We Are Not The Same

This book is for those on a quest to find out what diet is the best for melanin dominant individuals who are rated highest in the leading causes of disease in America. Heart disease, cancer and diabetes are wiping us out one by one and there seems be no specific reason why from the medical community. The reason is because you have melanin and must learn how different you are from every other race.

"We are Not the Same Anymore" is a collection of short fiction about people trying to connect with each other and the difficulties of finding intimacy. These stories play out the small catastrophes of everyday life. A man turns up at his daughter's birthday party with a goldfish in an ice-cream container. On the way to collect firewood, a woman and her teenaged neighbor crash in a snowstorm. An unwilling son helps his sister and father put up posters for a missing dog named Michael. Familiar and endearing, Chris Somerville's characters are consumed with their own neuroses, and through their eyes, the landscape of the domestic becomes surreal and dully terrifying. Suffused with a dark humor, their struggles for intimacy are recreated on the page with a deft and affectionate touch.""

Who better than Elmo and his Sesame Street friends to teach us that though we may all look different on the outside—deep down, we are all very much alike? Elmo and his Sesame Street friends help teach toddlers and the adults in their lives that everyone is the same on the inside, and it's our differences that make this wonderful world, which is home to us all, an interesting—and special—place. This enduring, colorful, and charmingly illustrated book offers an easy, enjoyable way to learn about differences—and what truly matters. We’re Different, We’re the Same is an engaging read for toddlers and adults alike that reinforces how we all have the same needs, desires, and feelings.

We Are Not All the Same is a children's picture book that uses bold, colorful illustrations to celebrate the uniqueness and differences of people in our world. It teaches us to embrace and appreciate these differences as well as to look for the similarities that we all share. These qualities should unite us rather than divide us.

A children's flipbook, demonstrating the importance of equality!

Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. HeathcliffÕs dwelling. ÔWutheringÕ being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date Ô1500,Õ and the name ÔHareton Earnshaw.Õ I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium. One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here Ôthe houseÕ pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

A new thriller from the internationally bestselling author of Black-Eyed Susans.

"Wooten has pulled off something close to miraculous... and touched the face of HIV/AIDS with compassion and humanity. —Alexandra Fuller, Chicago Tribune "This is a book not to be missed." —People "Amazing and tender... in this special book [Wooten] brings home the tragedy of AIDS." —Liz Smith, New York Post "Wooten rightly disregards journalistic distance and writes himself into the work, making it read like a contemplative literary memoir." —Time Out New York