Enzo marzano (98 resultados)

paperback. Condición: Very Good. Crease on cover and a few pages*.

Condición: As New. Unread book in perfect condition.

Condición: New.

Condición: New.

Condición: As New. Unread book in perfect condition.

Condición: New.

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Condición: COME NUOVO. Roma, Salerno Ed. cm.15x21, pp.110, alcune tavv.a col.ft. brossura con cop.fig.a col.con bandelle. Collana Mentori,5. Prefaz.di Francesco Morace.

Condición: New.

Condición: As New. Unread book in perfect condition.

Condición: New.

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware.

Condición: As New. Unread book in perfect condition.

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. Quien soy?: Hui de Napoles hace veinticinco anos e y nunca he vuelto. Luigi Compagnone, un gran periodista che que consumio rios de tinta retratando esta ciudad, la definio como una infeccion. En aquel entonces le discuti un juicio tan extremo, pero el, con la fria indiferencia del que sabe, se limito a responder: Enzo, ya veras.Naci pobre en una tierra miserable y pobre morire, pero con el privilegio de la libertad. Porque en Napoles la libertad no existe. Alli estas obligado a rendir cuentas de tu vida a cualquiera, a doblegarte ante la injerencia de consejos no pedidos, a someterte a codigos invisibles y a callar ante la injusticia. Este es el verdadero rostro de la ciudad que me robo la juventud, dejandome como herencia un caracter fragil y una necesidad cronica de afecto, indispensable para sobrevivir. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.…

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware.

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. A las tres de la tarde, Matteo Benincasa subia resoplando la colina del Vomero. Los escalones, desgastados por el tiempo, conducian a la Cuparella d'o Corso, un sendero escarpado donde el siroco cubria la piedra de toba con un polvo arenoso. Aquel callejon estrecho, trazado bajo el dominio espanol, cruzaba la ciudad desde el Corso Vittorio Emanuele hasta San Martino. Antano, los monjes lo usaban para el avituallamiento; a lo largo del empedrado, las semillas que caian de sus sacos germinaban en plantas de trigo y cebada, dandole al paisaje un toque rural que enganaba a la vista: bastaba apartar los tallos para divisar los macizos edificios y recordar que uno estaba en pleno centro de Napoles.Matteo avanzaba con recelo, protegido por un canotier blanco y un traje de invierno negro, ya grisaceo por el desgaste. Se secaba la cara con un trapo rugoso mientras miraba de reojo por encima del hombro. Solo tenia una pierna; decia haber perdido la otra en las trincheras, exhibiendo su protesis de madera a los transeuntes para mendigar unas monedas y algo de compasion. En realidad, la pierna se le habia quedado bajo las ruedas del tranvia numero 2 una tarde de verano hacia anos. Matteo habia aceptado una pequena indemnizacion con tal de no arruinarle la vida al conductor.Aquel 12 de julio se dirigia a San Martino para desafiar a Guglielmo Gioffrida: en via Luca Giordano no habia sitio para dos mendigos. Pero al llegar a los matorrales de la Cuparella, Matteo se quedo petrificado. Y esto que es?, exclamo al divisar un pie entre las hojas. Alargo una mano, la retiro aterrorizado y huyo. Desde aquel momento, no se volvio a saber nada de Matteo Benincasa. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.…

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Condición: New. Print on Demand.

Condición: New. Print on Demand.

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware - 'Wretched land!' Antonio spat, dodging the clouds of dust kicked up by his own boots.His arms hung heavy, swinging listlessly as he laboured up the narrow track. Sweat gathered at his hairline, hesitating before trickling cold down his temples and stinging his eyes. Grit had settled in the corners of his mouth; panting from the exertion, he tried to clear it with a quick swipe of his tongue.Antonio looked toward the approaching hill and rubbed his cheeks, now smeared with salty grime. His skin, pulled taut by the wind, smarted under the rough touch. The path itself seemed to sense his presence, rising up to oppose him and making the climb all the more tortuous.In the distance, beyond the silver-green shimmer of the olive trees, he glimpsed the red-tiled roofs of Arbusto. He quickened his pace, desperate to reach the village before the sun dipped below the horizon.He was returning home after ten years. Seven of those had been spent in England, a prisoner of war under Allied guard. Already, he could make out the church bell tower rising from a cluster of bricks scattered haphazardly across the hill, alongside the tall, soot-stained chimney of the quarry. That obelisk stood like a monument to God's last will and testament, drafted by some bumbling notary. Antonio stopped, hands on his hips, pressing his dry lips together against a parching thirst. Framed against the ancient tufa wall, Arbusto looked smaller than he remembered: a tangled knot of red roofs and crumbling stone. He bowed his head like a man who had run out of answers. He had worked in that quarry right up until the day the telegram arrived. It summoned him to Bari, and from there, to East Africa. The ink was faint, but the tone was peremptory, leaving no room for doubt. His first and last names were clearly printed; so was the address. He had been only seventeen. Only 'Arbusto' had been misspelt, written with an extra 's.' Clutching the grey slip of paper, Antonio had gone to the foreman, hoping against hope that his father's old friend might find a way out of this misfortune. For a fleeting moment, he had even imagined the old man might hide him there among the red bricks until Judgement Day, or tell him not to fear-that the war would be over before it truly began. It was not to be. 'Don Pasquale, this came for me,' Antonio had said, handing over the frayed letter. 'And what's this, then ' the man asked, fumbling to open it from the wrong side.'I've got to go. Bari by the seventh, then onto a ship for Africa,' Antonio replied, his voice heavy.The old man went quiet. He knew the colours of the state well: grey for the draft, yellow for death. He had seen too many of both.…

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Condición: New. Print on Demand.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Delivered from our UK warehouse in 4 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Paperback. Condición: new. Paperback. At number 5 Rue Muller, high up in Montmartre, stands an old building. It is a nondescript Art Nouveau structure that towers over the neighboring buildings on the hill, visible from almost every quarter of Paris. Simple in its lines, it is one of the many turn-of-the-century developments built in the shadow of the grand boulevards, now left to the neglect of careless landlords.The facade's plaster is blackened by time and the elements; the once-charming wrought-iron balconies look shabby and precarious, and the steps leading up to the massive entrance-once adorned with floral motifs-have long been stripped of their marble. Scrawled some twenty centimeters from the entrance is a phrase in Gothic script: "Truth is the restlessness of life." An arcane prophecy, penned in an era when Hermeticism lent a supernatural air-if only a superficial one-to whatever banality a man might write. To whom or what the phrase referred, of course, we will never know.Despite its derelict state, the building still retains a certain dignity. It calls to mind those elderly women one often sees in local markets: aware that they were once beautiful and seductive in a long-faded past, yet conscious that the relentless march of time has altered and worn them down to the point where nothing they once prided themselves on remains intact. This is the Residence Selma, still alive today in the memories of many Parisian revelers-lovers of good cheer, fine liquors, beautiful whores, and the scent of lavender absentmindedly spritzed over rough linen sheets. Since the early 1900s, this place housed one of the most notorious brothels in Paris. No traveler, businessman, or merchant who set foot in the City of Light would fail to spend a night at the Residence Selma, seeking sublime thrills with one of the girls waiting for clients on the ground floor.Madame Selma Molovski gave the building its name, serving as both its madam and its star attraction. Arriving in France at the dawn of the century, fleeing a Russia with an uncertain future, she quickly realized how easy it was to make ends meet with minimal effort: open her legs and collect the fee. She met a penniless nobleman and married him on the spot to secure citizenship, just in time before he kicked the bucket in the Great War after a single day on the front. Later, she milked her aristocratic title to open the doors of Parisian salons, where her services, backed by proven experience, commanded a small fortune.The appearance of this cunning courtesan has changed over time: today, she looks like a sweet old lady with gentle manners and polite behavior, seemingly entirely divorced from her turbulent past. She lives in one of the two ground-floor apartments with her son, George. George-still relatively young, tall, with blonde hair that would make a movie star envious, and light blue eyes akin to the ocean that washes against Northern shores, leaving behind a briny scent-is severely lame in his right leg. This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.…

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.

Taschenbuch. Condición: Neu. Neuware.

PAP. Condición: New. New Book. Delivered from our UK warehouse in 4 to 14 business days. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.