The Monk who sold his Ferrari Pdf को आप यहाँ से Free में Download कर सकता है! राँबिन शर्मा द्वारा लिखित पुस्तक “The Monk who sold his Ferrari” जिसका हिंदी नाम “सन्यासी जिसने अपनी संपति बेच दी ” यह एक ज्ञान से परिपूर्ण एक प्रेरक कहानी है! यह पुस्तक मुख्य रूप से इंग्लिश में लिखी गयी है!
यह किताब 1997 में लिखी गयी थी, और ये उस समय की सबसे ज्यादा बिकने वाली पुस्तको में से एक थी, इसकी लगभग 3 मिलियन से ज्यादा कॉपी बिक चुकी है !
The Monk who sold his Ferrari Review
अगर आपसे कोई पूछे की आपको फरारी चाहिए, तब आपका जबाब क्या होगा! सबका जबाब होगा की मुझे भी चाहिए ! लेकिन आज हम आपके सामने एक ऐसे व्यक्ति की कहानी बताने वाला हूँ, जिसे जानकर आपको भी बहुत अचम्भा होगा !
उस व्यक्ति के पास सब कुछ था लेकिन वह जिंदगी में खुश नही था,इसलिए उसने जिंदगी में एक निर्णय लिया, वो सबकुछ छोड़कर और सब कुछ बेचकर वह सन्यासी बन जायेगा ! उस व्यक्ति का नाम जुलियन था, वह बहुत ही आमिर था, जो एक व्यक्ति के पास एसो आराम के लिए चाहिए वो सब कुछ था, लेकिन वो तब भी खुश नही था !
जुलियन को अचानक से एक दिन दिल का दौरा पड़ता है, उसके बाद जब वे ठीक होते है तो वो कुछ उदास – उदास रहने लगते है, और वो एक दिन सब कुछ बेचकर एकांत की ओर चल देते है! और अपने जिंदगी में मकसद को तलासने लगते है! और वे जब वहां से आते है, तो वह खुश रहने लगते है! इसी के ऊपर आधारित यह किताब है !
|Book Name||The Monk who sold his Ferrari|
The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari has been a very special project, brought to
fruition through the efforts of some very special people. I am deeply grateful
to my superb production team and to all those whose enthusiasm and energy
transformed my vision of this book into reality, especially my family at Sharma
Leadership International. Your commitment and sense of mission moves me.
I express special thanks:
• To the thousands of readers of my first book, MegaLiving!, who
graciously took the time to write to me and share how it changed their lives.
I also thank all those who have attended my public seminars across North
America as well as Sharma Leadership International’s many corporate
clients, who have been such wonderful sponsors of my speaking programs
for their employees.
• To my editor, John Loudon, for your belief in this book and for your
faith in me. Thanks as well to Margery Buchanan, Karen Levine, and the
rest of the superb team at HarperSanFranciseo for investing your energies
in this project
• To Brian Tracy, Mark Victor Hansen, and my other colleagues in the
self-leadership field for your kindness.
• To Kathi Dunn for your brilliant cover design. I thought nothing could
top the Timeless Wisdom for Self-Mastery cover you did for us. I was wrong.
• To Satya Paul, Krishna, and Sandeep Sharma for your constant
• And most of all, to my wonderful parents, Shiv and Shashi Sharma,
who have guided and helped me from day one; to my loyal and wise brother
Sanjay Sharma, M.D., and his good wife, Susan; to my daughter, Bianca, for
your presence; to my son, Colby, for your spirit, and to my wife and best
friend, Alka. You are all the light that shows me the way.
Life is no brief candle for me. It is a sort of splendid
the torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want
to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it
on to future generations.
George Bernard Shaw
He collapsed right in the middle of a packed courtroom. He was
one of this country’s most distinguished trial lawyers. He was also
a man who was as well known for the three-thousand-dollar Italian
suits which draped his well-fed frame as for his remarkable string
of legal victories. I simply stood there, paralyzed by the shock of
what I had just witnessed.
The great Julian Mantle had been
reduced to a victim and was now squirming on the ground like a
helpless infant, shaking and shivering and sweating like a maniac.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point on.
“My God, Julian’s in trouble!” his paralegal screamed, emotionally
offering us a blinding glimpse of the obvious. The judge looked
panic-stricken and quickly muttered something into the private
phone she had had installed in the event of an emergency.
me, I could only stand there, dazed and confused. Please don’t die,
you old fool. Its too early for you to check out. You don’t deserve
to die like this.
The bailiff, who earlier had looked as if he had been embalmed
in his standing position, leapt into action and started to perform
CPR on the fallen legal hero. The paralegal was at his side, her
long blond curls dangling over Julian’s ruby-red face, offering him
soft words of comfort, words which he obviously could not hear.
I had known Julian for seventeen years. We had first met when
I was a young law student hired by one of his partners as a summer
research intern. Back then, he’d had it all. He was a brilliant, handsome and fearless trial attorney with dreams of greatness. Julian
was the firm’s young star, the rain-maker in waiting. I can still
remember walking by his regal corner office while I was working
late one night and stealing a glimpse of the framed quotation
perched on his massive oak desk. It was by Winston Churchill and
it spoke volumes about the man that Julian was:
Sure I am that this day we are masters of our fate, that the
task which has been set before us is not above our strength;
that its pangs and toils are not beyond my endurance. As
long as we have faith in our own cause and an unconquerable will to win, victory will not be denied us.
Julian also walked his talk. He was tough, hard-driving and
willing to work eighteen-hour days for the success he believed was
his destiny. I heard through the grapevine that his grandfather
had been a prominent senator and his father a highly respected
judge of the Federal Court. It was obvious that he came from
money and that there were enormous expectations weighing on his
Armani-clad shoulders. I’ll admit one thing though: he ran his own
race. He was determined to do things his own way — and he loved
to put on a show.
Julian’s outrageous courtroom theatrics regularly made the front
pages of the newspapers. The rich and famous flocked to his side
whenever they needed a superb legal tactician with an aggressive
edge. His extra-curricular activities were probably as well known.
Late-night visits to the city’s finest restaurants with sexy young fashion models, or reckless drinking escapades with the rowdy band of
brokers he called his “demolition team” became the stuff of legend at
I still can’t figure out why he picked me to work with him on
that sensational murder case he was to argue that first summer.
Though I had graduated from Harvard Law School, his alma
mater, I certainly wasn’t the brightest intern at the firm, and my
family pedigree reflected no blue blood.
My father spent his whole
life as a security guard with a local bank after a stint in the
Marines. My mother grew up unceremoniously in the Bronx.
Yet he did pick me over all the others who had been quietly
lobbying him for the privilege of being his legal gofer on what
became known as “the Mother of All Murder Trials”: he said he
liked my “hunger.” We won, of course, and the business executive
who had been charged with brutally killing his wife was now a free
man — or as free as his cluttered conscience would let him be.
My own education that summer was a rich one.
It was far more than a lesson on how to raise a reasonable doubt where none
existed — any lawyer worth his salt could do that. This was a
lesson in the psychology of winning and a rare opportunity to
watch a master in action. I soaked it up like a sponge.
At Julian’s invitation, I stayed on at the firm as an associate,
and a lasting friendship quickly developed between us. I will
admit that; he wasn’t the easiest lawyer to work with.
his junior was often an exercise in frustration, leading to more
than a few late-night shouting matches. It was truly his way or the
highway. This man could never be wrong. However, beneath his
crusty exterior was a person who clearly cared about people.
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