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Indovina chi?
di Viserion
creato il 06 aprile 2011

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Neshira
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Neshira
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Inviato il 26 maggio 2011 23:05

Anche l'autore è italiano? (abbi pazienza, non riesco a capire se è già stato chiesto in queste millemila pagine)


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Eddard Seaworth
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Eddard Seaworth
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 6:43

Andrea Sperelli, il protagonista del romanzo (bleah!) Il Piacere, di D'Annunzio?


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sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 8:29

Renzo Tramaglino?

 

No

 

 

E' un libro sulla guerra?

 

No (anche se la guerra non è del tutto assente)

 

 

Anche l'autore è italiano? (abbi pazienza, non riesco a capire se è già stato chiesto in queste millemila pagine)

 

No

 

 

Andrea Sperelli, il protagonista del romanzo (bleah!) Il Piacere, di D'Annunzio?

 

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. »

 


Lord Beric
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Lord Beric
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 8:59

Il libro è ambientato nel XX secolo?


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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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sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 13:36

Il libro è ambientato nel XX secolo?

 

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. »

 

N
Nato dalla Tempesta
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Nato dalla Tempesta
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 13:40

Fabrizio del Dongo?


S
sharingan
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sharingan
Confratello

S

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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 14:37

Fabrizio del Dongo?

 

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. »

 


Lord Beric
Custode dei Corvi Messaggeri
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25171 messaggi
Lord Beric
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 16:06

Enrico Bottini?


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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]

S
sharingan
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12774 messaggi
sharingan
Confratello

S

Bannato
12774 messaggi
Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 19:10

Enrico Bottini?

 

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. »

 

I
il Terzo Occhio
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il Terzo Occhio
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Inviato il 27 maggio 2011 23:22

il libro è stato scritto durante l'800?


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sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 28 maggio 2011 12:47

il libro è stato scritto durante l'800?

 

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. »

 

I
il Terzo Occhio
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Utente
119 messaggi
il Terzo Occhio
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I

Utente
119 messaggi
Inviato il 28 maggio 2011 13:36

l'autore visse nel 900?


N
Nato dalla Tempesta
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295 messaggi
Nato dalla Tempesta
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N

Utente
295 messaggi
Inviato il 28 maggio 2011 13:41

Il libro è ambientato in Italia?


S
sharingan
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sharingan
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Inviato il 28 maggio 2011 13:58

l'autore visse nel 900?

 

No

 

 

Il libro è ambientato in Italia?

 

Solo in parte


 

« 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
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7698 messaggi
Ser Balon Swann
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S

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7698 messaggi
Inviato il 28 maggio 2011 14:52

l'autore è francese?


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