Ion Minulescu - Works

Works

  • Romanţe pentru mai târziu ("Songs for Later On", poems, 1909)
  • Casa cu geamuri portocalii ("The House with Orange Windows", prose, 1908)
  • De vorbă cu mine însumi ("Conversing with Myself", poems, 1913)
  • Măşti de bronz şi lampioane de porţelan ("Bronze Masks and Porcelain Fairy Lights", prose, 1920)
  • Pleacă berzele ("The Storks Are Leaving") and Lulu Popescu - plays, 1921
  • Roşu, galben şi albastru ("Red, Yellow and Blue", novel, 1924)
  • Omul care trebuia să moară sau Ciracul lui Hegesias ("The Man Who Was Supposed to Die or Hesias' Hanger-on", play, 1924)
  • Manechinul sentimental ("The Sentimental Mannequin", play, 1926)
  • Spovedanii ("Confessions", poems, 1927)
  • Allegro ma non troppo (play, 1927)
  • Corigent la limba română ("Flunking in Romanian Language", novel, 1928)
  • Amantul anonim ("The Anonymous Lover", play, 1928)
  • Strofe pentru toată lumea ("Verses for Everyone", poems, 1930)
  • Cetiţi-le noaptea ("Read Them at Nighttime", prose, 1930)
  • Bărbierul regelui Midas sau Voluptatea adevărului ("King Midas's Barber or The Voluptuousness of Truth", novel, 1931)
  • Porumbiţa fără aripi ("The Wingless Dove", play, 1931)
  • 3 şi cu Rezeda 4 ("3, and with Rezeda 4", novel, 1933)
  • Nevasta lui Moş Zaharia ("Uncle Zaharia's Wife", play, 1937)

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Famous quotes containing the word works:

    “Now they express
    All that’s content to wear a worn-out coat,
    All actions done in patient hopelessness,
    All that ignores the silences of death,
    Thinking no further than the hand can hold,
    All that grows old,
    Yet works on uselessly with shortened breath.”
    —Philip Larkin (1922–1986)

    “The discovery of Pennsylvania’s coal and iron was the deathblow to Allaire. The works were moved to Pennsylvania so hurriedly that for years pianos and the larger pieces of furniture stood in the deserted houses.”
    —For the State of New Jersey, U.S. public relief program (1935-1943)

    “Your hooves have stamped at the black margin of the wood,
    Even where horrible green parrots call and swing.
    My works are all stamped down into the sultry mud.”
    —William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)