PDF Archive search engine
Last database update: 26 January at 23:02 - Around 76000 files indexed.
benessere Pacchetto “UN DOLCE BENESSERE” € 45,00 - Open day Benessere (sauna - bagno turco - idromassaggio, piscine - area relax - stanza del sale) - Massaggio Caldo Cocco 30’ Pacchetto “PROFUMI D’ORIENTE” € 99,00 - Sauna - Scrub corpo bamboo e fior di loto - Idromassaggio Beauty - Massaggio 30’ con olio di bamboo e Campane tibetane Pacchetto “SALE D’INVERNO” € 37,00 - Open day Benessere (sauna - bagno turco - idromassaggio, piscine - area relax - stanza del sale) - Salagione (impacco di sale) Pacch.
- Risparmio di gas fino al 42% secondo studi dell’università di Bergamo - Wireless Rinnova il tuo impianto senza interventi e opere murarie - Si applica a qualsiasi impianto a radiatori Senza dover sostituire il radiatore esistente - Comfort In ogni stanza la temperatura ideale e la fascia oraria desiderata - Detrazione Fiscale Fino al 65% - Connesso Programma e gestisci ogni singolo radiatore con un semplice clic, anche dal tuo Smartphone COS’E’ NOW Il sistema consente, con semplici gesti, il controllo del clima di ogni singola stanza della casa, la programmazione oraria di ogni radiatore, ottimizzando al meglio l'utilizzo del generatore (caldaia o pompa di calore).
La Stanza del Sale La stanza del sale di Riminiterme, posizionata all’interno del Centro Benessere, con vista mare, riproduce concentrandolo il microclima marino sovrasalato, ricco di elementi come zolfo, magnesio, calcio, potassio, ferro, iodio e l’energia del mare svolge la sua azione più intensiva, drenante, purificante, tonificante e antibatterica.
Pacchetti 8 marzo 2013 la festa del benessere esclusivamente per le donne Pacchetto “CORPO” euro 45,00 - Check up Benessere - Open day Benessere (sauna - bagno turco - idromassaggio, piscine - area relax - stanza del sale) - Massaggio 30’ al profumo di candela Pacchetto “VISO” euro 52,00 - Check up Benessere - Open day Benessere (sauna - bagno turco - idromassaggio, piscine - area relax - stanza del sale) - Massaggio viso 20’ - Maschera viso personalizzata Info :
Insomma, tornando alla stanza, eravamo lì sfatti ancora presi dal trip lisergico che entra un certo professor Attilio.
I colori ricchi e armoniosi, le linee eleganti e sinuose, la seduzione delle forme di ogni singolo pezzo fanno di Megaros una firma di eccellenza degli arredi made in Italy, per vivere quotidianamente in tutti gli ambienti, sia la stanza della casa o la stanza di un albergo.
Wheatley 1 The Function and Dysfunction of Desire in Blake’s “The Book of the Thel” William Blake’s “The Book of Thel” opens with an epigraph, a pithy and barbarous quatrain entitled “Thel’s Motto.” The “Motto” successfully encapsulates in four lines what Blake proceeds to unfurl throughout the rest of “The Book of Thel”: a quest for knowledge, objectivity, and wisdom. A contemplation of the lines between knowing and not knowing, fear and desire. “Thel’s Motto” rejects the notion of objectivity. Thel’s procession is ultimately a mission to achieve the objective, but is hindered by her acquaintances’ lack thereof. Just as Blake finds definitive virtue in the marriage of heaven and hell, so he advises a compromise of objectivity and subjectivity (which Marjorie Levinson considers a “binary opposition between two contradictory ways of knowing and being” ). I would further argue that not only is compromise essential, it is inevitable. The poem’s true statement of objectivity is in its notions of death and mortality. Death’s barrage of whys in the underworld marks an intersection of objectivity and subjectivity, a meeting of why and what. One essential detail that cannot be overlooked is Blake’s use of the name “Thel,” which in Greek means “wish” or “desire.” (Levinson 287) While I agree with Levinson that it does little to further the understanding of the text, I’d argue that it does inform Blake’s apparent reach for a greater gestalt; one in which the contemplation of desire, and the failings and findings therein, is allencompassing. With her name, Blake imbues in Thel the very essence of desire. It permeates her being. Thel is ephemeral, unborn. As such, any symbolic attachment, no matter the extent, defines a fundamental aspect of her being. Inquisitiveness, frailty, virginity—all qualities to which Blake attributed Thel, all abstractions of a being who is herself an abstraction. Wheatley 2 Despite Thel’s abstracted existence, she possesses what Levinson deems “ontological density.” (287) Thel’s Socratic search for answers leads her through a parade of creations, from the Lily of the Valley, to a Cloud, to a Worm, to a Clod of Clay. Her questions are ultimately concerned with one central notion: the experiences of those who exist within the realm of the real. Questions of mortality and existence and disillusionment plague Thel’s conscious. “The Book of Thel” largely concerns itself with the asking of these questions, as the central majority of the poem is devoted to Thel’s visits with these creatures. There is also the inescapable problem of sexuality in the poem. Corporal experience, in the broad form it assumes in “Thel,” certainly invites sexual knowledge. While this is a concern of the self, it does not preclude Thel’s investment in the world around her. “Liberation […] from sexual desires” should “transform the fallen world anew.” (Craciun 172) Thel’s role as an entity consumed with Innocence is important. Brian Wilkie strongly challenges the notion that Thel is an embodiment of Innocence. In addition to dismissing it as “simpleminded,” Wilkie asserts that Thel “emphatically lacks the hallmark of Innocence: trustfulness.” (48) The problem with this analysis is that Thel exhibits no substantial lack of trustfulness. It’s a grayer area in that what may be interpreted as a lack of trustfulness could also easily be turned into a sense of naïve fear. There’s no question that Thel exhibits compulsive anxiety; but it’s a child’s fear of the dark—a dread of the unknown. Thel’s virginal naivety is what drives her through her journey. She desperately wants to know the unknown, despite having an inborn aversion to the latter. Such an uneasy ontological mixture stirs in her guts a sense of doubt, mistaken by Wilkie to be distrust. Despite her doubt, overwhelming desire propels Thel through the Vales of Har. It’s ultimately her yearning for objectification—for a realization of the self—that leads her past the procession of characters. Her first encounter, with the Lily of the Valley, proves the most Wheatley 3 frustrating for Thel. The Lily is youthful, beautiful, and ultimately satisfied with her place in Har. In these qualities Thel no doubt sees a mirror image, the major difference, though, being this unattainable sense of contentedness that appears to elude Thel. In this way, the Lily represents not a maternal figure of fulfillment; rather, she assumes much more the role of the fulfilled duplicate, the Better Sister. In reply to the Lily, Thel only bows further. She praises the Lily for “giving to those that cannot crave,” for “[nourishing] the innocent lamb,” for “[purifying] the golden honey.” (2.48) And after the praise, she belittles her own existence as nothing more than “a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun: / I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my place?” (2.11) This is the first instance in which Thel makes plain the fact that she is somehow not a being of physical substance. Blake imbues Thel with an otherworldly sense of atomic insubstantiality, a vaporous notion of fragility and innocence. This is not to suggest that Thel is literally vaporous. The role of shepherd—despite longstanding allegorical connotations—suggests a humanoid physical form, as does Blake’s title plate illustration, which features a virginal young Thel. Rather, she is essentially a child’s soul; void of experience and harrowing questions of a mortality she has yet to even understand. But it’s not only mortality Thel is unable to comprehend. The Lily of the Valley suggests a discussion with the Cloud, who falls victim to the same transient existence Thel so desperately wants to upend. “O little Cloud,” Thel says, “I charge thee tell to me; / Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade away.” (3.12) In the Cloud, Thel finds a kindred spirit, albeit one who finds itself unable to despair of its ephemerality in the way the young virgin does. The Cloud answers: “[W]hen I pass away, / It is to tenfold life.” (3.1011) The Cloud revels in his ability to cleanse and nourish the world beneath him. His daily death is an altruistic affirmation of love, and a promise of rebirth. Thel’s reservations in this regard ring sincere and reasonable: unlike the Cloud, Thel considers herself unable to serve so vital a Wheatley 4 function. This is important, as it speaks to that with which Thel truly concerns herself when discussing mortality. Thel searches for a kind of function she may serve and comes up emptyhanded. Unlike the Cloud, she “[smells] the sweetest flowers, / but [does not feed] the little flowers.” (3.1819) In other words, the Cloud happily acts as both a giver and receiver; Thel, however, only receives the pleasures of the world, and does nothing for the world in return. There’s a palpable sense of gratitude in Thel. She considers the flowers “the sweetest,” and once delighted in the “warbling birds.” (3.1819) But her delight has fallen to guilt. She thinks her life serves no purpose beyond being “the food of worms” upon death. (3.23) The creatures she visits all share a common trait. That is, their outward thoughts and actions directly represent their role in Har’s spiritual hierarchy. The Cloud assumes the role of the omnipotent patriarch, what Robert P. Waxler calls “the invisible father.” (49) While Waxler couples the term with the Jesus concept, I feel the Cloud just as easily fulfills the role. As the invisible father, the Cloud nourishes and loves from his throne above all those in the Vales. But, more to the point, the Cloud rebuffs Thel with a proper assignment of her role in Har. “Then if thou art the food of worms […] / How great thy blessing!” (3.25) He goes on to explain that “everything that lives / lives not alone, nor for itself.” (3.267) The Cloud provides a domineering role of paternity over Har in general, and Thel in particular. Here Blake establishes the concept of false objectivity: the Cloud may provide life, but he too is an inhabitant of Har, and therefore is no different than the Mole, blind to all but his pit. (Levinson 291) The curious feature of the ensuing stanza is Blake’s reflexive ambiguity. Who’s doing the speaking in these lines? Unlike the other dialogue stanzas, this one appears without an attribution tag before or during. “Art thou a Worm?” the speaker says. “Image of weakness, art Wheatley 5 thou but a Worm?” (4.2) If these words belong to Thel, it indicates that she sees the worm as a small, insignificant creature. Her initial disdain for her inability to do nothing but feed the worms has proven stronger than the Cloud’s words of encouragement. She views this creature not as an equal with which to share her spiritual wealth, but as a pitiful, “helpless” thing. (4.5) Its nakedness—remarked upon with a subtle twinge of disgust—undoubtedly calls to mind a phallus. Here the phallus is stripped of its usual power; the worm is impotent, and in need of a maternal bond. With that taken into account, the path grows curious if you consider the stanza to be entirely spoken by the Worm. The entire dynamic of the relationship between the two is reversed. Where the prior instance would have signified Thel as the dominant opposite of the Worm, we’re now given a chance to see the Worm question Thel’s own spiritual integrity. “Art thou a Worm?” Is Thel a worm? What separates the young virgin from the naked, helpless creature sitting on the leaf? After all, isn’t it ultimately the Worm that will be devouring Thel after she’s dead? The Cloud insists this type of relationship is something that resembles a cooperative agreement between equals. Thel, however, stands to gain nothing in death. If this is the Worm speaking to Thel, we’re also treated to an interesting moment when the Worm relishes in Thel’s solitude. Thel has no one, “none to cherish thee with mother’s smiles.” (4.6) Here we return to the filial concept previously seen in the Cloud and the Lily. Thel is an incomplete concept, a loose abstraction of fears and worries with no discernible maternal presence, despite (or perhaps due to) her active role as a lost daughter. As such, it’s a grotesque mockery of motherhood when the Clod of Clay appears to soothe the weeping phallus. (4.79) Unlike much of Blake’s more canonical and denser texts, “The Book of Thel” follows a fairly traditional narrative structure, complete with something resembling a climax. After
Arrivata a casa, salì di corsa le scale che portavano alla sua cameretta, si buttò sul suo vecchio letto che aveva dall'età di 7 anni, e rimase a fissare il soffitto della stanza pensando ai messaggi che le erano arrivati e a chi potesse essere;
Speciale San Valentino a “lume di candela” Percorso benessere “Open Day” con stanza del sale Massaggio Biorilassante da 60’ con fragranza di candela Tisana e frutta fresca € 60,00 € 110,00 per la coppia
la opera LA SCUOLA DI ATENE È UN AFFRESCO (770×500 CM CIRCA) DI RAFFAELLO SANZIO, DATABILE AL 1509-1511 ED È SITUATO NELLA STANZA DELLA SEGNATURA, UNA DELLE QUATTRO "STANZE VATICANE", POSTE ALL'INTERNO DEI PALAZZI APOSTOLICI.
Altezza in scala 1:42 di un brick= 40,32 cm Altezza stanza= 270 cm 270 cm/40,32 cm= 6,69 cm (approssimando a 7) Quindi servono 7 brick per ottenere 2,82 m in scala 1:42
Io ed il mio ex coinquilino durante una sessione di produzione musicale abbiamo deciso di produrre un brano samplando esclusivamente suoni prodotti all’interno della stanza con gli unici oggetti a disposizione (bottiglie di vetro, cartoni della pizza, compensato ed altro).
This project has features from frequent collaborators King Haley, Gene Stanza, and many more Southern Rap upand-comers.In this project, Malik takes you on a sonically driven roller-coaster ride over dynamic instrumentals with an unmatched flow, and presence on songs.
Towards an Urban Sublime: Expressing the Inexpressible in Urban Romantic Poetry As the industrial revolution brought about the rapid urbanization of cities throughout Europe, writers who were previously concerned with the aesthetics of nature and the countryside found themselves grappling with an entirely new set of poetic and philosophical concerns. The teeming crowds, towering structures and spectacular sights that they encountered in the novel environment of the city incited in them feelings of overwhelming terror and awe akin to those typically associated with the romantic “sublime.” However, as we look more closely at the cityfocused works of poets like Baillie, Wordsworth and Hood, we begin to see that there is a fundamental difference between the “natural” sublime of earlier romantic poetry and the “urban” sublime of the city poem. Whereas the poet’s sublime experience in nature is typically associated with some sort of catharsis or transcendence, forcing man to come to terms with the limitations of his own humanity, the urban sublime instead incites a feelings of wonder and disgust at the incredible potential of that humanity itself, or—as Anne Janowitz put it in her essay The Artifactual Sublime —it forces man to confront “the self as if it were not the self; to experience the madeness of the human world as if it were different stuff than the labour of persons.” While it is true that, as Janowitz notes, this “misrecognition” of the sublime object often resulted in the experience of “romantic alienation,” I argue that the use of sublime language and natural imagery also acted as a sort of coping mechanism for their writers. Through the experience of the “urban” sublime is of course intrinsically linked to feelings of terror and isolation, the fact that these poets were describing particularly urban experiences in terms of something formerly associated with nature helped them to bridge the gap between the urban world and the natural one. This technique, therefore, served the dual purpose of expressing the unfamiliarity of this new landscape and familiarizing it, allowing these poets to discover, as Wordsworth put it, that the underlying “spirit of Nature” was still upon them, even in this “vast receptacle.” In Thomas Hood’s delightfully erratic Moral Reflections on the Cross of Saint Paul’s , we find a perfect example of the struggle many poets faced to familiarize the sublimely overwhelming urban environment. Hood’s speaker—who is presumably a tourist visiting London for the first time—is hilariously unable to produce any original or insightful “reflections” about the complex cityscape he sees spread out before him, and resorts instead to stringing together a bizarre collection of references and metaphors that don’t seem to fit together into a cohesive vision. The speaker’s numerous allusions to “classic” works of literature suggest that he feels a longing to express the “profound” nature of the landscape he is viewing, but even these references come off as disjointed and confused. In the poem’s first stanza, the speaker compares the ball of Saint Paul’s cathedral to Mount Olympus, the home of the gods in Greek mythology. He then immediately moves on to reference a figure from Roman mythology, when he proclaims that he is sitting “Among the gods, by Jupiter!” The speaker’s thoughts turn again towards the literary in the third stanza, when—looking down at the city crowds beneath him—the speaker feels the need to question the nature of man. “What is life?” He asks himself, and answers with an apparent reference to a now cliche line from William Shakespeare's As You Like it : “And what is life? And all its ages— / There’s seven stages!” Before he is able to offer any sort of “real” philosophical inquiry into what he means by this, however, the speaker distracts himself by naming off the seven neighborhoods of London, and never returns to the subject. While this random misfiring of halfbaked references helps develop the speaker’s delightfully zany personality, it also gestures at the bewilderment he feels upon taking in the sprawling landscape of London from above. Though the speaker cannot adequately express the profound emotional impact of this landscape in his own words—and it is clear that he does not have the educational background to substantiate even an insightful literary comparison—he still feels the urge to grasp for images and analogies that he associates with grandiosity and power. This attempt—and failure—to express the inexpressible is a common struggle in the literature of the sublime, and in Joanna Baillie’s poem London —which was written around the same time as Hood’s piece—we are introduced to yet another speaker who cannot quite find the right words to describe the overwhelming urban landscape. The difference here is that Baillie’s speaker is more familiar with the concept of the natural sublime, and she uses the language associated with it to explore the ways that the experience of urban sublime is both related to and separate from the experience of the sublime in nature. The poem’s initial description of the city—in which we find the city viewed again from above, from the hills of Hampstead “through the clear air”—presents the urban space as a rather innocuous, almost quaint vision. The London skyline seems to the speaker a “goodly sight,” and its structures are rendered in relation to familiar human figures. The spires of St. Paul’s cathedral flank the structure “in kindred grace, like twain of sisters dear,” the “ridgy roofs” of the city’s buildings sit amicably “side by side.” The entire vision is “softly tinted” by the distance of the viewer, _____. However, as the air begins to grow denser, and “moistened winds” prevail, the city’s landscape transfigures into something far more menacing. The “thin soft haze” of the poem’s first section becomes a “grand panoply of smoke arrayed,” and the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral—which is now surrounded not by quaint spires, but by “heavy” clouds that sail around its imposing dome—seems “a curtain gloom / Connecting heaven and earth,—a threatening sign of doom.” The shifting weather strips the humanity from the city’s landscape, and the language of the speaker quickly shifts to the language that references the natural sublime. The combination of almost ethereal However, this use of sublime language also allows the speaker to articulate the differences between the urban world and the natural one. Though the speaker seems compelled to compare the structure to prodigious natural figures (she states that the cathedral “might some lofty alpine peak be deemed”) it becomes apparent that these metaphors are not quite sufficient to describe the sight she is witnessing. Because its form reveals “man’s artful structure,” (and by extension the “artful structure” of man’s society), the cathedral cannot be viewed as totally natural. Instead, it is referred to as “more than natural,” and seems to transcend the boundaries of both humanity and nature as it first “connects heaven and hearth” and then, a few lines later seems “far removed from Earth.” This somewhat confused description demonstrates the speaker’s complex feelings about the urban landscape. Though she knows one thing for certain about this cathedral—“She is sublime”—the speaker cannot quite find the language she needs to describe the sense of the particularly “urban” sublime she is experiencing. She knows the cathedral is a product of mankind, and that the power that it is imbued with is intrinsically linked with the oppressive church that it represents and the often corrupt society that it is a part of. Part of the reason that the church looks seems to her so terrifying is certainly the fact that entering the streets of the city means succumbing to the dominance of the church, the government, and society as a whole. Language has always failed to fully express the sublime experience, however, and the speaker’s attempts to conflate the urban sublime of the city with the natural sublime simply demonstrates a desire to give a recognizable form to the terror she is experiencing—in order to truly become what Lyotard calls an “expressive witness to the inexpressible,” the speaker must carry thought and rationality to their logical conclusions, and for a romantic poet the world can best be rationalized and understood in terms of the rural. In contrast to Hood’s speaker, whose manic metaphorhopping was a symptom of a mind unprepared to grapple with the urban landscape’s complexities, Baillie’s speaker logically considers the unfamiliar in terms of her own experience, and makes the urban feel, in a way, like an extension of nature. This blending of the natural and the urban is epitomized in the final portion of Baillie’s poem, when the viewpoint shifts to the perspective of a “distant traveller.” From afar, this traveller is able to view the London in its entirety, and finds himself awestruck by the stars in the “luminous canopy” above the city that seem to be “cast up from myriads of lamps that shine / Along her streets in many a starry line.” The “flood of human life in motion” creates a noise that sounds to the traveller like the “voice of a tempestuous ocean,” and he finds his soul filled with a “sad but pleasing awe” upon hearing it. These magnificent sights, which seem at once human and natural, express the rich suggest that the city is capable of igniting in the human soul the same complex emotions that a sublime natural splendor might. Wordsworth took this idea to its ultimate conclusion as he navigated the bacchanalian chaos that is St. Bartholomew’s fair at the conclusion of The Prelude, Book Seven. In Wordsworth’s poem, we are not viewing London from above, but from the very trenches of the city, and the sublimity he is experiencing comes not from the contemplation of the urban
La bellezza e l’armonia non è un segreto da tenere chiuso in una stanza,ma necessita di vivere e mostrarsi per darci un senso compiuto alla nostra vita e raccontarci il profondo mistero della nostra esistenza.
Grazie all’ottimizzazione degli spazi, questa piccola stanza appare molto più grande di quello che è in realtà e i mobili con doppi scomparti permettono di custodire al meglio tutti gli oggetti più utilizzati quotidianamente, dal phon alle stufette, dagli spazzolini da denti alle creme idratanti.
How different the history of Western art would be without Julius II, who commissioned Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura frescos and Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling between orchestrating military campaigns against Venice and France.