Mostrando resultados por narrador "Richard Mitchley" en Todas las categorías

We sit. We lie. We wait. We are examined. We are left alone. Emotions fritter. The door reopens. The face. Is it tinged with sadness or reassuring and open? The words. Are they easy to comprehend? Is it good news or bad? We can answer that. It’s bad. Undeniably bad. None of our authors have good news for you. The diagnosis? You already know that. Death.

The Modern Age is one of information overload. Bombarded, surrounded, and battered by facts, figures, opinions and seemingly whatever else comes out of anyone’s head from all directions at all hours of the day and night. It’s exhausting. In the pens of such luminaries as Henry James, E M Delafield, C E Montague, Charlotte Perkins Gilman and many others we connect with old fashioned media from publishing and advertising to telegrams and radio and everything in between in ways that are surprising, enlightening but always entertaining.

From the best-selling author of Salmon Fishing in the Yemen comes a story of inheritance, a great country house, and a way of life that is disappearing...Ed Hartlepool has been living in self-imposed exile for five years, but with a settlement regarding his inheritance looming, he must return to his ancestral seat, Hartlepool Hall.

Wilkie Collins was born on 8th January 1824 in Marylebone, London. He pursued his education at Mr Cole’s private boarding school in Highbury, Islington. Here, he began his literary career under unusual circumstances: the school bully would give him no peace until he had been told a bedtime story. This ‘little brute’ helped create one of England’s greatest writers.

Wilkie Collins was born on 8th January 1824 in Marylebone, London. He pursued his education at Mr Cole’s private boarding school in Highbury, Islington. Here, he began his literary career under unusual circumstances: the school bully would give him no peace until he had been told a bedtime story. This ‘little brute’ helped create one of England’s greatest writers.

Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant was born on August 5th, 1850, near Dieppe in France. In 1880 he published what is considered his first great work, ‘Boule de Suif’, (translated as as ‘Dumpling’, ‘Butterball’, ‘Ball of Fat’, or ‘Ball of Lard’), which met with a success that was both instant and overwhelming. Flaubert at once acknowledged that it was ‘a masterpiece that will endure.’ Maupassant had used his talents and experiences in the war to create something unique.

The most enduring and popular theme of poems and poets is that of love. Love changes; its rhythms pause and pulse on the tiniest of things and the biggest of thrills. Within its shades all other feelings, all other emotions, gently reside, waiting for their moment. In these 50 poems, the many, many shades of love reveal themselves.

Twenty-one marvellously inventive stories by Carnegie Medal-winning author Margaret Mahy, starting with 'The Horrible Story', about a boy whose chilling tales terrify two older boys. The other stories in this collection include 'The Curiosity Concert', 'The Strange Egg', 'The Girl Who Loved Cars', 'The Little Boy Who Wanted a Flat World', and 'Chocolate Porridge' - which gets eaten by a very unusual guest at Timothy's house!

Are the dinner ladies at your school rough and tough? Do they pour vats of hot soup over innocent children? It was exactly the same at Littlehampton Primary where Plughole, owner of the World's Weirdest Laugh, went to school.

What is love? The question is asked by each of us, but the answer remains elusive. Dictionaries summon up many words, but none fulfill. Love itself is often ethereal, felt but only seen in a glance, a look, a fleeting touch. Part of love’s beauty is perhaps in the fact that the question never can be adequately answered; it's ephemeral, a chimera of the heart and only felt. Our own experiences are unique and personal to ourselves and of little help defining it for another. Love is perhaps best expressed through poetry.

Herman Melville was born in New York City on August 1st 1819, the third of eight children. At the age of seven, Melville contracted scarlet fever which was to permanently diminish his eyesight. At this time Melville was described as being 'very backwards in speech and somewhat slow in comprehension.' His father died when he was 12, leaving the family in very straitened times. Just 14, Melville took a job in a bank paying $150 a year that he obtained via his uncle Peter Gansevoort, who was one of the directors of the New York State Bank.

Khwāja Shams-ud-Dīn Muḥammad Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī is commonly known to us as Hafiz, the Persian poet who was born in Shiraz, Iran, in either 1315 or 1317. The facts of much of his early life are unknown to us but it is said that, at an early age, he memorised many passages of the Quran and was therefore given the title of Hafiz, which means 'the memoriser or the safe keeper'. Hafiz mainly wrote lyric poetry or ghazals - an ideal form for expressing the ecstasy of the divine and the intoxicating mystical union with God.

The church building has been pivotal to man’s spiritual and religious life for centuries. For many the interior of a church is literally their one to one with God. The interiors, whether soaring or simple, ornate or minimal, are built for communion, for worship. Outside and surrounding our many churches is the churchyard; the burial ground, the repository for faithful souls. An all-weather idyll of calm around where many a poet has sat and contemplated the surrounding world.

Over the far horizon the blanket of night begins to slowly dissolve. The sun is once more on its daily journey across the heavens. The light begins to sharpen and increase in intensity, revealing the landscape. Morning has begun, and dazed heads and sleepy faces come to terms with the new day. Our poets capture the mood, the emotions and all manner of other details in their descriptions of this time. But then with the calibre of wordsmiths such as Tennyson, Wordsworth, Milton, Southey, Donne and many more besides, we are almost spoilt.

Able to write comfortably in a number of genres, HG Wells was especially applauded for his science fiction works such as The Time Machine and War of the Worlds, but his forays into the social conditions of the times, with classics such as Kipps, were almost as commercially successful. His short stories are miniature masterpieces, many of which bring new and incredible ideas of science fiction to the edge of present-day science fact. Wells also received four nominations for the Nobel Prize in Literature.

It is often said that two things are unavoidable: death and taxes.Certainly the latter is a common thorn in adult life, but as to the former it seems that for many people it is merely a hiccup in life’s eternal journey. A journey they wish, if being of good deed and character, to share at the eternity of heaven’s largesse, a reward for faith and the obligations of religion. Of course for those not so fortunate an altogether different experience was prepared for them: hell.

The ninth month of the Gregorian calendar strides onto stage with the autumn equinox and the first glimpses of a new season. Nature may adorn the coming days with a blaze of Indian summer, or the early showers and storms of autumn may begin their symphony. Regardless of Nature’s elemental whims the landscape is a riot of colours, hues and swathes, the harvest of crops continues, the orchards heave with bounty.

Anton Chekhov, Guy de Maupassant, Kate Chopin. These three names thrill the literary world as well as our own. They have gravitas, they have knowledge, experience and they have the literary style and panache to seduce our imagined world. Each has written a short story on pleasured lips placed on another’s flesh. For Chekhov it was a kiss in a darkened room that happened by mistake. Who was she? For Chopin it was a kiss that almost derailed a hoped-for marriage proposal. Why did he do that? For de Maupassant it was a niece seeking advice from her Aunt on when to kiss and whom. And did she?

Once more the year begins. The first month of the Gregorian calendar. Cold winds howl, the landscape shivers, frost, snow, ice are the many blankets for the land. Daylight is thin; it arrives late and leaves early, ceding the hours to shadow and the ink of night. From the pens of our remarkable poets, including Shelley, Dickenson, Shakespeare, Whitman, Gilbran and a wealth of others, come sumptuous verse that describe our moods, feelings, travels and desires of the dawning year.

The year reaches its end with the Twelfth month. The landscape may be bleak, a sculpture of lines, monochrome dominates. The air carries the sounds of winter: wind, storms, silence. Our classic poets flex their lexicons with verse that describes all manner of events, sights and sounds. Among their ranks are Hardy, Shakespeare, Rossetti, Nesbit, Burns and a wealth of others, who, with their thoughts and desires express the world in lines of inky marvel.