Il Piccolo Libro che Salva i tuoi Soldi (Italian Edition)

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Zf like dz in all words which have z in the English word ; as, zonaj zone ; gazetta, gazette. It is pronounced like tz when preceded by I or r, or followed by two vowels, and in nouns ending in zzOy or in verbs whose infinitives end in zzare; as, colza, foTza, grazia, azione, ragazzo, apazzo. Single consonants are generally pronounced soft ; as, fatOy carOj pena. Double consonants are pronounced in one sound, but stronger and more marked than when single, by dwelling on the preceding vowel, and pronouncing it with an accent ; thus, fattOj carro, penna, though forming their syllables fat-to, car-ro, pen-nay should be pronounced as if written fd-tto, cd-rro, pe-nna.

Diphthongs" are short and long; in each of them the vowels must be distinctly heard, with the diflfer- ence that in the long diphthong each vowel is dis- tinctly articulated, as if making a syllable for itself; OS, E-VrTO-pa ; in the short diphthong both vowels are pronounced unitedly and quickly ; as, guancia.

The Italians have but one accent, the grave C ; which is gene- rally used to mark the distinction between words otherwise written alike : as, amo, I love ; amdj he loved ; and also in words which in their origin were written with an additional syllable ; as, bontd, virtu, instead of bontate, virtute. This accent is limited to vowels at the end of a few words ; yet every word has, in Italian, its unwritten accent, because every word has a vowel on which the voice must chiefly dwell.

This inflection of the voice, this rhythmic accent, being the most marked and the most varied in Italian, is, of course, the most difficult to be acquired by foreigners who are not in immediate correspondence with natives, because harmony can- not be expressed by written words, and yet har- mony is to a language what color is to a picture. It is true that the vowels have, in Italian, an expressive significance : that the open sound of the a and o naturally expresses strength and gravity ; the meagre sound of the e and i, meekness and feebleness ; the obtuse sound of the u, something sad and disagreeable ; and that these vowels, prop- erly modified by the sounds of corresponding con- sonants, make the language eminently expressive, 6 ACCEKT.

The rhythmic accent should be considered under two diflFerent aspects : 1, as a jneans to give signifi- cance to a word ; 2, as a means to give harmony to a word. Take, for example, the word ca-pi-tOy and pronounce it, giving to each syllable the same quan- tity, and you find that the word has neither meaning nor harmony ; pronounce it as if with an accent on the first vowel, raise the voice on the first syllable, and dwell upon it during the time occupied by the other two cd-pi-to , and you have given to the word a pleasant modulation, and the meaning of I arrive.

Change now the accent from the first to the second syllable, give to it the quantity of the first and third cap-i4o j and you have changed, not only the harmony, but also the meaning of the word, which is now understood. Then pronounce the last vowel as if it were accented, give to the last syllable the quantity of the two others corpUd , and you have given to the word a new harmony and a new mean- ing ; viz.. He arrived. To the above example another may be added, in the word corpi-torno. Pronounce it with the accent on the second a, as ca-pi-td-nOy and you have expressed the word captain.

Pronounce it with the accent on the first a, as cd-pHorno, and you have changed the meaning of the word into they arrive. This is obtained by dwelling on the accented vowel without much prolonging it, and emitting the others rapidly and less forcibly. The accented vowel must, therefore, receive more or less quantity, according to the number of sylla- bles contained in the word.

Monosyllables and dissyllables cause no embarrass- ment. Polysyllables are divided into four classes : 1. Parole tronche truncated words , ending with accented vowels ; as, schiavitu, Ubertd. Parole plane smoeth words , with the rhythmic accent on the penultimate. This class is the most numerous in the language, compriging all the infin- itives ending in are and ire, and the first, second, and third persons singular, and the first and second plural of the past and imperfect tenses of all verbs ; as, perdono, cantare, partirej carvtava, cantai.

Parole sdrucciole sliding words , with the rhythmic accent on the antepenultimate, comprising the third person plural of the past and imperfect of all verbs ; as, folgorej amavanOy perdettero. The predominance of words belonging to each of these classes, according to the ideas the writer wishes to convey, gives to the expressions a flowing smoothness, or a solemn gravity. The two following stanzas from Tasso are given with the object of exemplifying the different influ- ences produced by their rhythmic construction.

Teneri sdegni e placide e tranquille Bepulse e cari yezzi e liete paci, Sorrisi, parolette e dolci stille Di piantOy e sospir tronchi e molli baci ; Fuse tai cose tutte, e poscia unille, Ed al fuoco tempr6 di lente fad, E ne form6 quel si mirabil cinto Di ch'ella aveva il bel fianoo succinto.

Gems lib. Chiama gli abitator delle ombre eterne II rauco suon della tartarea tromba ; Treinan le spaziose atre caveme, E Paer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba. The number of the vowels e and i, and the liquid sound of the Z, make the first stanza smooth and flowing. The predominance of the a, o, and r, makes the second stanza powerful and terrible. The first stanza represents the girdle of a beautiful maid ; the second, the effect of the sound of a trumpet to call the demons to council.

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Poor Povero, Possible Dear Caro. To spend Nouns, in Italian, have two Genders, — the Masculine and the Feminine. Nouns ending in a are feminine ; as, Dxmnaj woman ; penna, pen. Noons ending in ma deriyed from the Greek ; as, Clima, cli- mate ; idioma, idiom ; poema, poem. Nouns ending in o are masculine ; as, Uomo, man ; aJberOj tree. The words eco, echo, and mano, hand. Nouns ending in e are either masculine or feminine. Nouns ending in me, re, ente, are mascuKne.

Those which come under no giyen rule will be found in the examples of the following lessons, with the article prefixed. Nouns ending in i are feminine. Nouns ending in u are feminine. Pupils should commit to memory the following nouns, and ascer- tain thdr gender by the above rules. Chair Sedia. Cheese Cacia, Coat Abito. Fever Febbre. Cuore, Knife Coltello. Oil Olio. Spoon Cucckiaio. The definite article, which in English is em- ployed only to limit thi3 nonn, has, in Italian, two uses : — 1, It limits the noun ; and, 2, It shows the gender and number of the noun. The definite article tlit is expressed in Italian by i7, to, and Vi.

Lo is used before masculine nouns beginning with 2, 8 impure, or a vowel, in which latter case it drops the o and takes an apostrophe ; as, Lo zio, the uncle ; lo ypirito, the spirit ; Vamico, the friend. La America, la Italia. Jo L Tu Thou. EffH He. Ella She. Wc Voi. Ho I have. Hai Thou hast Ha He has.

See page We have. They have. In an affirmative sentence the verb follows its subject, and must agree with it ; as, lo ho, I have ; voi avetCj yon have ; egli avrd, he shall have. To form a negative sentence, non is placed before the verb ; as, lo non ho, I have not ; voi non avetCf yon have not; egli non avrd, he shall not have. To form an interrogative sentence, the sub- ject, whether a noun or a pronoun, must be placed after the verb ; as.

Ho io? Have I? Have you? Shall he have? An interrogative negative sentence is formed by placing non before the verb, and the subject after it; as, Non ho io? Have I not? Have you not? Shall he not have? Bread But. Honor Onore. Miss Sigfiorina. No JVb. Odions Odioto. Temperino, Pepper Pepe. Salt SaU. Soldier Soldato. Star SUlla. Yes Si. I haye the bread. Hayeyou thetea? No, sir, I have not the tea.

Has he the milk? He has the milk and the He has not the pepper. Hayeyou the salt? No, sir, I haye not the salt. Haye you not the knife? Yes, sir, I haye the knife. Avete voi ilU? JVOfc Signore, to non ho il ti. Ha egli il latte T Egli ha il latte ed il caffe. Egli non ha il pepe. Avete voi il sale? JVb, Signore, to non ho il sale JVon avete voi il coltello? Si, Signore, io ho il coltello.

Have you the bread? I have the bread. Have you not the butter? No, sir ; I have not the butter. Has he the cheese? He has not the cheese. Have you not the water? Yes, sir ; we have the water. Haye they not the wine? No, sir ; they haye not the wine. I haye not the tea. Haye you the coffee? No, sir ; I haye not the coffee ; they haye the coffee.

Haye they the sugar? They haye not the sugar. Haye you not the milk? I haye not the milk. Has he the pepper? He has the pepper and the salt. Has he not the yin- ogar? No, he has not the yinegar ; we haye the yinegar.

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Haye I the spoon? No, sir ; you haye not the spoon. Yes, sir ; we haye the knife and the fork. Haye they the water or the wine? They haytf the water and the wine. Masculinb Nouns form their plural by chang- ing the final vowel of the singular into i; as, Papa Pope. Vino Wine. Sale Salt. Papi Popes. Vint Wines. Feminine nouns ending in a form their plu- ral by changing the a into e ; as, Donna Woman. I Donne Women. Penne Pens. Feminine nouns ending in o and e form their plural by changing these vowpls into i ; as, Mano Hand.

Mani Hands. Monosyllabic nouns, and nouns ending in i, ie, or with an accented vowel, are invariable. Their plural is deterniined by the article ; as. H harhagianni. La specie. La tirtH The virtue. The city. The kings. I harhagianni. The owls. Le specie. The kinds.

Le virtu. The virtues. The cities. Mille Thousand. Buoi Oxen. Mogli Wives. The books. The wines. The plural of Zo is grZt; as, Lo zecchino. The sequin, i Gli zecchini. The sequins. Lo spirito. The spirit. I Gli spiriti. The spirits. The idiots. Le carte. The papers. The souls. I Verbe. Bird Uectllo. Inkstand Boot SHvale, Man. Cat Gatto. Dizionario, Nor. Dog Cane, Umbrella English Hat Cappello. Has the Englishman the pen- knife and the pens? He has the penknife, but he has not the pens.

Have you the glass? No, sir ; I have not the glass. I have the boot. Ha VIngUse il iemperino e le penne? Egli ha il temperinOf ma egli non ha le penne. Avete voi il bicchiere? Have you the books?

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I have not the books. Have you the pens? I have the pens. Has he not the paper? He has the paper and the ink. Have you not the knives? We have the knives, but we have not the forks. Have they not the tables? They have neither the chairs nor the tables. Have I the look- ing-glass? You have the looking-glass.

Hast thou the hats? I have not the hats. Have I not the oil? Yes, sir ; you have the oil, Has the Frenchman the paper or the ink? He has neither the paper nor the ink, but he has the knives and the forks. Has he the glass? He has neither the glass nor the water. Have you the coats? No, sir ; we have not the coats. Have you the umbrellas? Yes, sir ; we have the umbrellas. Have the English the boots and slippers? They l;9. Possessive Pronouns are preceded by the definite article, and agree in gender and number, not with the possessor, as in English, but with the object possessed.

Bis, her. La vostra Le vostre. Jlloro I loro. La loro Le loro. Your son Vostro flglio. His brother Suo fratello. Your lordship Sua signoria. Their brother 11 loro fratello, N. My little brother II mio fratellino. My brother. II fratello mio. Americano, Brother Fratello. Enemy Semico, Father Padre.

Friend Amico, Glove Italian Italiano, Life Vita. Mother Moon. Lapis, matiia. LavorOf opera. Has my sister her book 7 My sister has her book and her pen. Have your friends my dog? No, mi; they haye not your dog, but they haye your flowers.

English to Italian vocabulary list by Freedict

Has my brother their birds 7 He has your cat, but he has not ihdr birds. Ha mia sorella il suo libro T Mia sorella ha il suo libro, e la sua penna. Hanno i vostriamici il mio caneT JVb, signore; essi nonhanno il vostro cane, ma essi hanno i vostrifiori. Ha mio fratello i loro uceelli. Egli ha il vostro gaito, jna egli non ha i loro uceelli. Have you my pen? No, sir ; I have not your pen.

Have you not my book? I have neither your books nor your pens. Have I not your pencil? No, sir ; my sister has my pencil. Has my friend your penknife? He has not your penknife. Have they not his handkerchief? They have not his handkerchief.

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Come avere la meglio su mercati rischiosi, sui truffatori e su voi stessi (Italian) Start reading Il Piccolo Libro che Salva i tuoi Soldi (Italian Edition) on your. Il piccolo libro che salva i tuoi soldi. Come avere la meglio su mercati rischiosi, sui truffatori e su voi stessi [Jason. Zweig] on lirodisa.tk *FREE* shipping on.

Have your brothers my flowers? No, air ; they have not your flowers. Has yout sister my gloves? Yes, sir ; she has your gloves and your pencil. Has he my paper? He has not your paper. Have they your chair? They have not your chair. Has your mother my birds? Yes, miss ; she has your birds. Has my sister your picture? No, sir ; she has not your picture.

Has he not my hat? Yes, sir ; he has your hat and your gloves. Have your friends my horse? No, sir ; they have not your horse, but they have your dog. Has my mother your pencil? Yes, sir ; she has my pencil, your dictionary, and their grammar. The prepositions most commonly joined to the articles are, di, of; a, to ; da, from ; per, for ; con, with ; in, in ; su, on, upon. Le miey le nostre Delle mie, delle nostre Alle tue, alle vostre Dalle sue, dalle loro penne. The name of the thing possessed, followed by the preposition dij always precedes the name of the possessor; as, John's book, Jl libro di Giovanni.

Tu sei Thou art. Egli i He is. JVoi siamo. Eglino sono , Wo are. Bed Leito. Dish Piatto. Earth Terra. Key Chiave. Napkin Salvietta. Room Stanza. Rose Rosa. Salad Jmalata. Sun Sole. True Vero. Tyrant Tiranno. Uncle Zio. Useful Utile. Is the key on the table? E la chiave tulla tavola? The meat is in the room. La carne e nella stanza. Is the paper in the book? Ela carta nel libro. Has my brother your friend's book? He has neither your friend's book nor your sister's paper. Have I your keys? No, sir ; you have not my keys, but you have my father's penknife. Have they not my daughter's handkerchiefs?

No, sir ; they have not your daughter's handkerchiefs. Has my sister your nap- kin? Your sister has not my napkin. Are the books on the table? The books are on the table in your room. Your enemy has my brother's knife. Have they my key? No, sir ; they have not your key, but they have your friend's key. Is my brother in your room?

No, sir : your brother is in my brother's room. Have you the salad? Has your daughter my gloves? My daughter has your gloves and your handkerchief. Have you the water or the wine? I have the water and the wine. Has my brother the bread? My brother has neither the meat nor the bread. The paper is in my brother's book, and the book is in my sister's room on the table. Have you not their pictures? Yes, sir; I have their pictures and your pencil. Abjectiyes in Italian are variable;, and agree with their nouns in gender and number. Adjectives ending in o are mascnline ; as, Uomo virtuoso ed onesio, Maa Tirtuous and honest Adjectives ending in e are of either gender; as, Uomo gentile ed affabile.

Man gentle and aflGftble. Adjectives ending in o change this vowel into i; as, Uomini virtuosi, poveri. Adjectives ending in a change this vowel into 3 ; as, Donne virtuose, povere. Adjectives ending in e change it into i ; as, Uomo or donna cortese. Uomini or donne cortesi, Adjectives of more than two syllables, ending in CO and go, take no h, except antioo, ancient, and 8olingo, solitary, which become arUichi, solingJiL N.

Buono, good, drops the o when the following noun begins with a consonant, except a or s impure. Adjectives may follow or precede the nouns. Adjectives of two syllables generally pre- cede the noun. Adjectives of more than two syllables, and adjectives expressing nationality, color, shape, and taste, or those preceded by moUo, much, generally follow the noun ; as, Libro Franceee, Cappello bianco, I Tavola rotonda. French book. Only one other kissed Hollis. Only one other shook the hand of the Zen master.

It could have been a shotgun wedding. All that family! Now that the wedding was over, it seemed very cold in there. They just sat and stared at each other. I could never comprehend the human race, but somebody had to play clown. A few stiffly warmed up, walked over and grabbed at the food, not knowing what else to do. I got them to nibbling. Then I left and hit for the scotch and water.

What was I doing in with these? Or the UCLA prof? No, the UCLA prof belonged there. There must be a repentance. Or something. Some action to humanize the proceedings. As soon as I heard the Zen master close the front door, I drained my waterglass full of scotch. Then I ran out through the candlelit room of jabbering bastards, found the door that was a job, for a moment , and I opened the door, closed it, and there I was We still had 45 or 50 steps to go to get down to the parking lot. I gained upon him, lurching, two steps to his one. We both stopped and looked at each other on that winding stairway there in the moonlit tropical garden.

It seemed like a time for a closer relationship. You disappoint me, Masta! I plunged down the steps, missing a few but still flying forward, which kept me from cracking my head open, and as I fell downward toward him, I tried to swing, but I was all momentum, like something cut loose without direction. Zen caught me and straightened me. I swung. Caught a good part of him. I heard him hiss. He stepped one step back. I swung again. Went way wide left. Fell into some imported plants from hell. I got up. Moved toward him again.

And in the moonlight, I saw the front of my own pants — splattered with blood, candle-drippings and puke. He waited. The years of working as a factotum had not left muscles entirely lax. I gave him one deeply into the gut, all pounds of my body behind it. Zen let out a short gasp, once again supplicated the sky, said something in the Oriental, gave me a short karate chop, kindly, and left me wrapped within a series of senseless Mexican cacti and what appeared to be, from my eye, man-eating plants from the inner Brazilian jungles. I relaxed in the moonlight until this purple flower seemed to gather toward my nose and began to delicately pinch out my breathing.

Shit, it took at least years to break into the Harvard Classics. Near the top, I mounted to my feet, opened the door and entered. Nobody noticed me. They were still talking shit. I flopped into my corner. The karate shot had opened a cut over my left eyebrow. I found my handkerchief. I need a drink! Harvey came up with one. All scotch. I drained it. Why was it that the buzz of human beings talking could be so senseless? It could give an idiot the hots, and I was only half-idiot.

The candlelight helped. Whatcha thinka that? Then I was flat upon my back, thrashing, trying to get up. Finally, three or four minutes later I managed to get to my feet. Somebody laughed. Then, finding my feet flat upon the floor again, I made for the kitchen. Poured a drink, drained it. Then poured a refill and walked out. There they were: all the goddamned relatives. Roy just kept unrolling the foil. Finally, he got it all undone. They all saw it. The room was very quiet.

It was a little handcrafted coffin done by the best artisans in Spain. It even had this pinkish-red felt bottom. It was the exact replica of a larger coffin, except perhaps it was done with more love. It was very quiet. But they soon gathered themselves and began talking shit again. I became silent. I had really been proud of my little casket. I had looked for hours for a gift. I had almost gone crazy. Then I had seen it on the shelf, all alone.

Touched the outsides, turned it upsidedown, then looked inside. The price was high but I was paying for the perfect craftsmanship. The wood. The little hinges. At the same time, I needed some ant-killer spray. I found some Black Flag in the back of the store. The ants had built a nest under my front door. I took the stuff to the counter. There was a young girl there, I set the stuff in front of her.

I pointed to the casket. I paid and got out of there But now, at the wedding, nobody laughed. A pressure cooker done up with a red ribbon would have left them happy. Or would it have? Harvey, the rich one, finally, was kindest of all. Maybe because he could afford to be kind? Somehow, the next thing I knew, it was over. I was in the back seat of my own car, Hollis driving again, the beard of Roy flowing into my face again.

I sucked at my fifth. I love you both, you know that! Why did you throw my little casket away? My gift to you! Your only gift! Keep it! I lived in a front court near Hollywood of course. Parking was mean. Then they found a space about a half a block from where I lived.

They parked my car, handed me the keys.

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Then I saw them walk across the street toward their own car. As I fell backwards, my first instinct was to protect the remainder of that good fifth from smashing against the cement mother with baby , and as I fell backwards I tried to hit with my shoulders, holding both head and bottle up. I saved the bottle but the head flipped back into the sidewalk, BASH! They both stood and watched me fall. Then they got into their car, started the engine, leaned back and neatly drove off.

I was being repaid for something. The casket?

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The human race had always disgusted me. Essentially, what made them disgusting was the family-relationship illness, which included marriage, exchange of power and aid, which like a sore, a leprosy, became then: your next door neighbor, your neighborhood, your district, your city, your county, your state, your nation I got it all there, I understood it as they left me there, pleading. Five more minutes, I thought. I was the last of the outlaws. Billy the Kid had nothing on me. Five more minutes. Just let me get to my cave.

Five minutes. Two women walked by. They turned and looked at me. Like a little baby. Through the glass door. And I was outside unable to get up, best man to something. All I had to do was make it to my place — 30 yards away, as close as three million light years. Thirty yards from a rented front door. Two more minutes and I could get up. Each time I tried it, I got stronger. An old drunk would always make it, given enough time.

One minute. One minute more. I could have made it. Then there they were. Part of the insane family structure of the World. Madmen, really, hardly questioning what made them do what they did. They left their double-red light burning as they parked. Then got out. One had a flashlight. Hit my head.

I never lose my sense or my coherence. Just let me fall upon my bed and sleep it off. It gave him a great feeling of superiority. Give us a better alibi than that. For a moment I forgot. I was very tired — of everything. Same sad old scene. They drove along slowly, speaking of various possible and insane things — like, about having the front porch widened, or a pool, or an extra room in the back for Granny.

And when it came to sports — these were real men — the Dodgers still had a chance, even with the two or three other teams right in there with them. Back to the family — if the Dodgers won, they won. If a man landed on the moon, they landed on the moon. But let a starving man ask them for a dime — no identification, fuck you, shithead. I mean, when they were in civvies. Our record is clear. Then I was pushed through the gristmill. After being 30 yards from my door. After being the only human in a house full of 59 people.

There I was, once again, in this type of long line of the somehow guilty. The young cops, both in the city tank and the county tank, got their training on the drunks.

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They had to show they had it. While I was watching they took one guy in an elevator and rode him up and down, up and down, and when he got out, you hardly knew who he was, or what he had been — a black screaming about Human Rights. I got my photo taken all over again. Fingerprinted all over again. They took me down to the drunk tank, opened that door. After that, it was just a matter of looking for floorspace among the men in the room.

One shitpot. Vomit and piss everywhere. I found a spot among my fellow men. Somebody there thought I was a genius. I stretched out on the boards. Heard a young voice. Which you either lost or sold or had stolen from you. But there was always still money and cigarettes about. But somebody had been. Io ero dietro, incastrato fra il pane rumeno, le salsicce di Vienna, le cassette di birra e di bibite.

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Portavo una cravatta verde: la prima cravatta, da quand'era morto mio padre, dieci anni prima. Hollis guidava a all'ora. La barbaccia di Roy, lunga tre metri, mi sbatteva sulla faccia, svolazzando. Viaggiavamo sulla mia auto, una Comet 62, solo ch'io non potevo guidare: m'avevan ritirato la patente, per ubriachezza. Hollis e Roy convivevano da circa tre anni. Lei manteneva Roy. Io sedevo di dietro e trincavo birra. Roy mi stava illustrando, a uno a uno, tutti i parenti della sposa. Roy era un uomo di penna.

E di lingua. Le pareti, a casa loro, eran tappezzate di foto di sessantanove. C'era anche un'istantanea di Roy che sborrava sparandosi una sega. Dico, con l'autoscatto. Un congegno di fili e pulsanti. Complicato, fattincasa. Roy diceva che gli era toccato spararsene sei, per ottenere l'effetto giusto. Una giornata intera di lavoro. Risultato: uno schizzo lattiginoso: un'opera d'arte. Certe ville di ricchi ce l'han lungo anche un miglio. Quello non era male: quattrocento metri. Un giardino con piante tropicali. Un quattro cinque cani. Enormi bestioni lanosi, bavosi, stupidi.

Ci sbarrarono la strada. Il padrone di casa stava in piedi, sulla veranda, e ci guardava, con un bicchiere in mano. Cominciammo a carreggiare su per le scale i salsicciotti, il pescegatto ungherese in salamoia, i gamberi. Le aragoste, il bagel. Culi di piccione macinati. Finiti i trasporti, mi sedetti e agguantai una birra. Ero l'unico in cravatta. Ero anche l'unico che aveva portato un regalo di nozze. Lo nascosi fra il muro e la caviglia rosicchiata da Aristotile. Ero sposato da due anni e mezzo con la mia prima moglie quando, una sera, arriva gente.

Il maestro Zen non era ancora arrivata. Io seguitavo a trincare birra. Tutti i parenti di Hollis. Roy invece era senza famiglia. Povero Roy. Non ha mai lavorato in vita sua. Stappai un'altra birra. Badavano a arrivare, su per le scale: ex galeotti, invalidi, bellimbusti, specialisti in espedienti e sotterfugi. Parenti e amici. A dozzine. Manco un regalo di nozze. Manco una cravatta. C'era uno ch'era alquanto malridotto.

Gli ci vollero 25 minuti per salire le scale. Aveva un paio di stampelle su misura, potentissime, con manopole speciali e ammennicoli vari. Mica di legno. Strologai: merce scadente o mancata spartizione. Solo che non gli hanno leso nessun organo vitale. Ce n'erano tanti altri. Un altro contrabbandava droga a bordo di pescherecci cinesi. Quanto a me, ero a spasso fra un impiego e l'altro.

Poi venne oltre Harvey. Le mutande, troppo strette. Ne ho trovato uno migliore. C'era un po' d'agitazione. Frattanto era arrivato il maestro di Zen. Costui indossava un costume bizzarro e teneva gli occhi strizzati. Al maestro di Zen occorrevano dei tavolini. Roy si diede a rimediarli. Il maestro di Zen era calmissimo, molto aggraziato. Tracannai la mia bumba, andai a rifare il pieno, tornai. Sugli undici anni. Mi mantieni tu. Mi sto stufando. Magari, ecco, mi carreggi in giro in una specie di gabbia di vetro, coi buchi per l'aria.

Tu ti farai pappare dai ragazzi. Io, buono e zitto. Mi chiamo Paul. Siamo stati presentati. Non ricordi? Forse, anzi, un pessimo scrittore. Ma il ragazzino era in gamba. Era quel che si meritava, quel marmocchio, per la sua lingua lunga Ma s'accendevano candele dappertutto. Qualcuno disse che non era una valvola, era non so che altro, casi ci rinunciai, mentre altre candele s'accendevano, e andai in cucina per farmi un altro scotch. Merda, ci trovai Harvey. Il tuo ragazzo, Peter Questi apostoli. Merdate del genere. Ormai c'erano candele dappertutto.

Il maestro di Zen voleva che si procedesse. Roy m'aveva dato i due anelli. Mi tastai. C'erano ancora. Tutti aspettavano noi. Io aspettavo che Harvey cadesse lungo steso, a furia di bere. Mi rodeva il culo: mi stava alle calcagna, un bicchiere ogni due miei, e ancora si reggeva in piedi.

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Non capita spesso. Avevamo fatto fuori mezzo quinto, in dieci minuti, mentre accendevano le candele. Ci unimmo alla folla. Consegnai gli anelli a Roy. O aver perso gli anelli. O vomitare. O aver perso Bukowski. Alla fine, eccoci qua. Non tanto grosso. Un pagine, direi.

Stavo alla destra di Roy. Da tutte le parti si trincava. Il maestro di Zen fece un sorrisetto stento e stronzo. Conoscevo, per triste esperienza, il matrimonio di rito cattolico. A un certo punto, furono accesi tre bastoncini. Il maestro ce n'aveva una scatola piena. Uno degli stecchi — quello del maestro — venne piantato acceso al centro d'una ciotola di sabbia. Ma non li piantarono bene. La porse a Roy.

Cazzo, pensai, Roy s'informa sempre prima. Zen prese la destra di Hollis e la mise nella sinistra di Roy. E avvolse le loro mani nella coroncina. Metti ch'era I'F. S'intende, avevamo tutti la coscienza pulita. Ma lo stesso era irritante. Poi notai le orecchie del maestro di Zen, al lume di candela. Trasparenti, come fossero fatte di carta igienica. Ecco cosa lo rendeva santo! Io dovevo far mie quelle orecchie! Per ricordo, per amuleto, oppure pel mio gatto. O per tenerle sotto il guanciale. Lo sapevo, certo, che era per via che avevo bevuto tutto quel whiskey, tutta quella birra, ma, al tempo stesso, non lo sapevo.

Seguitavo a fissare le orecchie del maestro Zen. Ancora parole. Poi, con quella coroncina intrecciata alle loro mani giunte, Roy rispose: "Prometto di non O pareva finita. Il maestro di Zen stava eretto sulla schiena, con un sorrisa appena accennato. Toccai Roy sulla spalla. Presi la testa di Hollis, baciai le sue bellissime labbra.

Nessuno si muoveva. Un, popolo di subnormali. Tutti fermi. Le candele ardevano subnormalmente. M'accostai al maestro Zen. Gli strinsi la mano. Hai condotto molto bene. Ma tutti gli altri — quel branco di gangsters e mafiosi e intrallazzatori — erano troppo orgogliosi e stupidi per stringere la mano a un orientale. Solo un altro strinse la mano al maestro Zen. L'avresti detta una festa di "nozze col fucile. Beh, io sarei stato l'ultimo a saperlo. Finita la cerimonia nuziale, l'atmosfera si fece freddina.

Non ho mai capito, io, la razza umana. Ma qualcuno doveva pur fare il pagliaccio. Mi sfilai la cravatta verde, la lanciai in aria. Vennero oltre, arraffarono cibarie, non sa pendo che altro fare. Avevo dato il via alla pappatoria. Io per me sgattaiolai in cucina, per il whiskey.

Che ci facevo io, in mezzo a quel branco? E che cosa ci faceva il professore universitario? No, no: lui non era un pesce fuor d'acqua. Ci voleva un pentimento. O qualcosa. Un atto che umanizzasse tutta la cerimonia. Quando udii il portone rinchiudersi dietro il maestro Zen, allora, tracannato il mio scotch, gli corsi appresso. Solcai la folla di ciarlanti bastardi, trovai la porta non facile impresa, l'aprii, la rinchiusi, lo vidi: Mister Zen era 15 gradini avanti a me.

C'era un'altra cinquantina di scalini, per arrivare al pianale. L'inseguii, barcollando, ma guadagnavo terreno. Urlai: "Ehi, Maestro! Jan 03, Sara rated it liked it Shelves: umoristici. Sono siparietti, divagazioni ogni volta diverse per i diversi capitoli, al limite dello sketch, scenette di vita vissuta dalle quali l'avvocato si sforza di trovare il lato assurdo, un po' come se fosse a Zelig.

Chi gli ruota intorno resta invece nella nebbia. Le sue relazioni con le donne, ad esempio, che nonostante gli causino un sacco di pensieri sono inserite abbastanza marginalmente, personaggi senza spessore e che non aggiungono niente alla vicenda. May 03, Tiny rated it it was ok. E' la storia di un avvocato di insuccesso che si ritrova coinvolto in una situazione drammatica: un ingegnere, padre di un ragazzo ammazzato per sbaglio dalla camorra, cattura il camorrista capo, secondo lui responsabile della morte del figlio.

Malgrado fosse latitante, il camorrista si comprava lo yoghurt ogni giorno o quasi in un supermercato, dove lo ha visto l'ingegnere che decide di catturarlo e processarlo, senza coinvolgere la giustizia 'tradizionale'. Installa nel supermercato un sistema E' la storia di un avvocato di insuccesso che si ritrova coinvolto in una situazione drammatica: un ingegnere, padre di un ragazzo ammazzato per sbaglio dalla camorra, cattura il camorrista capo, secondo lui responsabile della morte del figlio.

Talvolta divertente. Un po' fa riflettere, per es. A me non ha dato molta soddisfazione. Mar 13, Ilmatte rated it liked it Shelves: libri-annoiati , libri-buoni , libri-depressi , libri-incompresi , libri-ombelicali. Jun 16, Elalma rated it liked it. Non posso dire che mi abbia fatto ridere, e neppure divertito. Molti di noi pensano Io non mi piaccio e non voglio cambiare. Lasciatemi in pace, okay?

Molti di noi riempiono pagine per convincersi di una cosa, ma quasi mai riusciamo a essere diretti. Jan 21, Marco rated it it was ok. Troppe rimuginazioni. E poi qualcosa non torna: avvocato di scarso successo ma con le donne un po troppo fortunato? Forse potrebbe funzionare se avesse appena iniziato a lavorare ma pare la situazione di Malinconico.

Anche il tradimento con i Troppe rimuginazioni. Anche il tradimento con i messaggini sembra un po troppo adolescenziale per essere credibile. Apr 03, Paolo rated it liked it. Queste riflessioni, a dire il vero, sono davvero molto leggere non aspettatevi molto in merito , ma comunque la lettura rimane sempre piacevole e divertente. Certo, ci infila qualche luogo comune, ma lo sfata presto con qualche trovata inaspettata e quasi sempre comica. Apr 21, Dario rated it really liked it.

Riflessioni sulla vita, raccontate con leggerezza, ritmo.

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Un libro da comodino, piacevole lettura prima di dormire. Aug 21, Veronica rated it really liked it. Quando voglio distrarmi cerco di sorridere. E ho ritrovato il Malinconico Vincenzo che mi piace. Come leggere questo libro. There are no discussion topics on this book yet. Readers also enjoyed. About Diego De Silva. Diego De Silva. Molti suoi racconti sono apparsi in svariate antologie, fra le quali "Disertori e Crimini".

Tra i suoi ultimi lavori si ricordano i romanzi "Sono contrario alle emozioni" e "Mancarsi". Oltre a scrivere per il cinema, la tv e il teatro, De Silva collabora al quotidiano "Il Mattino". Other books in the series. Vincenzo Malinconico 4 books. Books by Diego De Silva.

Trivia About Mia suocera beve. No trivia or quizzes yet. Quotes from Mia suocera beve. Sono finite le autoriduzioni, le lotte armate, le rivoluzioni, le autonomie operaie. Ai concerti si paga il biglietto, e che biglietto. I musicisti sono diventati rockstar, o almeno ci hanno provato senza vergogna. Hanno fatto la fila per un passaggio in tv, sono andati al festival di Sanremo e pure al Festivalbar.

E se prima si difendevano ai concerti da chi li processava, adess si lamentano se i loro dischi si scaricano dalla rete. Parlano male della droga, del sesso senza amore, della politica che non usa la lingua della ggente. Si sposano addirittura qualcuno in chiesa , mettono su famiglia, scoproni i valori, smettono di bere, di farsi, consigliano ai giovani di non sprecare la propria vita.