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work on art journal I have been particularly difficult ... Some memories are struggling to "escape" from the soul. So .. as always troubled period of my life, I made an orgy of crime fiction ... I've read a lot but I did not know Ian Pears ...
Here what you can read on Wikipedia:

"Born in 1955 in England, Iain Pears has lived in Oxford. PhD in philosophy and art historian, he worked for Reuters until 1990. Adviser The BBC and Channel 4 for several programs devoted to art, he has written extensively on this subject. He signed a series of detective novels set in the world of art, opened by The Raphael Affair, which now has seven titles, and the last, The secret of the Madonna and Child, was published Éditions Belfond in 2006. He also imposed on the world literary scene with The Circle Cross in 1998, The Dream of Scipio, in 2002 and The Portrait in 2006. "

I read the series of surveys Flavia di Stephano and Jonathan Argyll ... It's light, entertaining Well written ... the wicked are not always punished ... or rather there is the true and false ... it follows tirelessly all these investigations turn around paintings, famous painters ... it should look no message, no second degree ... it's just for fun ... the portraits are tasty and I love detective novels whose action takes place in Italy ... and as I read Donna Leone everything ...

reading is also that, the simple joy of a change of pace ...

Basic Heavy Hor Dourves

the chain stitch of Awu ...

This week's round shapes will follow the point of embroidery so dear to the women of Africa: the chain stitch ... here is a short excerpt from a book tells the story of Awu, the embroiderer ...
This book is wonderful ...

Story Awu, Justine Mintsa writer north Fang of Gabon

"The loops are intertwined and formed before lying down meekly in the same direction. And the tiny tool steel, the miracle-maker, was working relentlessly unflappable, as if she had been insensitive to the beauty of his work. She seemed to have only one concern: to do his daily work. Like the bee, it does took little time to marvel at the wonder produced by it. It was there anything extraordinary. It existed to carry items, like the bee was to make honey. And the svelte servant of art to continue his ringlets which chained themselves to each other, almost happily, as if they were happy to be tied to belong, to have no sense together. Respect to the wire, he kept wriggling lasciviously as indifferent but firm pull of the iron instrument which contrasted strangely stiff cold with the warm words from the point of chaînette.Cette needle that moved with such dexterity that detachment was guided by long fingers round plated nails short. The thumb and index finger kept that little piece of iron with confidence and flexibility made him bite the tissue pierced by the thrust of a major measured than Coiffait no dice. Suddenly all tressautèrent fingers, and the white canvas below appeared a speck of deep red. And almost immediately, the bruised finger flew in search of comfort to a generous mouth that is activated to suck and chew on the soft ......
Awudabiran 'second wife was the master Obame Afane ...
................................................. ...............
have always dreamed of sewing Awu his life to chain stitch, tie a knot for attaching to start with children and marriage, and excel throughout the journey through harmonious relationships both socially and professionally. Why she was a flower remained closed throughout the duration of her studies, she wanted to live a complete hatching in the sunshine of love, once gained his professional basis .
In History Awu, Justine Mintsa writer north Fang of Gabon

~~*~~*

And that this round will continue as every Tuesday ... Thanks to the friends Mixed-Media Forum you découvrirdes simple things or amazing, but especially you will learn to look at just ... Vqui Ju-Lycra , you can you go to Françoise ... soon ...

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"darning needle"

And here's the story from Tuesday that illustrates the theme of today's grid to learn the times ... Set yourself and your ears open wide ... Here

darning needle

of Hans Christian Andersen

There was once a darning needle: it found herself so thin she imagined to be a sewing needle.
"Now be careful, and keep me well," said the big hand with fingers that would take it. Do not let me down, because if I fell down, I'm sure we will find me ever. I am so fine!
- Let it be said the fingers, and they seized the body.
- Take a look I am coming with a train, "said the big needle, drawing it after a long thread but the thread was no knot. The fingers then the needle toward the cook's slipper: the leather was torn at the top, and it had to be sewn.
"What rough work," said the needle, I could never cross: I break, I break. " And indeed it was broken.
"Do not I told?" She cried, and I'm too thin.
- It is worth nothing now, "said the fingers. Yet they still held. The cook gave him a head of wax, and used it to tie her scarf.
"So now I am pin," said the needle. I knew I would arrive to great honors. When is something we can not fail to become something. "
And she gave a look as proud as the driver of a ceremonial carriage, and she looked all around.
" Dare I ask if you are of Gold? said pin its neighbor. You have a beautiful exterior and a curious head But it is a bit too small; make efforts so that it becomes bigger, so have no need to wax than others. "
Whereupon our proud braced himself and straightened his head so hard that she fell in the sink of a scarf that the stove was being washed.
"I'm going to travel, says the needle as long as I do not lose!"
She was lost indeed.
"I'm too thin for this world," she said as she lay on the sink. But I know what I am, and it's always a little satisfaction. "And it retained its maintenance proud and all its cheerfulness. And many things passed over it while swimming, strands of wood, straw and bits of old newspaper.
"look like all that swims," she said. They know not only what happens to be beneath them: this is me yet! This is a chip that passes and he does not think that the world itself, a bit of wood! ... Look, there's a straw going! As it turns, as she stirs! Does not so carelessly, you might get hit against a stone. And that piece of paper! As he struts! But long ago we forgot what he said. I alone remain patient and calm and I know my worth and I will keep forever. "
One day she felt something next to her, something that had a beautiful glow, and the needle came to a diamond. It was a broken bottle. The needle spoke to him, because he shone and was as a pin.
"You're probably a diamond?
- Something like that."
And then each was convinced that the other was a great price. Their conversation turned principally on the conceited people in the world.
"I lived in a box that belonged to a lady, said the needle. This lady was a cook. In each hand she had five fingers. I've never known anything as pretentious and as proud that these fingers And yet they were only to get me out of the box and get back.
- The fingers then were they noble birth? asked the shard.
- Noble! took the needle, no, but vain. They were five brothers ... and all were born ... fingers! They stood proudly next to one another, although of a different length. The more outside, thumb, short and thick, stayed away, as he had a joint, he could not bend at only one point, but he always said that if a man had Once lost, it would not be good for military service. The second finger jams and also tasted the sour, pointed to the sun and moon, and it was he who pressed the pen when you wanted to write. The third looked over the shoulders of all others. The fourth wore a gold belt, and little Playman did nothing at all: it was also extraordinarily proud. We found nothing in them than the bragging and boasting of yet: as I left. "
At this point, we poured water into the sink. The water flowed over the edges and led. "Now we are moving Finally! "Said the needle.
The shard went his way, but the needle stopped in the creek.
" There! I stopped moving and I'm too thin, but I have a right to be proud! "
fact, she sat there with his great thoughts
" I could almost fancy that I am born of a sunbeam, so I'm fine! It seems that the sunlight coming for me into the water. But I'm so fine that my mother can not find me. If only I had the eye, which was removed, I could cry at least! No, I do not want to cry: it is not worthy of me! "
One day the kids came to dig into the creek. They were looking for old nails, farthings, and other treasures. The work was not appetizing, but what do you want? They found their pleasure, and each takes his own where he finds it.
"Oh! la, la! cried one of them will spice up the needle. What a pig!
- I'm not a fellow, I am a young lady, "said the needle.
But nobody heard him. Meanwhile, the wax had separated, and the needle was quite black in the head, but the black makes a person look slender, so she thought herself thinner than ever.
"This is a shell egg that happens," said the kids, and they stuck the needle in the hull.
"That's all right," she said, now I have to make an impression, because I am black and the walls around me are all white. It sees me, at least I hope I n heaving not seasick, I shall break. "
She did not get seasick and was not broken.
"What luck to have a stomach of steel when you travel by sea! That's where I'm better than a man. Who can boast of having a belly like that? More one is fine, unless one is exposed. "
" Crac! " made the hull.
is a waggon passing over it.
"Heavens What I feel oppressed," said the needle, I think I get seasick: I'm all broken. "
It was not, though the car had passed on it. She lay as before, extended at full length in Creek. It stays there!

And that this round will continue as every Tuesday ... Thanks to friends of
Forum Mixed-Media
you will discover amazing things or simple, but mostly you will learn how to watch ...
Vqui come home Ju-Lycra , you can go home
Françoise ...
soon ...

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"two parallel son ..."( read over the plural)



Here is a story originating in South Africa ...

Forgive my memory ... the text is not perfect, I lost the book ... but tonight is the story that is important ...

Enchanted times two parallel son who were born ... they rested side by side and suffered a martyr ... Why? Because they loved each

... and because they wanted like all those who love, of hugging, kissing ... but they were born they were parallel and parallel stay. .. That was the law of the township at a time when apartheid reigned ...

But one day they no longer held, and fled ... the way they met a priest to whom they entrusted their sentences. It listened and said

"My children, I understand you but we must respect the law ... she has her reasons ... and then do not despair, you know that one day heaven will open its doors and there you will love you for the eternity "...

Eternity was good, but far, far away ... so

Then the two resumed their son

road ... A few miles away there lived a learned geometer who listened and answered

"I do not understand your problem ... Well, the parallels are not really ... all the lines converge at infinity, be patient ..."

Poor consolation for languishing d love ...

The meeting rails do not comforted more ...

"What you say is ridiculous, the parallels are needed in this world, son coils can not touch the tops of the mountains do not move point and we ... can you imagine what would happen if we decided to train us cross each other? is the law and must be respected, it is necessary ... "

Time passed but not worth the two parallel son ... When

came a little gray cloud ... "Hello son," he exclaimed "You look sad" ... and son to tell their story ...

"My poor friends," said the cloud, "I understand your pain ... I can maybe help you, listen to me" ... He then descended the roadside and wrapped it entirely ... There in the cozy softness, the son could finally s love, kissing and hugging ...

Then came the morning ... The cloud was left ...

Soon on the road, passed the judge of the city ... this man was well known throughout the country for its extreme severity ... The law was the law and bears no exception ... It is necessarily just because it's the law ...

So he walked, when the roadside something caught his attention: "a string" cried he, "A beautiful rope, twisted sound and well ... that's what I need" ...

And at noon that day when the sun crush the township, a gallows was erected ... at the end of the rope hung the body of a white woman and a black man ...

... who had one night, dare to love, kissing and hugging ...

....................................

And now this round will continue as every Tuesday ... Thanks to friends of
Forum Mixed-Media
you will discover amazing things or simple, but mostly you will learn how to watch ...
And now that you come home Ju-Lycra , you can go home
Françoise ...
soon ...

Hernia That Is Floating In Stomach

Mariuz

What writer. ".. A former Solidarnosc ... he spent several years in the Russian Far North ... and tells us its Russian ...

abandoned villages ... of people deprived of everything ... former nomads settled life and then when the authorities decide otherwise abandoned little by little ...

more work ... of vodka alone console ... ... ... memories of songs stories ...

a penal colony in ruins ... the remains of a church ... a few monks ... madness ...

a French priest ... ice that is being dug to catch the fish of the lake ...

and cold ... the snow ... the wind ... the Russian stove ... pollution ...

and Master crow on a tree holds in its beak a cheese ...

Master Raven Fox said Putin did you vote?

silence ... raven takes his cheese ...

Raven Putin did you vote?

end exceeded the raven answered: Yes ...

and the fox eats the cheese ...

Moral:

if I said no, "said the raven, I still lost my cheese ...

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Wilk and the ninth day this book arrived in Ploufragan ...

"Hymn to the glory of the best Bible ..."

I just finished "The gang of wrench " Edward Abbey ... My god ... what book is incredible ... I knew the individual for much like "Desert Solitaire", a deep test, but this protest ... history of gang wonders what ...

is hilarious ... long ago that I had not laughed so much reading a book ... and besides that ends well!

Just a few lines:

"On the shore, near Separation Wash, the men had vowed to remain forever friends, sealing their vows in the bourbon and blood gushed from cuts made by the knife Hayduk the hollow of their palms outstretched. Bonnie, lost in the empyrean of his joints, was present at the ceremony, smiling, but there was nevertheless included. At midnight, around a campfire under the stars, to three thousand feet below the rim of the Shivwits Plateau, the gang of the wrench was born ... "

So if n 'is already read this book, if not reread the emergency ...

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Jane Austen (December 16, 1775 to July 18, 1817) Doris Lessing

Sarah went to the cinema to the publication of Jane, film about the youth of the writer. Click on the image to see his biography ...

here I will take these quotes:
"Why are we in the world, but to entertain our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?" in Pride and Prejudice ...

"Why do not immediately enjoy the fun" ...

"Speak little less whining and more" ... currency rather unusual for a girl this time!

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...

Read and reread Doris Lessing ... especially my favorite book, "Diary of a neighbor" published under the pseudonym Jane Somers ... History to show all the difficulties encountered by young writers ... demonstration was convincing! Jonathan Cape refused to publish the manuscript as too depressing! the book sold 1,500 copies in England and 3000 in the U.S. while the children of violence reached a million copies ... I like the story of Janna and Maudie, she is strong, without a hint of complacency ... She calls into question who we are, forces us to reflect on life, death, old age, work, our place in society, married life, family life ...

is a beautiful love story between two women not so dissimilar to the bottom ... it is mostly outdoors, the dress is different ... it forces us to look at when we might want to look away ...

a book ... the first sentence to last ...

"I will first summarize four years of my life" ...

"I'm angry.

the monent-cons that you know, it's going ..." said my niece Jill, coming out of the room to make myself a cup of tea "...

between the two texts you will make a remarkable journey to the land of old age, disease, misery and death ...

should do it, Doris Lessing will never be "politically correct" attacking relentlessly "those who need rigidity of dogma," which are "always the most stupid" and established "the most powerful tyranny in the minds of so-called free world."

(The Journal Monde.27/09/07)

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a little levity

Between chapters Dalva (for the umpteenth time) Mariusz Wilk, (ah yes, I must tell you) and The Bergen Staalasen novel I wanted to light, recreation ... and when I saw at Librairie Without Brunetti of Donna Leon , I could not resist ...
I have a low number for this beautiful commissioner Brunetti, the velvet voice, (but yes, I speak to him often ...) married to a lovely and intelligent ... Paola (nothing is perfect) .. .
But today they are testing that we find a literary genre that I love ... it's like if you were sitting on a bench near Donna Leon, and we chatted come for friends ... light, crisp, chiseled ... A university doctor of philosophy, keeper of the clock tower of San Marco, the singers, bridge, U.S. Embassy, a macho, Armani, two decks, books, an orange ... and four small gray moles ... and ... a doctor dormouse, crazy, tears, a smile, two bursts of laughter and a grin ... I
dreamer more often Madame Leon ...

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Welcome Autumn ...

Autumn Poem of Liu Yuxi

Since ancient times, the arrival of autumn always bring sadness
Seems monotonous
But for me the sun autumn, bright
Exceeds undoubtedly one morning in Spring.
serene sky, a crane, above the clouds Lance
to heaven in the sky, its poetic image.

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ageless Sarah went to the movies ... Caramel reminded him of the poems of Khalil Gibran ...
Khalil Gibran جبران خليل جبران


"Stop for a moment and open your eyes so that I will reveal the reality of my child Lebanon.
They are the laborers who are turning drylands into gardens and orchards.
They are the shepherds who lead their herds from one valley to another so that they fatten and multiply in meat and wool to decorate your cover and cover your body.
are those tenants who are pressing grapes to make wine and get the grapes.
They are the fathers who watch on blackberry / and the mothers who spin silk.
They are the men who harvest the wheat, and whose wives pick up loads.
They are the potters and weavers, the masons and the bell-founders.
They are the poets who pour their souls into new sections, these innate poets who sing ballads and romances Levantine. "

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"Rituals as the days" Barbara Biziou, translation by Olivier Clerc

Barbara Biziou ... video ...

My magic pebble moving a lot through my blogs ... They bring peace, gentleness, serenity ...

And yet they do not really exist ... they are small stones rather dull and gray ... but laid on the glass, scanned again and again they suddenly show their souls ...

Beginning the reading of "Rituals ..." I immediately thought of them ...

I'm at the beginning of the book ... I may not have fallen from his hands as the works of Julia Cameron ... In the land of our English blogs several had been taking the path of "Finding Water" ... many have left, tired of the incessant references to God ... The approach is nevertheless interesting ... but enough is enough, at least for me ...

Obviously such books in the belief in a spiritual life is behind, but religion is not absolutely necessary ....

I think at this point in my life, it is time to pause ... and this book is welcome ... It helps me sort the good and bad memories, and unnecessary the necessary ... to meet, finally, and move forward in this final stretch of life ...

Why do we the nostalgia of our childhood rituals, Christmas, birthdays ... and why on the other hand we sometimes feel the desire to reject this child ...

What scares us often ... Why this desire to do everything else, especially not like before, to reject family traditions, social, professional ... do not follow the rituals of the holiday season the year of retirement ... thing ... they are hypocritical ... but then why do they come tears in my eyes reading some stories of children around the tree, of friends coming together ...

Why us REJECT rituals, we feel in so much envy ..?. Should accept the idea that "we are hungry for community and communion, those feelings that provides meaningful practice rituals" (page 33)

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learn loneliness ...

Jacqueline Kelen belongs to that breed fascinating women, even if we do not believe in God. It is a requirement, rigor and humanity that make us close ... so close ... Not a word difficult, the tone is straightforward, clear voice ... In many women dormant desire for the absolute recollection, this thirst for ideal ...
to read, draw, create, solitude is necessary ...... When the chosen It does not weigh ... The coming age, it appears increasingly necessary ...
Solitude and silence ...
Even if you are not a "believer", read this book ... It is beneficial to have close at hand, read a few lines, take a chapter ... This is a good companion ...
"A loneliness that we have chosen a new look that is worn over the other and gives the slightest thing .... its price
There are more than ordinary life, everyday life since solitude gives me a taste of the unique and unexpected ...
Solitude learns to love, she learns to be a surprised look and benevolent beings and to respect their privacy. It calls for gratitude and praise. It is not closed on it like a snail but still feels ready to receive a sign to welcome a presence and to celebrate life "

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a book that will appeal to Sarah ... Article

a book for Sarah

.......................

123 pages of happiness ...
delicious, sensual desire, tender and mischievous ...
a story for us women ...
an ode to old age ...

for all those who do not take themselves too seriously, for all those who call a spade a spade ... who are not ashamed of their bodies emaciated and weighed ... who want to experience the smallest, most intimate moments of life ...

Solange crossed the Lady in Blue, Solange has become an old lady ...

"again tonight, the lady in blue will come to visit. The dream is always the same ... sometimes they join hands and gloves of net squeal against each other with a lovely noise The sound of sand rubbed between palms and time distilled grain after grain, such as toast in the morning. in general, it is the squeal that wakes Solange. Then she gets up and sits on the chamber pot. It prolongs pee on the enamel that resonates with their eyes closed to protect sleep, keep in auchaud warm vapors of urine, then she goes back to bed, already half asleep, glad, so glad of his chamber pot, which it is criticized for having discovered so late, after having known so early, since he also is now involved in the pleasure which is not to rush as it once did ... bumping into furniture for the win bathroom ...
... ajourd'hui, wonder, tomorrow is no longer afraid ... "Noelle

Thank ... thank you ...

Sore Skin But No Rash

deserving reflection ... (Internet 21/06/07)

" Few houses where alcohol was not his victims, his slaves. There are those he has ruined those he maimed. Couples defeated, fortunes dispersed occupations dropped. "The words are taken from country lost (1), a novel by Pierre Jourde. They describe a village Lussaud, in the Cantal, and its inhabitants, about thirty people, mostly farmers. Some do not like reading these lines, fresco of life in the countryside, lines unflattering to the hamlet of Auvergne, where the gods are called "Alcohol, Winter, Shit and Solitude. "Then, they responded in their own way to the violence of words with his fists. Thursday these five people appear in court for hitting Aurillac Pierre Jourde and his family.
was July 31, 2005. The writer comes up with his partner and their three children in the village Cantal, where his family owned a house for three generations to spend their holidays. Two years earlier, the country lost output has widened the path of animosity in the village. Pierre Jourde he accuses of stirring up painful family stories and caricaturing its inhabitants, easily identifiable in the lines. Thus, "this young man of thirty, clever, talented, and had to be good enough no longer leads his small ship without even bad wine in the car: here it is transformed into a bloated buffoon and purplish (...) He lost his job and finds himself mender. "
" It appears too strong writing "
Then this summer day, the arrival of Paris is an opportunity for a firm explanation. Two women waiting for him outside his garage, they welcome him by insulting him. An old villager happens, the impactor. The writer tries to calm everyone down, then defends. New salvo of shots. Peter Jordan advises his wife and children, including a baby of 15 months, to flee. Other villagers get involved. insults, beatings, shoving. Jourde The family takes the path of capital.
The writer had already angered the Parisian literary scene that has stigmatized in the literature without stomach. For Country lost, he said he could not understand why it created the "reactions that are beyond words." "I feel everything very violently and as I have difficulty talking, it sinks into a bottomless hole and it shows too much writing," explained the novelist also university newspaper Liberation in September 2005. For him, "his novel is a description of the beauty that lies even in the most trivial things."
"The people and my clients mostly have been humbled by this book that reveals their deepest secrets, "said Gilles-Jean Portejoie, defender of four of the five defendants." Pierre Jourde has not sought to understand these people, says the lawyer. It was a work of ethnologist superficial, relating their life without seeking to pierce their real secret, without trying to fathom the depths. "For him, this case is disproportionate." And that is because it involves Parisian personality ", he considers a little bitter. It reminds one of its customers also complained of assault but unlike Pierre Jourde, Justice did not listen." Always two weight, two measures ".
(1) Country lost, Editions L'Esprit peninsulas, 2003.

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Travel, Travel ...

Desireless Voyage voyage ... We miss you, I'll go in the Drôme me install near you ... When I saw you on TV regional Grenoble, in your robe with your hair braided, your glasses and your curves, my heart melted and I said to myself: That I love this woman is my little sister really
... So today I continue with my travels:

Nicole-Lise Bernheim: Seasons Japanese
Isabelle Jarry: Journey to the Ténéré
Denise Desjardins: The Road and path
Michele Demai: Alaska dream
Michele Fressineau: The sled freedom

.................... .................................................. ...

I will not tell you these books, I hate those stories deflower well ... But I suggest that you meet five women nice, not perfect, full of humanity ...

Of those that dream of having friends for ...

...................................

* I am angry against Nicole-Lise Bernheim, a little too sarcastic for my taste, then I discovered that she had died there soon ... we had almost the same age ... then I reread his trip to Japan and lit my incense stick to it ...

* I envied Isabelle Jarry, traveling with Theodore Monod ... lucky! I loved him so much this good man in two words ... though ... not very nice to his wife ...

and then missed a trip, that's a great idea ... this book recalls many memories ...

* Michele Demai ... ah ... my favorite ... I want to share a corner of his boat ... hugs her cat, and the splendor of the Far North ... It Zen magic ... ... a life lesson, to read

and reread ...

* Denise Desjardins is currently a very well known and respectable lady

but his testimony was at times ridiculous ... traveling with a baby two months

summer in India, with boxes of milk powder .. . little lady, breastfeeding, it is terrifying ... and this dependence on foreign spiritual masters ...

as fatigue, money spent, the risks ...

but of course ... there was God. "Admit ... ..

* The premium of the credit goes to Marcelle Fressineau for his courage, his lack of luck

and immense optimism which ... galleys, but the rewards ...

then bravo girls you are the best ...

normal, you're women ...

PS: Desireless has shaved her hair ... she is superb ...

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Isabella Bird (1831-1904)

I just finished "An English Wild West" ... oh it's really too much as the kids say ... this woman is just incredible ...

On the web you will find little about her in French and one of his books are translated. But you can read this page: Isabella .

English On my blog you will find links to many sites: click here ... Promised best passages of the translation is in progress ...

This little woman was neurotic, sick, weak, short, everything went wrong ... Until the day a doctor more than the other psychologist said: "Miss, you should travel ideas that you would change ..."

This does remind you of anything? though of course, Alexandra David-Neel But ... Alexandra (born only in 1868) was not the only nor the first to accomplish extraordinary trips ... Did you read the book Christel Snitch "Adventurers in crinoline" published in 1987 Current Points?

You'll find very interesting pages on Isabella Bird among others ... In 1872 Isabella sailed for Australia ... Ella is 40 years ... To her, life begins ...

The story that interests us today starts in 1873 ... is the era of pioneers, wild west ... large regions of Colorado are still virgins and our ... English is small and fragile to travel by train or horse or wagon ... eat ... sleep when she can often help land ... go wild herds to earn ... climbing mountains in his dress "Hawaiian" floor of old boots on loan .. . so happy when she finds the rubber shoes ... it's beautiful life in the open air, when it freezes even in the houses, the snow covers everything ... the blizzard blows ...

" October 9, 1973

Evans offers me six dollars a week if I consent to stay during the winter and to cook in the absence of Mrs. Edwards! I think I want to play the role of a servant if there was not to make bread. But it would suit me better run after the cattle on horseback. Men do not make themselves household things and yesterday they washed and ironed their laundry, and the latter operation was far from being done properly. I really believe (though for the fifteenth time) that I leave tomorrow. "

That night it was -17 ° in his cabin after

... If you want to read this book in English, please you at this address:
http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/
usual, I'm not pro-books on the net, but it allows us to discover some VO texts unavailable in France.





continued ...

Does Sunlight Dish Soap Contain Ammonia

latest episodes Summary:

June 2006: Birth of Plumpiemousie, the village of blogs all in English ...
July 2006: Birth of the village sansdessussansdessous, French ... time passes ...
the French village withers ... Mousie
exhausted ... 19 is too much blogging ...
disappears when the French village ...
but it must be my English girlfriends bossent a little ... Then today
page book in French is reborn ...
good, okay, you do not understand anything ... even me ...
all Either way, what matters is this blog set to nine, who will recount the discoveries of our mouse library ...
then the corner bookstores, Bibles favorites will find their place ...

READ IN PARTY CAN BEGIN.

Cheaters Hmong Part 1

Studio closed its doors, Mister Bird is left for other horizons ... Before we left we offered the following three texts ... Thanks to him ...

THE WINE Francis COPPEE

long time in the atmosphere wet vaults, under the arch and deep impregnated with nitre!
Under the dust and cobwebs under
The young wine is aged in new bottles.

must in quiet and darkness of the tombs
The sublime liqueur lasts more than a year,
Prior to accomplish the noble destiny to exalt
a moment our hearts and minds.
So, Chaz, it is human thought,

is a very secretive and very slow phenomenon

she finally comply with harmonious rhythm. A sweet sonnet
matures as a sweet burgundy

And you are right, friend, who was born in a cellar,

From beautiful to read while drinking your wine old