Giulio Einaudi
Giulio Einaudi (Italian pronunciation: [ˈdʒuːljo eiˈnaudi]) (2 January 1912 – 5 April 1999) was an Italian book publisher. The eponymous company that he founded in 1933 became "a European wellspring of fine literature, intellectual thought and political theory" and was once considered the most prestigious publishing house in Italy. He was also the author of books on literature, history, philosophy, art and science.
Biography
Giulio Einaudi was born in Dogliani (Province of Cuneo), the son of Luigi Einaudi, future 2nd president of the Italian Republic, and his wife Ida.
He attended the Massimo d'Azeglio liceo classico, and became a student of anti-fascist Augusto Monti.
On 15 November 1933 he founded the publishing house Giulio Einaudi Editore, located on the third floor of Via Arcivescovado 7 in Turin (the same building that had hosted Antonio Gramsci's Ordine Nuovo).
In 1994, Einaudi's company was taken over by Mondadori, a publishing conglomerate controlled by former Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. After working 64 years in the publishing business, Einaudi retired on 4 September 1997, aged 85, and died in Rome at the age of 87.
Podcasts:
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by Natty
July
by: NattyWhispering on a cool summers day,
I found my soul, and took it back to her place,
Skipping over lines on the pavement, Writing rhymes on
the bus station,
People plotting in the grass, kicking ball in the park,
drinking brews after dark, remember how we laughed,
laughed till we cried till the morning came
With those girls, writing on , oh what were their names,
July, July, July , July was a lovely year, It was a
lovely year
We didn`t have a lot of money, But you get me.
Remember leaving town in a crazy ball of smoke, You drank
a bet that our pockets were broke,
Dreaming of beaches, dreaming of women in skimpy bikinis,
Travelled to a costa del sumfin, Make sure its in England
so it costa us nothing, wishing on a super star we wished
upon the sun and our wishes went oh so far.
Driving in the driving seat playing james brown at 4 in
the morning just so I don`t sleep, There the week goes,