Adulterio by Paulo Coelho

By Paulo Coelho

Linda ha 31 anni e, agli occhi di tutti, l. a. sua vita è perfetta: vive in Svizzera, uno dei paesi più sicuri del mondo, ha un matrimonio solido e stabile, un marito molto affettuoso, figli dolci e educati, e un lavoro da giornalista di cui non si può lamentare. Ma d'un tratto inizia a mettere in dubbio questa sua quotidianità, los angeles prevedibilità dei suoi giorni. Non riesce più a sopportare lo sforzo che le richiede fingere di essere felice. Tutto questo cambia quando incontra consistent with caso un suo innamorato degli anni dell'adolescenza: Jacob. È diventato un politico di successo e, durante un'intervista, finisce in step with risvegliare un sentimento che los angeles donna non provava da ormai troppo pace: l. a. passione. Ora Linda sarà disposta a tutto in keeping with conquistare quell'amore impossibile, e dovrà esplorare fino in fondo tutte le emozioni umane in line with poter poi trovare l. a. redenzione.

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Mozart und Casanova, Venedig, Wien, London und big apple - das unglaubliche Leben eines Universalgenies »… Fantasie und Erzählfreude in jeder Zeile . .. « göteborgs posten »Mozarts Glanz strahlt auch auf ihn, seinen besten - oder, besser gesagt: seinen einzigen guten - Textdichter.

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I sort through them. I put the ones back I don't need. The machine is so bright. I put two fifty pence coins and one twenty 42 pence coin into the slot. They clatter somewhere. One comes back out. I put it back in. It clatters and comes back again. I try and push it in differently but my options are limited. Clatter. Comes back. Clatter. Comes back. My throat is tight. Too hot. I just hit something. The machine? Its brightness isn't helping me see. I put my hand back in my pocket and try another coin which works and suddenly I feel better.

Her eyes dart around a little bit, following whatever character or cursor she's controlling. Her cheek twitches. Maybe she jumped off a ledge. "No that's fine. " I could smoke something on the way if I can convince myself that it won't make me feel bad. My mother doesn't answer, so I repeat what I said. "It's ok, Mum. " Alright, so I changed what I said then. Her eyelids ascend like she's widening her eyes to take in something but her pupils stay fixed. Her head lifts a tiny bit, so small that I only notice because I happen to be watching her.

When I think of her with other people, though, it fucks me up. I get the feeling that Emma knows the sorts of things that I think about. Sometimes I wish that she didn't. I wish I could retrace the footsteps of our friendship so I could change certain things early on so that some people would look at me in a different light. People get the wrong idea. It's another way of saying they know me. My father is watching television. There was just something on about the dead actor. My mother looks up from her Gameboy, over the top of her glasses and says that it's a shame that he's dead because he was young and had a promising career ahead of him.

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