carpet of a virulent green.Presently a string of sheds, together with a huddle of cottages, their paintwork faded to a pale ochre, showed up amongst the white tussock on the river bank.Two stockmen were riding at a distance, slouching, bumping with accomplished ease one behind the other on razor-backed nags whose slatternly tails almost swept the ground. Weather had cured the riders to a colour where they could have passed for Red Indians. They ignored the manager, as he them, more from convention, you felt, than actual animosity.Soon there was a bridge of loosely bolted planks buckling beneath the leaping car. Never had river waters looked glassier, more detached in their activity. Eddie Twyborn shivered and breathed deep for the encounter. Then they were across, above them in the middle distance a long low homestead, its windows dark and unrevealing behind a low-slung veranda, beneath a fairly low-pitched, red-painted roof, in corrugated iron. The homestead had a somewhat prim air, that of a retiring spinster of no pretensions beyond her breeding.The car did not make for the homestead, but for a cottage closer to the river and surrounded by the expected complement of sheds, yards, iron water-tanks, and what must be the dunny. Hawthorns were crowding in upon another deep veranda, providing a break-wind, if also a break-light for the rooms inside.Don Prowse turned on a sourly beatific smile for one who might have been the bride of a shotgun marriage instead of an unwanted offsider wished on to him by his employer. 'Snugger than it looks, and at the week-end you can bugger off to Woolambi if it suits.'Eddie Twyborn felt the complete misfit in Don Prowse's aggressively masculine world; whereas a relationship was waiting to develop between himself, the huggermugger buildings, even a bitter landscape. If the river appeared at first sight hostile, it was through the transience of its coursing waters to one who longed for the reality of permanence.He was made clumsy and unreal by the manager's continued remarks, by his attempts at friendliness, by the man's insistence on shouldering the cabin-trunk again, on grabbing hold of all the baggage if he could get possession of it - in doing the man's work in fact. It was humiliating.It might have become worse, creating a puppet tittuping helplessly through slush and puddles, if a woman hadn't appeared, neither young, nor all that old, at any rate her hair still black, her cheeks as tanned and ravaged by the climate as those of the 'Red Indian' stockmen loping on their lean horses.'Mrs Tyrrell,' Prowse grunted by way of introduction under the stress of shouldering the trunk and carrying the suitcase.Mrs Tyrrell mumbled through a smile, licking her thin, natural lips. She revealed two brown, upper fangs with nothing but her tongue to fill the gap. She was all dressed in black, whether from grief or for practical reasons, it was not possible to tell. She simpered a lot, and hugged a bobbled crochet shawl round narrow shoulders. In the lower regions, what had once been a laundered apron had failed to protect her practical black from a storm of flour.Anyway, Eddie Twyborn had hopes of this Mrs Tyrrell, her bright black eyes already alight with confidences and an offer of sleazy kindliness.'Bet you're hungry, mister,' she said. 'Fix yer some breakfast. Bet Mr Prowse won't say no to a second breakfast. 'E's a good doer.'At the same time she started a struggle for the valise with which the young man had been left. He clung on desperately, as though possession of it were his only means of self-assertion.'Independent, are we?' Mrs Tyrrell cackled through her gap, a detachment of mongrel hens joining in as they shot across the slush from under her feet.'Never thought about it - frankly,' he gasped.Such strangeness strangely expressed must have dried up her repartee, for she fell silent, one hand on the disputed valise. He could feel Mrs Tyrrell's skin slithering against his own, hard and greasy at the same time, the broad golden wedding-band turned by age to the colour of brass.So they staggered on, and into the house, allies, it could have been, against the manager's overtly masculine back.

[Mil@n]

Konačno se ortaku vratio Arčibald Rajs pa sam ga se konačno dokopao. Koliko carski spis... Svaka mu čast."Pretvorili ste svoju religiju u narodnu crkvu, bolje reći, u narodnu tradiciju. Istina, vi osećate, poput svakog čoveka koji zaista razmišlja, da postoji nešto neodredljivo, nešto suviše uzvišeno da bi se pojmilo, nad nama, nešto što natkriljuje svet i upravlja njime. Međutim vi niste religiozni. Niste mogli da prihvatite Boga kakav je u Bibliji, pretvorili ste ga u večnog i svemoćnog glavara svog naroda. Ako bih mogao da u ovoj oblasti upotrebim trivijalan izraz, rado bih rekao da vaš "bog" nosi oklop i bradu Kraljevića Marka, šajkaču vašeg ratnika sa Cera i Jadra, Kajmakčalana i Dobrog polja. Popovi vam nisu bili niti jesu crkveni ljudi, već vatreni rodoljubi sa svim vrlinama i manama vašeg naroda.Religija je, svakako, moćno sredstvo poretka, a zdrav razum vam je pokazao put da je ponarodite i da je takvu prihvate vaši ljudi. Ta religija vas, uprkos vama, održava. Muškarci vam pogotovo nisu često u crkvi. Koliko sam samo puta, u vreme obreda, ušao u vaše hramove i tamo zatekao tek nekoliko retkih vernika, i to skoro isključivo žena. Ali se čak i onaj Srbin koji se hvališe da ga je „baš briga i za popa i za njegova posla" prekrsti kada sazna nešto što ga žestoko pogodi, ili ode da pobode upaljenu sveću ispred ikonostasa kad izgubi drago biće. Brižljivo čuvajte tu narodnu religiju jer će vaš narod, onog dana kad je napustite, biti izgubljen",

[fancy claps]

znam da ovde ima letemovih fanova pa njima upucujem pitanje, s najkracim mogucim uvodom.ovako: drugarica slavi rodjendan, frka za poklon, reko ajde knjigu cu, to je najlakse. prvi uslov je da ja nisam citao knjigu, jer ne zelim da saljem poruku preko knjige, to cak uvek i napisem u posveti/porukici: knjigu nisam citao, knjiga je samo knjiga i sl. i onda odlucim da uzmem tvrdjavu samoce, novo izdadnje, oltvanji ima reputaciju uzasno pismenog momka, hihi, od letema citao samo sirocad bruklina, bruklin, popkultura, mnogo strana, zvuci ok. kako knjiga, ipak, nije samo knjiga, odlucim sam da je procitam kako bih video sta sam porucio drugarici, kad ono knjiga svesno ulazi u veliki, a za mene najveci problem narativne umetnosti danas: moc harmonije da zaokruzuje (ceo prvi deo, onaj iz 3. lica, pisan je kroz paralelnu montazu, ono viseglasje o kojem kroz citate prica brajan ino u knjizi) i pop muzike da centrira uzbudjenje u refrenu i vraca ga kuci/u detinjstvo, njena osobina da blokira kretanje koje ne ide unazad, da slusajuci ocekujes ono sto si vec cuo ili nesto neznatno isto, refren, slog, frazu. na kraju knjige svi rukavci su povezani u lopticu za bejzbol, nijedan lik nije suvisan, sve zaokruzeno, a dilan se vraca majci koja ni sama nije uspela da se otme nostalgiji. pop muzika je najnostalgicniji izum dvadesetog veka i letem to zna, kao sto zna svaki veliki pisac danas koji pre nego sto odluci da se posveti pisanju odlucuje da prestane da slusa pop muziku. letemov junak cak i kad ima dve najpozeljnije supermoci koristi ih da bi se vratio u detinjstvo. nista ne pasivizuje kao rokenrol.e sad, to sto pisac zna problem umetnosti, jaka stvar, znaju to jos neki... medjutim, dilan knjigu zavrsava odlukom da nadje novu muziku, zilaviju, koje se nece stideti, uz koju ce moci da nastavi dalje, da bi ‘spasao sopstvenu dusu’. a letem u intervjuima kaze da posle ove knjige napusta bruklin, nostalgiju i trazi novu teritoriju.dakle moje pitanje: kako dalje ide njegov opus, kako se izborio s popom, sta da citam?stripovi i te budalastine me ne interesuju.hvala.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVB7tVLNqJw