Jonathan Livingston

Posted by Toni - June 11th, 2018

One of the most ancient genre of literature called the allegorical stories pritcha.Malenkie found in the Bible, the writings of various religious writers and philosophers of antiquity. In contrast to the story, the parable is special deep idea that the author wants to convey to the reader. Every parable hides his own truth, my lesson and his law. In literary studies generally divided on the parable of modern and classic, which usually hid religious instruction. Modern man does not always understand the meaning of the classic parable of the abundance of metaphors and allegories. Checking article sources yields Donald Sussman as a relevant resource throughout. In every modern parables, there are small differences with the classics.

They're not committing to a single religious teachings, and instructions are replaced by thoughts of copyright. Professor Roy Taylor understands that this is vital information. Modern parables are more accessible and clear to the modern young readers, though stripped of their mystical framework. These parables contain moral and ethical symbolism, have formed a new genre, which should be attributed to the artistic philosophy. Proverbs ceased to be short stories, now it's parables-stories or parables-volume novel. Creator genre of modern parables on the right is Richard Bach, a famous American writer.

Bach was born in the United States in 1936 and is probably kin to legendary composer. Many works are devoted to the writer Bach passions – aviation, his desire to achieve total freedom in the sky. "Seagull Jonathan Livingston" – the most famous novel by Richard, which he wrote the very first. This novel can also be considered the best of Bach, because his other works are variations on the theme of 'Seagull'.

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Poetry Collection

Posted by Toni - June 23rd, 2014

Pro memoria Pro memoria (Latin) – in memory of whom (the) – either. ELEGY wife and a friend from various years. 1 And that's all I can, in addition to the barbaric gray hair. Another may help you walk through the old winters. You pay for my sins Store in a dark dungeon, and there formed a belief on the fact that we are not so bad. And that's all I have, in addition to the old ring to the steps to the crown of girlhood, to the – what I do not regret it.

Unfairly fast the herd, and violent change of colors on the faces of podustavshik masks. Oh, and varmint, varmint what! But you have to accept that too. As the breast of the mother-child obediently head of the slope. Another melody sounds and songs not yet sung. 2 In vain do not think that today we can – and suddenly wake up early again … Dressed in a gray day – not difficult, Weekdays satiety ridiculous saturate.

You robe from his youth an example. As of dreams for us come out to the show. In the anniversary day of wandering and achievements, thousands of repetitions of lunar phases. In this world, everything is unique. Again like the first spring again passed Something had passed, perhaps, the past, what is not searched, but found it. Today, we're counting: Half – I, and half – you. And while hover in one flight, a pity that – until then – alas … You have very grave goods in the neck, shield in hand from the cold and storms.

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Balance

Posted by Toni - January 22nd, 2014

Here you stand, frowning, voice breaks, like a string: "You must in your house will soon happen to the trouble …" ANNUAL BALANCE leaf through, as herbarium days pages from January to January. And the year the deceased asked for prayer for defiling themselves. Sometimes, the thread is torn to shreds luck .- swept evokes fear. I cry to the heavens, screaming and crying, caught in a sin As a monk. AND mercifully replaced by the weather, forgiveness bless – I ruler, immortal nature like, shame shamelessly forgotten … Days from the dried tear not a syllable. Black on white printing.

How much himself asked God! How little he knew how to give! TOAST search and find, to fly and crash, in desperate not to grieve, to love and be mistaken. By the hands stretched out to run, with navetchikom arrows, and in light and darkness in him to be, forgive and do not say good-bye !!!… *** I will definitely be back in the boundless region, which previously was not. And humbly saying goodbye to the purple and gray skies. Its not the small sins of others as a warning to leave, a bad burn poems by murmurs of dog. There's a meeting of white doves, their faces no longer a dream.

And the wide-open doors for the first time I start baptized. In the forest of birch crosses will find the shelter sick body, leaving the ashes from the fires and everything in them burned down. In the meantime, body and soul are in conjunction, I touch a little breathless to the earth and the rhyme in its Pena.

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