A touch of pride, a lot of press.
F Inhalation, after many hesitations and second thoughts, I wrote my first serious and thoughtful review. And I liked it.
repeat the experience that I think other times ... many times.
I felt proud of my work, although probably not very good, because I got put in commitment and I have done, exactly as I wanted.
One Step Further nel mio viaggio verso l'autonomia, il rispetto (di me e di tutto il resto) e la presa di coscienza delle mie effettive capacità.
Spero non vi dispiaccia se disturbo per un aggiornamento così corto, ma volevo condividere con voi un po' di questa gioia che passa sotto la pelle.
Se v'interessa leggere, il link è in alto a destra, sotto la dicitura "Il Mio Blog Bibliofilo".
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Gift Card Bridal Shower
moving in the wind that caress.
« Ogni volta che vedo un adulto in bicicletta penso che per l'Uomo ci sia ancora speranza »
H. G. Wells
What a beautiful story, that of the bicycle.
not the most noble, but the most convenient, not the fastest, but definitely one of the most valuable.
killed by the advent of the motor, exhumed from ecology: as a whole, a small monument to simplicity, convenience, and the little things in life.
The other day I took the bike, I put the bag in the door behind objects, and I did the whole descent of yarn, with the air heralding rain and the air was coming towards me, a mixture of true wind and resistance caused by speed. It 'been a positive burst of adrenaline, a tour that was to last five minutes, I stretched and purpose, to better enjoy the feeling of tension in the legs, the handlebar between the fingers, around the atmosphere electric. Come back
rained, it was a light rain, light, fast falling from the clouds. The climb was not as easy as some of the descent, but it was beautiful, just like the descent of the first leg.
And even if (as I am not very sporty) half I had to get off the bike and carry it by hand, the rain and the bike at my side and the cold air and clean that I rose from the nostrils to the lungs, heart, made me feel full and empty at the same time, and I thought this was a journey that I wanted to redo. And I'll just make .
H. G. Wells
What a beautiful story, that of the bicycle.
not the most noble, but the most convenient, not the fastest, but definitely one of the most valuable.
killed by the advent of the motor, exhumed from ecology: as a whole, a small monument to simplicity, convenience, and the little things in life.
The other day I took the bike, I put the bag in the door behind objects, and I did the whole descent of yarn, with the air heralding rain and the air was coming towards me, a mixture of true wind and resistance caused by speed. It 'been a positive burst of adrenaline, a tour that was to last five minutes, I stretched and purpose, to better enjoy the feeling of tension in the legs, the handlebar between the fingers, around the atmosphere electric. Come back
rained, it was a light rain, light, fast falling from the clouds. The climb was not as easy as some of the descent, but it was beautiful, just like the descent of the first leg.
And even if (as I am not very sporty) half I had to get off the bike and carry it by hand, the rain and the bike at my side and the cold air and clean that I rose from the nostrils to the lungs, heart, made me feel full and empty at the same time, and I thought this was a journey that I wanted to redo. And I'll just make .
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wash And Set Jcp Salon Prices Frisco
Why is this, the greatest reward after the climb.
Sometimes I find myself without words. I find myself with tears in his eyes, with the wall built between me and my feelings that crumbles and crumbles as if it were made of sand, ice under the desert sun, because two words, two simple sequences of phonemes, they acquire a great significance . Because it made me think that if you pass something like this, if indeed there even after YoUtH experiences so harsh, so much to think " And if one day I would not make it happen ....", Here , then I think I do not have the right to be sad. I do not have, do not I do.
And then a song, a melody of a few notes, two words that resonate in the air and fill the space around and even those already occupied by another and the whole mind and body, including the space already occupied by the organs, so that they swell, swell and then burst, and so the wall collapses. The wall collapses behind the eyes, and the chips are particular sweet and bitter tears, tears that you can not, often do not want, hold.
One of these things would have hit my heart, I would pay a couple of tears, because it takes control too quickly, I know two together on the same day and within minutes, I was thrown to the ground and hit like fists. Three, I can not bear it without trying to vent here, because they'd die. My heart would not hold up and broke in two.
And the songs continue to pass, and another small groove digs each, inside. It 's time to discover what really resist my soul.
I leave only the last of these moments ...
Sometimes I find myself without words. I find myself with tears in his eyes, with the wall built between me and my feelings that crumbles and crumbles as if it were made of sand, ice under the desert sun, because two words, two simple sequences of phonemes, they acquire a great significance . Because it made me think that if you pass something like this, if indeed there even after YoUtH experiences so harsh, so much to think " And if one day I would not make it happen ....", Here , then I think I do not have the right to be sad. I do not have, do not I do.
And then a song, a melody of a few notes, two words that resonate in the air and fill the space around and even those already occupied by another and the whole mind and body, including the space already occupied by the organs, so that they swell, swell and then burst, and so the wall collapses. The wall collapses behind the eyes, and the chips are particular sweet and bitter tears, tears that you can not, often do not want, hold.
One of these things would have hit my heart, I would pay a couple of tears, because it takes control too quickly, I know two together on the same day and within minutes, I was thrown to the ground and hit like fists. Three, I can not bear it without trying to vent here, because they'd die. My heart would not hold up and broke in two.
And the songs continue to pass, and another small groove digs each, inside. It 's time to discover what really resist my soul.
I leave only the last of these moments ...
What a fantastic history and life
(Antonello Venditti)
(Antonello Venditti)
My name is Antonio and I am a songwriter,
e mio padre e mia madre mi volevano dottore,
ho sfidato il destino per la prima canzone,
ho lasciato gli amici, ho perduto l'amore.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamo Laura e sono laureata,
dopo mille concorsi faccio l'impiegata,
e mio padre e mia madre, una sola pensione,
fanno crescere Luca, il mio unico amore.
A volte penso che sia finita,
ma è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
E quando pensi che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamano Gesù e faccio il pescatore,
e del mare e del pesce sento ancora l'odore,
di mio Padre e mia Madre, su questa Croce,
nelle notti d'estate, sento ancora la voce.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamo Aicha°, come una canzone,
sono la quarta di tremila persone,
su questo scoglio di buona speranza,
scelgo la vita, l'unica salva.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio adesso che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita...
ho sfidato il destino per la prima canzone,
ho lasciato gli amici, ho perduto l'amore.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamo Laura e sono laureata,
dopo mille concorsi faccio l'impiegata,
e mio padre e mia madre, una sola pensione,
fanno crescere Luca, il mio unico amore.
A volte penso che sia finita,
ma è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
E quando pensi che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamano Gesù e faccio il pescatore,
e del mare e del pesce sento ancora l'odore,
di mio Padre e mia Madre, su questa Croce,
nelle notti d'estate, sento ancora la voce.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio allora che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Mi chiamo Aicha°, come una canzone,
sono la quarta di tremila persone,
su questo scoglio di buona speranza,
scelgo la vita, l'unica salva.
E quando penso che sia finita,
è proprio adesso che comincia la salita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita.
Che fantastica storia è la vita...
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