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Indovina chi?
di Viserion
creato il 06 aprile 2011

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sharingan
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 11:48

Schliemann?


 

« I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away. »

 


Lord Beric
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Lord Beric
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 11:53

Filosofo?


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Lord dei Pan di Stelle - Lord Comandante dei Peluche

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot.
Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.
Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-earth.

 

[George R. R. Martin]

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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 12:21

Schliemann?

 

No

 

Filosofo?

 


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sharingan
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 12:28

Marx?


 

« I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away. »

 

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Eddard Seaworth
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Eddard Seaworth
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 13:11

Schopenhauer?



Lord Beric
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Lord Beric
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 13:21

Nietzsche?


Canale%20Telegram.jpg

Chat%20Telegram.jpg

Facebook.jpg

Wikipedia.jpg

Wikipedia.jpg

Lord dei Pan di Stelle - Lord Comandante dei Peluche

The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real... for a moment at least... that long magic moment before we wake.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot.
Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines.
Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.
They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to Middle-earth.

 

[George R. R. Martin]

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Nato dalla Tempesta
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 14:14

Marx?

 

Esatto!

 

Peccato che gli indizi non abbiano aiutato. La prima immagine è del cimitero londinese di Highgate, dove Marx è sepolto. Insieme alla sua tomba, questo è il luogo più conosciuto e fotografato del cimitero (peraltro bellissimo). Il secondo voleva essere un gioco di parole pena capitale-Il Capitale.


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sharingan
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 14:53

_ Donna

_ Immagine inserita

_ Immagine inserita


 

« I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away. »

 

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Lochlann
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 15:02

Bloody Mary? <img alt=" />


Sol da poco son giunto in queste terre, da una estrema ultima Thule. Un paese selvaggio che giace, sublime, fuori dal Tempo, fuori dallo Spazio.

All fled, all done, so lift me on the pyre. The feast is over and the lamps expire.

200s6pw.jpg

"I walked this land when the Tlan Imass were but children. I have commanded armies a hundred thousand strong.

I have spread the fire of my wrath across entire continents, and sat alone upon tall thrones. Do you grasp the meaning of this?"

"Yes" said Caladan Brood "you never learn."

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il Terzo Occhio
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il Terzo Occhio
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 16:45

Vivente?


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Nato dalla Tempesta
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Nato dalla Tempesta
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 17:00

Personaggio fittizio?


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Ser Balon Swann
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Ser Balon Swann
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 17:40

nato in quello che è l'attuale regno unito?


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sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 19:33

Bloody Mary? <img alt=">

 

No

 

 

Vivente?

 

Sì (se si intende che nella finzione in cui è comparsa non muore)

 

 

 

Personaggio fittizio?

 

 

 

nato in quello che è l'attuale regno unito?

 

No


 

« I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away. »

 

S
Ser Balon Swann
Confratello
Utente
7698 messaggi
Ser Balon Swann
Confratello

S

Utente
7698 messaggi
Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 19:38

personaggio letterario?


S
sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 11 maggio 2011 19:58

personaggio letterario?

 

No


 

« I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away. »

 

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