jeudi 24 mai 2007
jeudi 10 mai 2007
Arthur

Le seul qui ait réussi à me toucher sans que j'en fasse un ulcère après.
Lui aussi c'est un squelette maintenant. Une mouette, un albatros de baudelaire
"le poète est semblable au prince des nuées
qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer ;
exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées
ses ailes de géant l’empêchent de marcher."
J'en ai marre de l'autre, j'en ai marre d'entendre "mon ventre est ballonné, je chie jaune, ma petite culotte est trop grande,..."rien a foutre.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Shakespeare
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