Draško Roganović


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Draško Roganović

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Member Since
May 2012

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Average rating: 4.47 · 3,639 ratings · 431 reviews · 64 distinct works
Hari Poter i Dvorana tajni ...

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4.41 avg rating — 2,393,375 ratings — published 1998 — 575 editions
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Hari Poter i Kamen mudrosti...

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4.47 avg rating — 6,195,367 ratings — published 1997 — 11 editions
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Hari Poter i Zatvorenik iz ...

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4.56 avg rating — 2,436,551 ratings — published 1999 — 498 editions
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Američki bogovi

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4.11 avg rating — 689,292 ratings — published 2001 — 250 editions
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Hari Poter i Vatreni pehar ...

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4.55 avg rating — 2,279,870 ratings — published 2000 — 421 editions
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Knjiga o groblju

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4.13 avg rating — 403,036 ratings — published 2008 — 164 editions
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Okean na kraju puteljka

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really liked it 4.00 avg rating — 435,316 ratings — published 2013 — 129 editions
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Šest vrana (Six of Crows, #1)

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4.46 avg rating — 222,222 ratings — published 2015 — 99 editions
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Uspavana i vreteno

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3.90 avg rating — 34,624 ratings — published 2014 — 43 editions
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Zvezdana prašina

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4.08 avg rating — 325,771 ratings — published 1998 — 110 editions
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More books by Draško Roganović…

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Draško’s Recent Updates

Dedpul by Brian Posehn
"description

Opet me je prevod koji je prilagođen za naše prostore, sa nekim našim šalama, prosto oduševio i osvojio na prvu :)
A i Lajavi Strelac je bio na visini zadatka!

description
" Read more of this review »
Dedpul Opet Satire Marvelov Univerzum by Cullen Bunn
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Dedpul satire svetsku književnost by Cullen Bunn
"Zabavno uklopljene pogibije junaka koje volimo iz beletristike. Ipak, radije bih o njima da čitam nego da ih gledam u koloru."
Crveni alarm by Tomaž Lavrič
Deadpool Kills Deadpool by Cullen Bunn
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Čudesna Žena by Grant Morrison
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Čudesna Žena by Grant Morrison
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Čudesna Žena by Grant Morrison
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Hail Clang by Satoshi Karasu
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More of Draško's books…
Groucho Marx
“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.”
Groucho Marx, The Essential Groucho: Writings For By And About Groucho Marx

William S. Burroughs
“Did I ever tell you about the man
who taught his asshole to talk?

His whole abdomen would move up and down,
you dig, farting out the words.

It was unlike anything I ever heard.

Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.

A sound you could smell.

This man worked for the carnival,you dig?

And to start with it was
like a novelty ventriloquist act.

After a while,
the ass started talking on its own.

He would go in
without anything prepared...

and his ass would ad-lib
and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teethlike...

little raspy incurving hooks
and started eating.

He thought this was cute at first
and built an act around it...

but the asshole would eat its way through
his pants and start talking on the street...

shouting out it wanted equal rights.

It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags.
Nobody loved it.

And it wanted to be kissed,
same as any other mouth.

Finally, it talked all the time,
day and night.

You could hear him for blocks,
screaming at it to shut up...

beating at it with his fists...

and sticking candles up it, but...

nothing did any good,
and the asshole said to him...

"It is you who will shut up
in the end, not me...

"because we don't need you
around here anymore.

I can talk and eat and shit."

After that, he began waking up
in the morning with transparentjelly...

like a tadpole's tail
all over his mouth.

He would tear it off his mouth
and the pieces would stick to his hands...

like burning gasoline jelly
and grow there.

So, finally, his mouth sealed over...

and the whole head...

would have amputated spontaneously
except for the eyes, you dig?

That's the one thing
that the asshole couldn't do was see.

It needed the eyes.

Nerve connections were blocked...

and infiltrated and atrophied.

So, the brain couldn't
give orders anymore.

It was trapped inside the skull...

sealed off.

For a while, you could see...

the silent, helpless suffering
of the brain behind the eyes.

And then finally
the brain must have died...

because the eyes went out...

and there was no more feeling in them
than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk.”
William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch

Alan Moore
“If you wear black, then kindly, irritating strangers will touch your arm consolingly and inform you that the world keeps on turning.

They're right. It does.

However much you beg it to stop.

It turns and lets grenadine spill over the horizon, sends hard bars of gold through my window and I wake up and feel happy for three seconds and then I remember.

It turns and tips people out of their beds and into their cars, their offices, an avalanche of tiny men and women tumbling through life...

All trying not to think about what's waiting at the bottom.

Sometimes it turns and sends us reeling into each other's arms. We cling tight, excited and laughing, strangers thrown together on a moving funhouse floor.

Intoxicated by the motion we forget all the risks.

And then the world turns...

And somebody falls off...

And oh God it's such a long way down.

Numb with shock, we can only stand and watch as they fall away from us, gradually getting smaller...

Receding in our memories until they're no longer visible.

We gather in cemeteries, tense and silent as if for listening for the impact; the splash of a pebble dropped into a dark well, trying to measure its depth.

Trying to measure how far we have to fall.

No impact comes; no splash. The moment passes. The world turns and we turn away, getting on with our lives...

Wrapping ourselves in comforting banalities to keep us warm against the cold.

"Time's a great healer."

"At least it was quick."

"The world keeps turning."

Oh Alec—

Alec's dead.”
Alan Moore, Swamp Thing, Vol. 5: Earth to Earth

Neil Gaiman
“Adults follow paths. Children explore. Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences. I was a child, which meant that I knew a dozen different ways of getting out of our property and into the lane, ways that would not involve walking down our drive.”
Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Flann O'Brien
“The gross and net result of it is that people who spent most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads of this parish get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycle as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who are nearly half people and half bicycles...when a man lets things go so far that he is more than half a bicycle, you will not see him so much because he spends a lot of his time leaning with one elbow on walls or standing propped by one foot at kerbstones.”
Flann O'Brien, The Third Policeman




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