Obra foi baseada na reportagem que o jornalista Gabriel Garcia Marques, ainda novato, foi encarregado de fazer em Bogotá, no ano de 1949. O romance traz uma jovem marquesa, supostamente possuída por demônios, que envolve-se com o padre espanhol encarregado de exorcizá-la.
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do amor e outros demônios, gabriel garcía márquez
Revista TPM - Julgando o livro pelo título
livros de gabriel garcia marquez - Pesquisa Google
Memória de Minhas Putas Tristes Gabriel Garcia Marques
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Memória de Minhas Putas Tristes Gabriel Garcia Marques
Uma bela leitura para fazer numa viagem de Lisboa à Cascais de comboio.
Gabriel Garcia Marques, The Incredible and Sad Tale of Innocent Eréndira and Her Heartless Grandmother ***
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Innocent Erendira & Other Stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Innocent Eréndira by Gabriel García Márquez
Great Short Stories
"1889",o último volume da trilogia do século 19 de Laurentino Gomes iniciada como "1808", tem lançamento previsto para o dia 23 de agosto, publicado pela Globo Livros.
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1889 – Como um imperador cansado, um marechal vaidoso e um professor injustiçado... Autor: Gomes, Laurentino; Gomes, Laurentino Editora: Globo Editora Categoria: Geografia e Historia / Historia do Brasil
Nas últimas semanas de 1889, a tripulação de um navio de guerra brasileiro ancorado no porto de Colombo, capital do Ceilão (atual Sri Lanka)...
Pensadores Que Inventaram o Brasil Autor: Cardoso, Fernando Henrique; Cardoso, Fernando Henrique Editora: Companhia das Letras Categoria: Ciências Humanas e Sociais / Sociologia
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Portrait of Simone de Beauvoir, Café de Flore, Paris, c. 1945. Fotografía de Brassaï
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Simone de Beauvoir at the Cafe de Flore 1944 [::SemAp::]
Portrait of Simone de Beauvoir, Café de Flore, Paris, c. 1945. photo Brassaï
La canadiense Alice Munro gana Nobel de Literatura
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Alice Munro Winner of the 2013 Nobel Prize for Literature
8 grandes frases de la Premio Nobel de Literatura Alice Munro: http://www.muyinteresante.es/cultura/arte-cultura/articulo/ocho-grandes-frases-de-la-premio-nobel-de-literatura-alice-munro-531381498915 #quotes #frases
Alice Munro (b. July 10, 1931). In 2013, this renowned Canadian short story writer won the Nobel Prize in Literature.
#frasedodia "Ninguém nota o fio que, em colar vistoso, vai compondo as missangas. Também assim é a voz do poeta: um fio de silêncio costuram o tempo." Mia Couto fonte: I Encontro de Leitores do Colégio Elvira Brandão
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Um dia isto tinha que acontecer | Mia Couto
#frasedodia "O escritor é um escutador, e o mundo me foi dito por mulheres. Aprendi com as mulheres a converter o sentimento em palavras" Mia Couto, biólogo e escritor moçambicano, vencedor do prestigioso Prêmio Camões fonte: jornal "Folha de S. Paulo", 17/8/2013, caderno Ilustrada, pág. E5.
Henry Miller and Anais Nin
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Henry MILLER and Muse Lover BRENDA VENUS....( NOT ANAÏS NIN...! ). He wrote her 15,000 love letters...........
Henry Miller Anais Nin
August 14, 1932 Anais:Don't expect me to be sane anymore. Don't let's be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can't dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage. I saw you as the mistress of your home, a Moor with a heavy face, a negress with a white body, eyes all over your skin, woman, woman, woman. I can't see how I can go on living away from you—these intermissions are death. How did it seem to you when Hugo came back? Was I still there? I can't picture you moving about with him as you did with me. Legs closed. Frailty. Sweet, treacherous acquiescence. Bird docility. You became a woman with me. I was almost terrified by it. You are not just thirty years old—you are a thousand years old.Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one's time, to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madama Butterfly—"Some day he'll come!")I still hear you singing in the kitchen—a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you're happy in the kitchen and the meal you're cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes.Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that's in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don't find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they're singing "Heaven and Ocean" from La Gioconda.)I picture you playing the records over and over—Hugo's records. "Parlez moi d amour." The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can't do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow nor guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will. All morning I was at my notes, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don't begin. The walls are completely bare—I had taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out—where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We're in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We're journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and they strew our path with flowers. I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon's soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, wilfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience. HVM
Dentre outras coisas, explica com uma clareza absurda como foi constituído o sistema ocidental de saúde. Leitura alucinada, mas você vai precisar de um tempo pra começar a entender algumas partes [tempo mesmo: li há quase três anos e ainda estou tentando assimilar tudo]
Book, My Books
Tem romance? Sim. Mas o melodrama passa loooonge dessa história onde o ódio está muito mais presente do que o amor, mas ainda sim não consegue apagar os momentos de delicadeza que existem no livro.
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o morro dos ventos uivantes (wuthering heights), 1847, by emily brontë
"Eu dedico esse concerto à senhora justiça que há muito tempo tirou férias desse país e em reconhecimento ao impostor que tomou o seu lugar."
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V for Vendetta is a ten-issue comic book series written by Alan Moore and illustrated mostly by David Lloyd , set in a dystopian future United Kingdom imagined from the 1980s to about the 1990s. A mysterious masked revolutionary who calls himself "V" works to destroy the totalitarian government, profoundly affecting the people he encounters. Warner Bros. released a film adaptation of V for Vendetta in 2005.
This is a graphic novel. It is different from the movie and must be read if the movie "made you question." Alan Moore & David Lloyd, 'V for Vendetta'
Provoca uma profunda depressão pós-leitura.