Showing results for "Hans Christian Andersen" in Literature & Fiction

There was once a king's son, no one had so many beautiful books as he. In them he could read of everything that had ever happened in this world, and he could see it all pictured in fine illustrations. He could find out about every race of people and every country, but there was not a single word about where to find the Garden of Paradise, and this, just this, was the very thing that he thought most about.

Hans Christian Andersen was a Danish author and poet. Although a prolific writer of plays, travelogues, novels, and poems, Andersen is best remembered for his fairy tales, a literary genre he so mastered that he himself has become as mythical as the tales he wrote. Andersen's popularity is not limited to children; his stories — called eventyrs, or "fantastic tales" — express themes that transcend age and nationality.

A collection of eighteen fairy tales - some popular, some lesser known - by famous Danish author Hans Christian Andersen.View our full collection of podcasts at our website: https://www.solgoodmedia.com or YouTube channel: https://www.solgood.org/subscribe Check out our ad free subscription: http://www.adfreesounds.com for our Premium, 10 Hour Sounds

Esta espectacular colección para niños contiene más de 30 ilustraciones para crear una mejor experiencia para usted y sus hijos.

Hans Christian Andersens Märchen bezaubern, betören und berühren. Außergewöhnliche Figuren und Charaktere aus dem Märchen-Universum versetzen Sie in eine besondere Atmosphäre aus Spannung und Neugierde, in welcher Sie manch Überraschungen erwarten. Lassen Sie sich entführen und verführen in eine zauberhafte Welt, geprägt von magischen Momenten, mystischer Moral und Menschlichkeit.

Die Märchen von Hans Christian Andersen (1805–1875) gehören zu dem zeitlosen Schatz der Weltliteratur. Sie sind für Kinder geschrieben, denen die Erwachsenen gleichwohl – so Andersen – über die Schultern blicken. Mit der Lesung von Axel Grube wird der besondere Zauber der Erzählungen in ihrer Nähe wie auch (geheimnisvollen) Tiefgründigkeit zu einem unmittelbaren Erlebnis. "Wer sich mit Kindern die Märchen von Grube erzählen lässt, macht die Feststellung, dass sie genauso gebannt lauschen wie die erwachsenen Märchenhörer." (Monika Klutzny / Die Welt).

"Far from here, in the land the swallows flee to in winter, lived a king who had eleven sons and one daughter, Elisa." So begins the story of Elisa and her brothers. At the beginning, everything was well, they lived peacefully in the castle and were loved and indulged by their father, the king. But, one day the king decided to remarry and their stepmother did not want them. None of them. Elisa was sent to the country and the eleven boys were turned into swans.

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but I have plenty of light: my room is high up in the house, and there is a good prospect over the roofs of the opposite houses. During the first few days I lived in the town, I felt very lonely and low-spirited. Instead of the forest and the green hills of the country, I had nothing but black chimney-pots on the horizon of my view. And then I had not a single friend, nor one familiar face to greet me.

The storks tell many, many stories to their young ones, all about the bogs and marshes. In general each story is suited to the age and sense of the little storks. While the youngest ones are satisfied with, "Kribble-krabble, plurry-murry," and think it a very fine story, the older ones demand something with more sense to it, or at least something about the family.

This is a story of the sand dunes of Jutland, but it doesn't begin there; no, it begins far away to the south, in Spain. The ocean is the highway between the two countries. So now let your thoughts journey to Spain!

Colin Everroad should be dead, but after his lobster boat founders during a violent storm off the Maine coast, he wakes up on a beach. He’s cold, but unscathed...with strange memories of a face he can’t conjure and a voice he doesn’t recognize. No one can explain it, but a friend suggests Colin was saved by one of the mer. Except the mer don’t exist. Do they? But…that face. That voice. Someone was in the water with him. Someone saved him. If not a mer, then who? And whoever it was, Colin wants to see his face. Lir broke protocol by rescuing a land person.

A couple of large ships were sent up toward the North Pole to discover the boundaries of land and sea and how far it would be possible for the human race to penetrate in that direction.

There was once a young man who studied to become a poet. He wanted to be a poet by next Easter, so that he could marry and earn his living from poetry, which he knew was just a matter of making things up. But he had no imagination. He firmly believed he had been born too late. Every subject had been used up before he had a chance at it, and there was nothing in the world left to write about.

Es war so schön draußen auf dem Land, es war Sommer – die Weizenfelder waren golden, der Hafer war grün, und unten zwischen den grünen Wiesen stand das Heu aufgestapelt. Dort schritt der Storch auf seinen roten Beinen umher und klapperte auf Ägyptisch, was die Sprache war, die seine Mutter ihn gelehrt hatte. Rund um die Felder und Wiesenländer erhoben sich riesige Wälder, in denen verborgene tiefe Seen lagen. Ja, es war in der Tat wunderschön dort draußen auf dem Land.

The country around the town of Kjöge is very bare. The town itself lies by the seashore, which is always beautiful, although it might be more beautiful than it is, because all around are flat fields, and a forest a long way off. But one always finds something beautiful in the spot that is one's own home, something for which one longs, even when one is in the most wonderful spot in the world.

Yes, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America will become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia. In a thousand years they will come!

There came a soldier marching down the high road-one, two! one, two! He had his knapsack on his back and his sword at his side as he came home from the wars. On the road he met a witch, an ugly old witch, a witch whose lower lip dangled right down on her chest.

There is an old fairy tale: "The Thorny Road of Honor was trodden by a marksman named Bryde, to whom came great honor and dignity, but not until after manifold adversities and peril of life." More than one of us had heard that tale in childhood, and perhaps read it in later years, and thought of his own unsung "thorny road" and "manifold adversities." Romance and reality are very nearly alike, but romance has its harmonious ending here on earth, while reality more often delays it and leads us to time and eternity.

Poor John was greatly troubled, because his father was very ill and could not recover. Except for these two, there was no one in their small room. The lamp on the table had almost burned out, for it was quite late at night.

A mother sat by her little child. She was so sad, so afraid he would die. The child's face was pallid. His little eyes were shut. His breath came faintly now, and then heavily as if he were sighing, and the mother looked more sadly at the dear little soul.