I am an internist. During my residency years, I diecovered this book. It made me a distinguished resident in nephrology in a remarkably short time. Nephrology is the most complicated branch of internal medicine but this book has made it unbelievebly easy, meaningful and attractive. It is specialy written for those who want to learn complex issues as soon as possible.

If you are looking for a handbook on current research and thinking on the middle class in America this is it. It covers all the key issues in the field and then spins them out in new directions. The essays by Sven Beckert, Debby Applegate, Bruce Laurie and Joyce Appleby stand out as especially valuable, with provocative insights which extend well beyond their specific subject matter.

Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life.

Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning."

Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book.

Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers."

And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner."

Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."

To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's.

But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.

Readers who seek a comprehensive collection of Robert Musil's work - exclusive of his opus, "The Man Without Qualities" - will be well-served by this edition. It contains most of his short stories, some of his non-fiction writings, and most importantly, his first novel, "Young Torless" - an early look at Musil's craft which also introduces us to the themes contained in his later works. The bare plot of "Torless" reads deceptively like one of those bad teen dramas on the WB network: it is the tale of secrets and betrayals among schoolboys, here in the turn-of-the-century Austro-Hungarian Empire. But in Musil's hands, as always, it is a work of deep philosophical ideas; he uses the relationships among the boys to explore the nature of power - how it is gained, how it corrupts, how it destroys. We are required to confront the problem of truth and the fallacy of objective morality. The disillusionment that Young Torless feels when his teacher is unable to explain the theory of imaginary numbers - telling his pupil that he must merely "accept" that they exist - is the same skepticism which Musil and the other modernist writers felt for all ideas, whether science, history, politics or faith. It was through literature that Musil believed that he might bring order to the world, that he might re-create ideas. For any reader who wishes an introduction to the variety of Robert Musil's work, this is a good start.

Drs. Begel and Burton provide an insightful compendium on the psyche of athletes of all levels. No student of sports should miss this volume.

This is a book of quotes by the Author arranged by subject and bound together as a book. When I read the description I thought it was a series of Talks like Ouspensky's "Fourth Way" or "The Psychology of Man's Possible Evolution". In this book Burton focuses on the main tenant of the Fourth Way which is the practice of "Self-Remembering". Burton seems well read as he quotes many famous authors who one gets the impression that Burton believes are beyond men numbers 1, 2 and 3 especially Goethe. At times one wonders if Burton is speaking beyond his experience. A very curious quote in the book is "After many years of teaching, I have tired of the novelty of the system except for self remembering."

I have been interested in the teachings of Gurdjieff/Ouspensky for the better part of 20 years, and though I have had friends who have been involved in "The Work," I personally never have been, largely because I'm inclined to believe that the vaunted objective of "waking up" is most likely a chimera, and that the harsh rigorism of these teachings is exploitative of the natural sense of inferiorty and masochism that is latent in most human beings. In addition, I have increasingly tended to find the personalities of both Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, as evidenced by their biographers, repugnant: the former often seemingly insane, the latter insufferably pedantic; and both, evidently, hopeless alcoholics (though certain of their biographers come up with the most ingenious excuses for their behavior). The other thing I find particularly offensive about Gurdjieff and Ouspensky is their quasi-scientific cosmolgy, which contradicts much of what we know about science, and which at the end of the day is just too silly to take seriously.

The one major idea promoted by these teachers, however, which does resonate within me (though it was harped upon more by O. than G), is that of "Eternal Recurrence," and which has meant a great deal to others, too, such as Heraclitus, Nietzsche and T.S. Eliot, to give three examples. For "Eternal Recurrence" seems to me to be a very plausible explanation for the "metaphyiscal" dimension of our plantetary existence, without which the universe would simply have to be recreated anew, moment-by-moment. For me, there seems little reason to doubt that everything we do does indeed possess ramifications sub specie aeternitatis.

The author, Robert Burton, seems to feel this way, too, and his book downplays, without dispensing with, the regrettable cosmological basis upon which the teachings of G. & O. rests, and almost exclusively focuses upon what only might be accomplished in the here and now by simply "remembering ourselves." Unlike Ouspensky and Gurdjieff, there is something Zenlike and essentialist about Burton's book in the sense that it doesn't prominently display such cringe-worthy notions as the coldness of the sun, the consciousness of stones, incomprehensible hydrogen tables, the enneagram -- and all the other Gurdjieffian malarkey that seems so enticing to the half-educated. In fact, contra G. & O, both of whom you can hardly ever quote to the unconvinced without seeming like an unregenerate New Age lunatic, there are even passages in Burton's book that rival Marcus Aurelius in terms of their unpretentious immediacy, fitting for practically everyone except the spiritually ossified.

All things considered, though, as "inferior" human beings, we tend to make saviors out of those who seem to know a little bit more than we do, and at the end of the day I'm inclined to think that the teachings of Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, Burton, et al, have helped precisely nobody to transcend in any meaningful way the horrific eventualities that comprise the fate of everyone who dwells in this vale of tears -- fascinating as those teachings otherwise might be.

But then again, as Montaigne would say, what the hell do I know?

Being intimately familiar with the writings of Mr. Gurdjieff and Mr. Ouspensky, I can say that Robert Burton's teaching is a direct extension of everything those two men practiced and taught. Also, as a 25-year student of Robert Burton's, I know that nothing is easier to misunderstand than a teacher and a school. Mr. Burton's book, Self-Remembering, is a pure encapsulation of how he teaches and how he himself works, and the fact that self-remembering is the hub of practicing the Fourth Way. But, more importantly, this book offers readers an emotional--not just an intellectual--handle for determining whether they see something unique in the idea of self-remembering, and in the idea that an individual cannot work or evolve alone; that a school is necessary for establishing a correct foundation of knowledge, methods, and guidance. Readers may also want to keep in mind that this book was not written originally for publication, but for Mr. Burton's students. It was not intended to persuade anyone of anything, but rather to convey the understanding of a conscious teacher to his students, largely as a reminder to them of how to re-connect emotionally to their own need to make efforts to actually awaken.

This is one of the novels that I have most looked foreward to reading. I was so happy to discover the greatest Austrian, if not European, novelist of the 20th century. I loved the title, and I usually love modernist literature and the difficulties it presents.

With that said, reading this novel has been one of the most tedious and painful experiences I ever subjected myself to. I don't really care about any of the characters (how can you care for someone without qualities??), there is no plot, the characterization seems cliched, the ideas seem trite.

This novel probably does give a good indiciation of how the Austro-Hungarian Empire must have felt in relationship to Europe right before World War I--someone just needed to shoot this cumbersome beast and put it out of its misery; the novel is the same way--compared to Kafka, Joyce, Proust, Svevo,even Faulkner, this novel doesn't hold much interest.

I do feel that students of literature should at least read the first section, "A Sort of Introduction" to get a feel for what Musil is doing. But once one gets the point of the novel of ideas, one doesn't need to finish the rest of the novel, unless one is really into it (hey, enough readers seem to like it, maybe you will be one of them.)

Finally, this is the type of book that looks good on a shelf, and the type of book that people read during graduate school and then never read again. It is a very important book, but knowing what Musil accomplished may be more of a prize than reading the entire novel. If anything you can wow your literary friends by mentioning a great Austrian writer with a name that sounds like cereal--don't worry most won't ask you anything more about the book.

A summary of this book is not at all representative for its contains. The background story is at most uninteresting. What made me read this novel was the delicate description of the inside of Ulrich's head. His thoughts are deeply influenced by the troubled times of his pre-war Vienna, as are the reflections of the other main characters. In my opinion, Musil was way ahead of his times, judging by the scientific description of the passions and thoughts of the persons described. The flaw of the book, as I see it, is that he sometimes allows himself to wander too far off with his mind-spins. The result is slightly incomprehensible at times, if not contradictory. You need time to profit from reading this book, but do it.

Like Thomas Mann's "Magic Mountain", this immense book aims at giving an overview of the ideas of its time. Musil is a more precise thinker and stylist than Mann, and "The Man Without Qualities" has a lot more to offer than Mann's book.

There are two opposing tendencies in the novel: On the one hand, Musil offers a highly entertaining satirical portrait of Austria-Hungary right before the First World War. His detached hero Ulrich meets all kinds of bizarre people, who happen to be members of the ruling class of the country. Like a vivisecteur, Ulrich analyzes the philosophies and ideologies of his time. On the other hand, he dreams of a kind of new mysticism, an emotional purity that is opposed to the dross surrounding him; together with his sister he embarks on quest for "the other state of being". Musil never finished the novel, he died before he could achieve a conclusion; which may have been impossible anyway.

This gigantic torso of a novel is arguably the greatest novel of the century. I have not yet come across anything that could rival it. Musil's prose is so precise that after reading a few pages you feel that your mind has been refreshed and cleared. This is not a novel to be read in a few days, but even if you never manage to finish it, you will always come back to it.

This purports to be a medical textbook, and many of the obviously learned author's quotations are from half-forgotten late mediæval medical writers. A plausible translation of the title into modern terms would be "A Study of Abnormal Psychology." The application of Scholastic methods to this topic --- so similar, and yet so different, from contemporary academic discourse --- creates a curious impression. He invokes astrology and theology in forming his psychology.

But in fact, Burton uses this arcane subject to go off on a profound and lengthy meditation on the melancholies and misfortunes of life itself. The author, it seems, was easily distracted, and his distractions are our gain. The passages on the Melancholy of Scholars, and the Melancholy of Lovers, are themselves worthy of the price of admission.

His prose is unlike anything before him or since him. It has some kinship to the paradoxical and simile-laden style of the Euphuists, but his individual sentences are often pithy and brief.

This seventeenth-century classic ought to be read by anyone interested in the period, in early psychology, or in the history of English prose.

Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life.

Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning."

Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book.

Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers."

And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner."

Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."

To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's.

But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.

Don't be misled by the title of this book, nor by what others may have told you about it. In the first place, it isn't so much a book about 'Melancholy' (or abnormal psychology, or depression, or whatever) as a book about Burton himself and, ultimately, about humankind. Secondly, it isn't so much a book for students of the history of English prose, as one for lovers of language who joy in the strong taste of English when it was at its most masculine and vigorous. Finally, it isn't so much a book for those interested in the renaissance, as for those interested in life.

Burton is not a writer for fops and milquetoasts. He was a crusty old devil who used to go down to the river to listen to the bargemen cursing so that he could keep in touch with the true tongue of his race. Sometimes I think he might have been better off as the swashbuckling Captain of a pirate ship. But somehow he ended up as a scholar, and instead of watching the ocean satisfyingly swallowing up his victims, he himself became an ocean of learning swallowing up whole libraries. His book, in consequence, although it may have begun as a mere 'medical treatise,' soon exploded beyond its bounds to become, in the words of one of his editors, "a grand literary entertainment, as well as a rich mine of miscellaneous learning."

Of his own book he has this to say : "... a rhapsody of rags gathered together from several dung-hills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, without art, invention, judgement, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull, and dry; I confess all..." But don't believe him, he's in one of his irascible moods and exaggerating. In fact it's a marvelous book.

Here's a bit more of the crusty Burton I love; it's on his fellow scholars : "Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers."

And here is Burton warming to the subject of contemporary theologians : "Theologasters, if they can but pay ... proceed to the very highest degrees. Hence it comes that such a pack of vile buffoons, ignoramuses wandering in the twilight of learning, ghosts of clergymen, itinerant quacks, dolts, clods, asses, mere cattle, intrude with unwashed feet upon the sacred precincts of Theology, bringing with them nothing save brazen impudence, and some hackneyed quillets and scholastic trifles not good enough for a crowd at a street corner."

Finally a passage I can't resist quoting which shows something of Burton's prose at its best, though I leave you to guess the subject: "... with this tempest of contention the serenity of charity is overclouded, and there be too many spirits conjured up already in this kind in all sciences, and more than we can tell how to lay, which do so furiously rage, and keep such a racket, that as Fabius said, "It had been much better for some of them to have been born dumb, and altogether illiterate, than so far to dote to their own destruction."

To fully appreciate these quotations you would have to see them in context, and I'm conscious of having touched on only one of his many moods and aspects. But a taste for Burton isn't difficult to acquire. He's a mine of curious learning. When in full stride he can be very funny, and it's easy to share his feelings as he often seems to be describing, not so much his own world as today's.

But he does demand stamina. His prose overwhelms and washes over us like a huge tsunami, and for that reason he's probably best taken in small doses. If you are unfamiliar with his work and were to approach him with that in mind, you might find that (as is the case with Montaigne, a very different writer) you had discovered not so much a book as a companion for life.

This is a one stop book. Renal physiology and Acid-Base Balance is explained in detail and in simple terms. Author provides various scenarios for each condition. Implications of each change in renal physiology is described in many occasions.book is divided into four section and after brief introduction major part of the book is about regulation of water and electrolyte and best part is the final chapter where acid-base disorders are explained with physiologic concepts. Relatively thick book on a single subject and therefore coverage is very good yet it is it is very easy to read and understand.Another good part is that each chapter has few questions and you can check yourself with answers provided at the end of the book.

This book describes renal physiology and the regulation of water and electrolyte balance and then reviews various disorders of the above. The author takes a difficult subject and puts it into simple terms and gives excellent examples of the clinical implication of various renal physiologic mechanisms. There are several problems and solutions for each disorder, and these are also helpful in solidifying knowledge. The detail and physiology probably make this book most suitable for clinical and research fellows in nephrology but medical students and residents would find it useful as well. The price makes the book a real value given the amount of excellent information the book contains.

Imagine a story charged with energy, composed of heroes, dragons, monsters, revenge, honor and electrifying battles. Beowulf, an epic tale of a hero that conquers the forces of Evil, it just that. It grasps the reader with its action, drama and adventure and retains them for the duration of the tale.

This excerpt about one of the monsters shows the author's use of chilling figurative language. Prevalent throughout the book, it grips the reader and pulls them into the adventure. "Grendel snatched at the first Geat he came to, ripped him apart, cut his bod to bits with powerful jaws, drank the blood from his veins...death and Grendel's great teeth came together, snapping life shut." Another example: "The beast went back...planning a bloody revenge...counting off the hours till the Almighty's candel went out...Glowing with rage it left the tower, impatient to repay its enemies...the angry monster meant to leave nothing alive..." These are just two of the many illustrations of the foreceful verse that the author uses to seize the reader's imagination and rature.

Beowulf, the epitome of a hero, fights these creatures, leaving his life up to fate. In his words: "Fate will unwind as it must." He bravely forges ahead, with his mind set "to win...or die in battle...live in greatness and courage, or...welcome...death!" To discover the fate of Beowulf and the monsters, pick up the book and read - it will be well worth the time.

Beowulf is the oldest survivng epic in British Literature ("Beowulf"2001 p.1). It's also the longest suviving poem--it consists of over 3000 lines ("Beowulf" 2002 p.1). Even though it was written over eleven centuries ago, this traslated edition was not difficult to understand. Beowulf was throroughly enjoyable to read despite the elaborate killings and the harsh conditions of the dark ages. The style writing was very colorful and very detailed, which made each scene easy to picture. The since of bravery and loyalty to the king, along with the way they referred to their family in the terms of talking about themselves was the most interesting. This showed how inportant it was to know who your family was and their accomplishments.
Since it is the oldest poem in British literature the author is unkown, along with the historical information about the people of the time. Histoy of the time period comes from researchers who looked to the literature of the time, for example Beowulf, along with any other artifacts that would shed light into their cultural societies. This work focuses on the ways people of this time should conduct themselves. The people of this time were fierce and brave, they depended on the reputation of their families to continue their name, and they were always in search of peace (never finding until death). These examples were all the things Beowulf portrayed to show the audience he was a role model of his society and societies to come. This work refers to history of the time throughout the work, anog with giving reference of whom each person was a decendant from, and talks about battles he faced along the jouney of his life. This explains the histor of the work, the history of the time, and a summary of the work.

Beowulf is the oldest existing poem in any modern European language. Written in Old English & dating from around the 8th century, just one copy survived Henry VIII's dissolution of the Catholic monasteries.

The well known story is pretty straightforward; when Hrothgar (a Danish king) is confronted with Grendel, a monster who has taken to attacking his hall Herot, Beowulf of the Geats (Southern Sweden) comes & slays Grendel. Subsequently, Beowulf must slay Grendel's mother and towards the end of his own life, must battle a dragon.

Everyone who has ever taken a survey of English Literature course probably started with Beowulf. One can only hope that they read this 1963 translation by Burton Raffel. He has taken this great epic & provided it with a worthy translation.

Here is a sample:

..And after that bloody Combat the Danes laughed with delight. He who had come to them from across the sea, Bold and strong-minded, had driven affliction Off, purged Herot clean. He was happy, Now, with that night's fierce work; the Danes Had been served as he'd boasted he'd serve them; Beowulf. A prince of Geats, had killed Grendel, Ended the grief, the sorrow, the suffering Forced on Hrothgar's helpless people By a bloodthirsty fiend. No Dane doubted The victory, for the proof, hanging high From the rafters where Beowulf had hung it, was the monster's Arm, claw and shoulder and all.

GRADE: A+