00346--SONNET TWENTY NINE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY NINE
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my self and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

00345--SONNET TWENTY EIGHT / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY EIGHT
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed.
And each (though enemies to either's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger

00344--SONNET TWENTY SEVEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY SEVEN
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tired,
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my self, no quiet find.

00343--SONNET TWENTY SIX / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY SIX
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;
To thee I send this written embassage
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tattered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect,
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

00342--SONNET TWENTY FIVE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY FIVE
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most;
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.

00341--SONNET TWENTY FOUR / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY FOUR
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

00340--SONNET TWENTY THREE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY THREE
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I for fear of trust, forget to say,
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might:
O let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

00339--SONNET TWENTY TWO / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY TWO
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date,
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O therefore love be of thyself so wary,
As I not for my self, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.

00338--SONNET TWENTY ONE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY ONE
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven it self for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems:
With April's first-born flowers and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me true in love but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair,
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

00337--SONNET TWENTY / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWENTY
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou the master mistress of my passion,
A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women's fashion,
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth,
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

00336--SONNET NINETEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET NINETEEN
Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time
To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime,
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

00335--SONNET EIGHTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET EIGHTEEN
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

00334--SONNET SEVENTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET SEVENTEEN
Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say this poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.
So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song.
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.

00333--SONNET SIXTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET SIXTEEN
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away your self, keeps your self still,
And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

00332--SONNET FIFTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET FIFTEEN
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky:
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

00331--SONNET FOURTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET FOURTEEN
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality,
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find.
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And constant stars in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive
If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert:
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

00330--SONNET THIRTEEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET THIRTEEN
O that you were your self, but love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live,
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination, then you were
Your self again after your self's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know,
You had a father, let your son say so.

00329--SONNET TWELVE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TWELVE
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white:
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.

00328--SONNET ELEVEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET ELEVEN

As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,
Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

00327--SONNET TEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET TEN
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire:
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove,
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

00326--SONNET NINE/ SHAKESPEARE

SONNET NINE
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,
The world will be thy widow and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it:
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.

00325--SONNET EIGHT / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET EIGHT
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:
Mark how one string sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'.

00324--SONNET SEVEN / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET SEVEN
Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

00323-- SONNET SIX / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET SIX
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier be it ten for one,
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

00322--SONNET FIVE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET FIVE
Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there,
Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.

00321--SONNET FOUR / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET FOUR
Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which used lives th' executor to be.

00320--SONNET THREE / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET THREE 
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime,
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

00319--SONNET TWO / SHAKESPEARE

SONNET 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

00318--SONNET ONE/SHAKESPEARE

SONNET 1
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

00317--To a Skylark By Percy Bysshe Shelley

To a Skylark 

                                   By Percy Bysshe Shelley

     

  Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

                Bird thou never wert,

         That from Heaven, or near it,

                Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

         Higher still and higher

                From the earth thou springest

         Like a cloud of fire;

                The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

     
   In the golden lightning

                Of the sunken sun,

         O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

                Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

         The pale purple even

                Melts around thy flight;

         Like a star of Heaven,

                In the broad day-light

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

         Keen as are the arrows

                Of that silver sphere,

         Whose intense lamp narrows

                In the white dawn clear

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

         All the earth and air

                With thy voice is loud,

         As, when night is bare,

                From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.

         What thou art we know not;

                What is most like thee?

         From rainbow clouds there flow not

                Drops so bright to see

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

         Like a Poet hidden

                In the light of thought,

         Singing hymns unbidden,

                Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

         Like a high-born maiden

                In a palace-tower,

         Soothing her love-laden

                Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

         Like a glow-worm golden

                In a dell of dew,

         Scattering unbeholden

                Its aerial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

         Like a rose embower'd

                In its own green leaves,

         By warm winds deflower'd,

                Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:

         Sound of vernal showers

                On the twinkling grass,

         Rain-awaken'd flowers,

                All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

         Teach us, Sprite or Bird,

                What sweet thoughts are thine:

         I have never heard

                Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

         Chorus Hymeneal,

                Or triumphal chant,

         Match'd with thine would be all

                But an empty vaunt,

A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

         What objects are the fountains

                Of thy happy strain?

         What fields, or waves, or mountains?

                What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

         With thy clear keen joyance

                Languor cannot be:

         Shadow of annoyance

                Never came near thee:

Thou lovest: but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

         Waking or asleep,

                Thou of death must deem

         Things more true and deep

                Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

         We look before and after,

                And pine for what is not:

         Our sincerest laughter

                With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

         Yet if we could scorn

                Hate, and pride, and fear;

         If we were things born

                Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

         Better than all measures

                Of delightful sound,

         Better than all treasures

                That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

         Teach me half the gladness

                That thy brain must know,

         Such harmonious madness

                From my lips would flow

The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

00316--SLAVOJ ZIZEK and his works

SLAVOJ Zˇ IZˇ EK

1.The Sublime Object of Ideology 2.For They Know Not What They Do: Enjoyment as a Political Factor 3.Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan through Popular Culture 4.Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Lacan (But Were Afraid to Ask Hitchcock) 5.Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out 6.Tarrying with the Negative: Kant, Hegel, and the Critique of Ideology 7.Mapping Ideology 8.The Metastases of Enjoyment: Six Essays on Woman and Causality 9.The Indivisible Remainder: An Essay on Schelling and Related Matters 10.The Plague of Fantasies 11.The Ticklish Subject: The Absent Centre of Political Ontology 12.The Art of the Ridiculous Sublime: On David Lynch’s Lost Highway 13.Contingency, Hegemony, Universality: Contemporary Dialogues on the Left 14.The Fragile Absolute – or, Why is the Christian Legacy Worth Fighting For? 15.Did Somebody Say Totalitarianism? Five Interventions in the (Mis)Use of a Notion 16.The Fright of Real Tears: Krzystof Kie´slowski Between Theory and Post-Theory 17.On Belief 18.Opera’s Second Death 19.Revolution at the Gates

00315--LIONEL TRILLING and his works

LIONEL TRILLING

1.Matthew Arnold 2.E.M. Forster 3.The Middle of the Journey [novel of ideas] 4.The Liberal Imagination: Essays on Literature and Society 5.Freud and the Crisis of Our Culture 6.The Opposing Self: Nine Essays in Criticism 7.Beyond Culture: Essays on Literature and Learning 8.Sincerity and Authenticity 9.Mind in the Modern World ( 10.Prefaces to the Experience of Literature 11.Speaking of Literature and Society

00314--GAYATRI CHAKRAVORTY SPIVAK and her works

GAYATRI CHAKRAVORTY SPIVAK

SPIVAK

1.‘Can the Subaltern Speak?’ 2.Translation of Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology 3.Myself I Must Remake: The Life and Poetry of W.B. Yeats 4.Outside in the Teaching Machine 5.Imaginary Maps: Three Stories

00313--ELAINE SHOWALTER and her works

ELAINE SHOWALTER

SHOWALTER

1.A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Brontë to Lessing 2.The Female Malady: Women, Madness and English Culture, 3.The New Feminist Criticism: Essays on Women, Literature, Theory 4.Speaking of Gender 5.Sexual Anarchy: Gender and Culture at the Fin de siècle 6.Sister’s Choice: Tradition and Change in American Women’s Writing 7.Inventing Herself: Claiming a Feminist Intellectual Heritage 8.Faculty Towers: The Academic Novel and its Discontents

00312--EDWARD WADIE SAID and his works

EDWARD WADIE SAID

1.Orientalism 2.Joseph Conrad and the Fiction of Autobiography 3.Beginnings: Intention and Method 4.The Question of Palestine 5.The Palestine Question and the American Context 6.Covering Islam: How the Media and the Experts Determine How We See the Rest of the World 7.The World, The Text And The Critic 8.After the Last Sky: Palestinian Lives 9.Blaming the Victims: Spurious Scholarship & the Palestinian Question 10.Musical Elaborations 11.Culture and Imperialism  12.Politics of Dispossession: The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination 13.Peace and Its Discontents: Essays on Palestine in the Middle East Peace Process 14.Out of Place: A Memoir

00311--PAUL RICOEUR and his works

PAUL RICOEUR

1.Gabriel Marcel and Karl Jaspers. Philosophie du mystère et philosophie du paradoxe 2.Freedom and Nature: The Voluntary and the Involuntary 3.History and Truth 4.Fallible Man 5.The Symbolism of Evil 6.Freud and Philosophy: An Essay on Interpretation 7.The Conflict of Interpretations: Essays in Hermeneutics 8.The Rule of Metaphor: Multi-Disciplinary Studies in the Creation of Meaning in Language 9.Interpretation Theory: Discourse and the Surplus of Meaning 10.Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences: Essays on Language, Action and Interpretation 11.Time and Narrative 12.Oneself as Another