I am the Shade.
Through the dolent city, I flee.
Through the eternal woe, I take flight.
Along the banks of the river Arno, I scramble, breathless . . . turning left onto Via dei Castellani, making my way northward, huddling in the shadows of the Uffizi.
And still they pursue me.
Their footsteps grow louder now as they hunt with relentless determination.
For years they have pursued me. Their persistence has kept me underground . . . forced me to live in purgatory . . . laboring beneath the earth like a chthonic monster.
I am the Shade.
Here aboveground, I raise my eyes to the north, but I am unable to find a direct path to salvation . . . for the Apennine Mountains are blotting out the first light of dawn.
I pass behind the palazzo with its crenellated tower and one- handed clock . . . snaking through the early- morning vendors in Piazza San Firenze with their hoarse voices smelling of lampredotto and roasted olives. Crossing before the Bargello, I cut west toward the spire of the Badia and come up hard against the iron gate at the base of the stairs.
Here all hesitation must be left behind.
I turn the handle and step into the passage from which I know there will be no return. I urge my leaden legs up the narrow staircase . . . spiraling skyward on soft marble treads, pitted and worn.
The voices echo from below. Beseeching.
They are behind me, unyielding, closing in.
They do not understand what is coming . . . nor what I have done for them!
Ungrateful land!
As I climb, the visions come hard . . . the lustful bodies writhing in fiery rain, the gluttonous souls floating in excrement, the treacherous villains frozen in Satan's icy grasp.
I climb the final stairs and arrive at the top, staggering near dead into the damp morning air. I rush to the head- high wall, peering through the slits. Far below is the blessed city that I have made my sanctuary from those who exiled me.
The voices call out, arriving close behind me. "What you've done is madness!"
Madness breeds madness.
"For the love of God," they shout, "tell us where you've hidden it!"
For precisely the love of God, I will not.
I stand now, cornered, my back to the cold stone. They stare deep into my clear green eyes, and their expressions darken, no longer cajoling, but threatening. "You know we have our methods. We can force you to tell us where it is."
For that reason, I have climbed halfway to heaven.
Without warning, I turn and reach up, curling my fingers onto the high ledge, pulling myself up, scrambling onto my knees, then standing. . . unsteady at the precipice. Guide me, dear Virgil, across the void.
They rush forward in disbelief, wanting to grab at my feet, but fearing they will upset my balance and knock me off. They beg now, in quiet desperation, but I have turned my back. I know what I must do.
Beneath me, dizzyingly far beneath me, the red tile roofs spread out like a sea of fire on the countryside, illuminating the fair land upon which giants once roamed . . . Giotto, Donatello, Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, Botticelli.
I inch my toes to the edge.
"Come down!" they shout. "It's not too late!"
O, willful ignorants! Do you not see the future? Do you not grasp the splendor of my creation? The necessity?
I will gladly make this ultimate sacrifice . . . and with it I will extinguish your final hope of finding what you seek.
You will never locate it in time.
Hundreds of feet below, the cobblestone piazza beckons like a tranquil oasis. How I long for more time . . . but time is the one commodity even my vast fortunes cannot afford.
In these final seconds, I gaze down at the piazza, and I behold a sight that startles me.
I see your face.
You are gazing up at me from the shadows. Your eyes are mournful, and yet in them I sense a veneration for what I have accomplished. You understand I have no choice. For the love of Mankind, I must protect my masterpiece.
It grows even now . . . waiting . . . simmering beneath the bloodred waters of the lagoon that reflects no stars.
And so, I lift my eyes from yours and I contemplate the horizon. High above this burdened world, I make my final supplication.
Dearest God, I pray the world remembers my name not as a monstrous sinner, but as the glorious savior you know I truly am. I pray Mankind will understand the gift I leave behind.
My gift is the future.
My gift is salvation.
My gift is Inferno.
With that, I whisper my amen . . . and take my final step, into the abyss.
Chapter 1
The memories materialized slowly . . . like bubbles surfacing from the darkness of a bottomless well.
A veiled woman.
Robert Langdon gazed at her across a river whose churning waters ran red with blood. On the far bank, the woman stood facing him, motionless, solemn, her face hidden by a shroud. In her hand she gripped a blue tainia cloth, which she now raised in honor of the sea of corpses at her feet. The smell of death hung everywhere.
Seek, the woman whispered. And ye shall find.
Langdon heard the words as if she had spoken them inside his head. "Who are you?" he called out, but his voice made no sound.
Time grows short, she whispered. Seek and find.
Langdon took a step toward the river, but he could see the waters were bloodred and too deep to traverse. When Langdon raised his eyes again to the veiled woman, the bodies at her feet had multiplied. There were hundreds of them now, maybe thousands, some still alive, writhing in agony, dying unthinkable deaths . . . consumed by fire, buried in feces, devouring one another. He could hear the mournful cries of human suffering echoing across the water.
The woman moved toward him, holding out her slender hands, as if beckoning for help.
"Who are you?!" Langdon again shouted.
In response, the woman reached up and slowly lifted the veil from her face. She was strikingly beautiful, and yet older than Langdon had imagined-in her sixties perhaps, stately and strong, like a timeless statue.
She had a sternly set jaw, deep soulful eyes, and long, silver- gray hair that cascaded over her shoulders in ringlets. An amulet of lapis lazuli hung around her neck- a single snake coiled around a staff.
Langdon sensed he knew her . . . trusted her. But how? Why?
She pointed now to a writhing pair of legs, which protruded upside down from the earth, apparently belonging to some poor soul who had been buried headfi rst to his waist. The man's pale thigh bore a single letter- written in mud- R.
R? Langdon thought, uncertain. As in . . . Robert? "Is that . . . me?"
The woman's face revealed nothing. Seek and find, she repeated.
Without warning, she began radiating a white light . . . brighter and brighter. Her entire body started vibrating intensely, and then, in a rush of thunder, she exploded into a thousand splintering shards of light.
Langdon bolted awake, shouting.
The room was bright. He was alone. The sharp smell of medicinal alcohol hung in the air, and somewhere a machine pinged in quiet rhythm with his heart. Langdon tried to move his right arm, but a sharp pain restrained him. He looked down and saw an IV tugging at the skin of his forearm.
His pulse quickened, and the machines kept pace, pinging more rapidly.
Where am I? What happened?
The back of Langdon's head throbbed, a gnawing pain. Gingerly, he reached up with his free arm and touched his scalp, trying to locate the source of his headache. Beneath his matted hair, he found the hard nubs of a dozen or so stitches caked with dried blood.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember an accident.
Nothing. A total blank.
Think.
Only darkness.
A man in scrubs hurried in, apparently alerted by Langdon's racing heart monitor. He had a shaggy beard, bushy mustache, and gentle eyes that radiated a thoughtful calm beneath his overgrown eyebrows.
"What . . . happened?" Langdon managed. "Did I have an accident?"
The bearded man put a finger to his lips and then rushed out, calling for someone down the hall.
Langdon turned his head, but the movement sent a spike of pain radiating through his skull. He took deep breaths and let the pain pass. Then, very gently and methodically, he surveyed his sterile surroundings.
The hospital room had a single bed. No flowers. No cards. Langdon saw his clothes on a nearby counter, folded inside a clear plastic bag.
They were covered with blood.
My God. It must have been bad.
Now Langdon rotated his head very slowly toward the window beside his bed. It was dark outside. Night. All Langdon could see in the glass was his own reflection- an ashen stranger, pale and weary, attached to tubes and wires, surrounded by medical equipment.
Voices approached in the hall, and Langdon turned his gaze back toward the room. The doctor returned, now accompanied by a woman.
She appeared to be in her early thirties. She wore blue scrubs and had tied her blond hair back in a thick ponytail that swung behind her as she walked.
"I'm Dr. Sienna Brooks," she said, giving Langdon a smile as she entered. "I'll be working with Dr. Marconi tonight."
Langdon nodded weakly.
Tall and lissome, Dr. Brooks moved with the assertive gait of an athlete.
Even in shapeless scrubs, she had a willowy elegance about her.
Despite the absence of any makeup that Langdon could see, her complexion appeared unusually smooth, the only blemish a tiny beauty mark just above her lips. Her eyes, though a gentle brown, seemed unusually penetrating, as if they had witnessed a profundity of experience rarely encountered by a person her age.
"Dr. Marconi doesn't speak much English," she said, sitting down beside him, "and he asked me to fill out your admittance form." She gave him another smile.
"Thanks," Langdon croaked.
"Okay," she began, her tone businesslike. "What is your name?"
It took him a moment. "Robert . . . Langdon."
She shone a penlight in Langdon's eyes. "Occupation?"
This information surfaced even more slowly. "Professor. Art history. . . and symbology. Harvard University."
Dr. Brooks lowered the light, looking startled. The doctor with the bushy eyebrows looked equally surprised.
"You're . . . an American?"
Langdon gave her a confused look.
"It's just . . ." She hesitated. "You had no identification when you arrived tonight. You were wearing Harris Tweed and Somerset loafers, so we guessed British."
"I'm American," Langdon assured her, too exhausted to explain his preference for well- tailored clothing.
"Any pain?"
"My head," Langdon replied, his throbbing skull only made worse by the bright penlight. Thankfully, she now pocketed it, taking Langdon's wrist and checking his pulse.
......
《Inferno: A Novel (Robert Langdon)》精装版,这个书名本身就足够吸引人了。Robert Langdon,这位标志性的符号学教授,总是能带来一场场惊心动魄的智力冒险。我还没有真正翻开它,但仅仅是看到它放在书架上,就让我充满了好奇与期待。Dan Brown的写作风格,我一直都很欣赏,他总能在历史、艺术和科学的交织中,构建出扣人心弦的故事。我知道,这次的故事也一定不会让我失望,会充满了各种古老的符号、失落的传说,以及那些隐藏在黑暗中的阴谋。精装版的质感,更是让人爱不释手,仿佛每一页都承载着一份沉甸甸的文化底蕴。我喜欢在安静的夜晚,泡一杯咖啡,然后沉浸在Langdon教授的世界里,跟随他一起解开谜团,探索未知的领域。我相信,《Inferno》这本书,将再次带领我进行一次非凡的旅程,让我对人类文明、对生命本身产生更深刻的思考。它不仅仅是一本书,更像是一扇门,通往一个充满智慧与启示的全新世界。
评分啊,《Inferno》,终于拿到这本精装版了!Robert Langdon系列的书总是能让我一口气读完,这次也不例外。封面设计就透着一股神秘感,拿在手里沉甸甸的,非常有质感。虽然我还没来得及细读,但光是看到这封面,就仿佛能嗅到古老欧洲的尘埃和艺术的气息。Langdon教授嘛,我知道他这次肯定又要卷入一场惊心动魄的智力冒险,解开一系列与历史、艺术、甚至宗教有关的谜团。每次读他的故事,都像是在上一堂生动有趣的历史课,而且还是自带紧张刺激的解谜环节的。我非常期待他这次会带我们穿越到哪个充满故事的城市,又会遇到哪些令人拍案叫绝的古老符号和密码。我猜一定会有不少关于达芬奇或者文艺复兴时期的线索,毕竟这是Dan Brown的拿手好戏。而且精装版的印刷质量通常都很棒,纸张摸起来舒服,图片细节也能得到很好的呈现。我一般喜欢先在安静的午后,泡上一杯热茶,然后慢慢地翻开这本书,享受那种沉浸在故事世界里的感觉。我相信,这一次,《Inferno》也不会让我失望,它会像一团燃烧的火焰,点燃我的好奇心,让我跟随Langdon一起,踏上那段充满未知与危险的旅程。
评分这本书的出现,简直是给了我一个意外的惊喜!《Inferno》的精装版本,光是拿在手里就能感受到它的分量和精致。Robert Langdon的名字,本身就代表着一场智力的盛宴,一次跨越时空的探险。我还没有开始阅读,但仅仅是想象着Langdon教授那标志性的、在危机中冷静思考的形象,就足以让我心潮澎湃。我知道,这本书一定会充满了各种晦涩的符号、古老的谜语,以及那些隐藏在历史长河中的秘密。Dan Brown的写作风格总是那么引人入胜,他能够将枯燥的历史知识和复杂的艺术理论,巧妙地编织进一个引人入胜的故事里,让人在不知不觉中就学到了很多东西。而且,他对细节的把握更是出神入化,仿佛你能亲身感受到那些古老城市的氛围,触摸到那些珍贵的艺术品。这本书的精装版本,我猜想它的纸质和印刷都会非常出色,能够完美地呈现书中可能出现的插图和重要细节。我已经迫不及待地想要打开它,让Langdon教授带我进入一个充满阴谋和真相的世界,去解开那些隐藏在“炼狱”深处的奥秘。我坚信,这绝对会是一次令人难忘的阅读体验。
评分“Inferno: A Novel (Robert Langdon)”——这个书名本身就带着一种宿命感和压迫感,而精装版的质感更是加剧了这种期待。Robert Langdon,这位符号学教授,总是能以其独特的视角和渊博的知识,引领我们进入那些尘封的历史和神秘的领域。我还没来得及深入阅读,但仅仅是书本的物理存在,就仿佛已经蕴含了无数的秘密等待被揭开。Dan Brown的叙事节奏是出了名的快,而且他的故事总是充满了意想不到的转折,让人欲罢不能。我总是被他那些将古老文化、艺术、宗教与现代悬疑巧妙结合的写法所吸引。我毫不怀疑,这次的“炼狱”之旅,定然会充满挑战,也定然会让我们对某些根深蒂固的观念产生新的思考。这本书的精装版,我想它的装帧设计一定也和故事的主题相呼应,透露出一种庄重而又神秘的气息。翻开它的那一刻,我预感自己会立刻被卷入一个宏大的漩涡,与Langdon教授一起,在历史的迷宫中寻找真相,对抗未知的威胁。这是一本让人期待已久的书,它的到来,就像是在平静的水面投下了一颗石子,激起了无数的涟漪。
评分这本《Inferno》精装版,从拿到手的那一刻起,就散发着一种独特的魅力。Robert Langdon系列的书,总是能给我带来一种智力上的激荡和对世界认知的拓展。我还没来得及细读,但光是这本书本身,就足够引人遐想。我知道Langdon教授这次的冒险,肯定会再次穿越历史的长河,解开那些隐藏在艺术、宗教和科学深处的密码。Dan Brown的写作方式,总是能把最复杂的主题变得通俗易懂,而且情节跌宕起伏,让人读得心惊肉跳,却又放不下手中的书。我喜欢他笔下的那种严谨的逻辑推理,以及那些关于历史文化背景的详实描绘,仿佛每一次阅读都是一次丰富知识的宝库。这本书的精装版,我认为它的纸张和装帧一定都非常出色,能够给读者带来最佳的阅读体验,让我在阅读过程中能够更加沉浸在故事的世界里。我迫不及待地想要跟随Langdon教授,一起踏上这场充满未知的“炼狱”之旅,去探索那些关于生命、死亡和人类未来的深刻命题。
评分很不错的小说,但是疑似盗版。
评分好书,推荐,很好看”。。。。。。。
评分好评书不错,很好,很详细。
评分看《看见》的序言时,就被这一句“不要因为走得太远,忘了我们为什么出发”深深打动了,所以不停地划线,想到时再摘录下来,没想到真正摘录起来,竟然摘录了一百多条,五六千字,完全成为了五笔练习了,本想再分一类,后来想想也没有必要,还是让它按照本来的顺序吧。其实这些句子最好是看完之后再回头看一下比较好,还能回想一下当时看到这些句子时的感受,那种感受是最重要的。 1.不要因为走得太远,忘了我们为什么出发。——陈虻 2.当一个人关心别人的时候,才会忘记自己。 3.你可以选择不当记者,但是你当了记者,就没有选择不去的权利。 4.人们在还能笑的时候,是不容易被打败的。 5.只问耕耘,不问收获。 6.我不管那么多,心里就剩了一个念头,我必须知道。到那个时候,我才知道什么是陈虻说的欲望。 7.痛苦也是一种清洗,是对牺牲的人的告慰。 8.我看到了一些东西,但只不过是隐约地感到怪异,仅此而已,仅此而已。我觉得自己只是大系统里的一粒小螺丝,一切自会正常运转,我只是瞥到了一点点异样,但我没有接到指令,这不是我节目的任务,我觉得转过头很快会忘记。然后我就忘掉了。(关于非典的说明) 9.“在清水里呛呛,血水里泡泡,咸水里滚滚” 10.人性自身却有它的力量,它从故事的枝条上抽枝发芽长出来,多一根枝条,就多开一层花,越来越繁茂广大。 11.对人的认识有多深,呈现才有多深。 12.最大的谜,其实是孩子的内心世界,能不能打开它,可能是每个人都需要面对的问题。(双城的创伤) 13.我从来没想过一个节目会以无解来结尾,一直到我明白真实的世界即是可能如此。 14.红楼梦——世事洞明皆学问,人情练达即文章。 15.生和死,苦难和苍老,都蕴涵在每一个人的体内,总有一天我们会与之遭逢。我们终将浑然难分,像水溶于水中。 16.那是因为我们已经不是大多数人,在很大程度上已经免于受辱了。——作家野夫 17.人是一样的,对幸福的愿望一样,对自身完整的需要一样,只是她生在这儿,这么活着,我来到那儿,那么活着,都是偶然。万物流变,千百万年,谁都是一小粒,嵌在世界的秩序当中。 18.石头就在那儿,我不仅要让人看见它,还要让人感觉到它。——爱伦堡 19.他人经受的,我必经受。 20.今天你可以推动获得之母的权利,你不抗争,明天你同样会推动更多的权利……中国现在这种状况不是偶然造成的,而是长期温水煮青蛙的结果……有一天,这些事情都会落在你的身上。 21.五十年后,在帕克斯的葬礼上,美国国务卿赖斯说:“没有她,我不可能站在这里。” 22.人人生而平等,造物主赋予他们若干不可让与的权利,其中包括生存权、自由权和追求幸福的权利。——《独立宣言》 23.“中国人习惯了听从权威,大家都被这样教育着,权威是至高无上的” 24.保重身体,来日方长。 25.一九四六年,胡适在北大的演讲中说:“你们要争独立,不要争自由。”……“你们说要争自由,自由是针对外面束缚而言的,独立是你们自己的事,给你自由而不独立,仍是奴隶。独立要不盲从,不受欺骗,不依赖门户,不依赖别人,这就是独立的精神。”——郝劲松 26.“能独立表达自己的观点,却不傲慢,对政治表示服从,却不卑躬屈膝。能积极地参与国家的政策,看到弱者知道同情,看到邪恶知道愤怒,我认为他才算是一个真正的公民”——郝劲松 27.“记者提供的是事实,不是情绪” 28.“痛苦是财富,这话是扯淡。姑娘,痛苦就是痛苦,对痛苦的思考才是财富”——陈虻 29.“电视节目习惯把一个人塑造为好人,另一个是坏人,实际上这个世界上没有好人和坏人,只有做了好事的人,和做了坏事的人” 30.“这个社会对媒体的容忍有多大,这个社会进步就有多大,一个文明、民主、法治的社会是需要传媒监督的” 31.“俄罗斯的人民用花朵纪念她,这个世界上有一种力量,比什么都柔弱,但比恐惧更强大” 32.“不要因为一样东西死去就神话它”这话硬而清脆,像银针落地。 33.“质问当权者是我一直的努力,我认为事实本身是存在的”——丹.拉瑟 34.泪水和愤怒是人之常情,但我慢慢觉得公众对记者这个职业的要求是揭示这个世界,不是挥舞拳头站在什么东西面前。 35.“保持对不同论述的警惕,才能保持自己的独立性。探寻就是要不断相信、不断怀疑、不断幻灭、不断摧毁、不断重建,为的只是避免成为偏见的附庸。或者说,煽动各种偏见的互殴,从而取得平衡,这是我所理解的探寻”——某位观众 36.思想的本质是不安,一个人一旦左右摇摆,新的思想萌芽就出现了,自会剥离掉泥土露出来。
评分引申为"风流浪子,好色之徒"),能用六种语言泡妞,参与负责美国的火星探索计划(喜欢邀请看上的女孩去火星兜风,也因此在第二季引发一场事故,遗憾地与
评分发货快!质量好!花费省!
评分如果一个人没有话语自由和出版自由,那人权也同样没得谈。我用同样是基督徒的小马丁路德金的名言回击那些毁谤攻击Dan Brown的人们:“只要这个世界上还有一个人不自由,那么我们就都不是自由人!”
评分感觉还不错
评分布朗的经典著作——《达 芬奇密码》由Doubleday于2003年3月18日出版。该书首次发行就占据《纽约时报》精装畅销书排行榜达144周次之多,其中54次夺得该榜冠军。该书被翻译成51种语言,全球印刷了8100万册,使贝塔斯曼集团和兰登书屋名利双收。该小说也成为与《圣经》、《哈利波特》《乱世佳人》并列的全世界被阅读最多的前10部小说之一,经久不衰。《失落的秘符》也是全球销量最大的小说之一,销量达3千万册,被译成48种语言。随着《达 芬奇密码》的出版,丹 布朗早期的小说《数字城堡》、《骗局》和《天使与魔鬼》都成为销量数百万册的世界著名畅销小说。
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