that torture having to stay secluded in the house alone and unable to move without even the consolation of the parallel world of the Internet! ok, it will be for a short time but already not stand it anymore and are only the second day !!!!!!!
Ugh!
I could not get these five minutes of freedom, Hopefully it will not cost me dear!
not be angry today! Do not worry derives its
today!
Colour is the key. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano with it's many chords.
The artist is the hand That, or That by touching this key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.
(Vasili Kandinsky)
I would also like things that I have, I have something that runs counter to "normal" but in light there is the biggest mistake if you do not know the accttare 'shadow.
(Jeremy)
today!
Colour is the key. The eye is the hammer. The soul is the piano with it's many chords.
The artist is the hand That, or That by touching this key, sets the soul vibrating automatically.
(Vasili Kandinsky)
I would also like things that I have, I have something that runs counter to "normal" but in light there is the biggest mistake if you do not know the accttare 'shadow.
(Jeremy)
Have you ever known love?
- I had a dog once. But to force him to eat the fleas eventually torn apart by itself. Are we alone in the world, son.
donna.Tu But you're old. A woman, at least, you know. Irenaeus
smiled at the memory.
- Lucilla knew when I was studying anatomy. But, unable to understand exactly how 10 or 12 feet of intestine might be contained in the abdominal cavity, the sezionai alive.
I can not tell if I really loved.
When I asked myself the question was too late.
(from "Cecilio" by Luigi Magni)
- I had a dog once. But to force him to eat the fleas eventually torn apart by itself. Are we alone in the world, son.
donna.Tu But you're old. A woman, at least, you know. Irenaeus
smiled at the memory.
- Lucilla knew when I was studying anatomy. But, unable to understand exactly how 10 or 12 feet of intestine might be contained in the abdominal cavity, the sezionai alive.
I can not tell if I really loved.
When I asked myself the question was too late.
(from "Cecilio" by Luigi Magni)
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