Pain is an eternal moment. We can not divide into seasons. But where is the pain grows blessed land. These words, fortunately, have not been said authoritatively. Indeed, the author was engaged in all kind of catharsis, more literary and sincere, in chanting style more Augustinian in the prison of His Majesty "Reading", forced to hard labor for having be funny in a London court that he had every incentive to prove the crime of homosexuality.
The pain had a grace in the nineteenth century: self-destruct when you could not smoke cigarettes at full speed in front of a chat. Values \u200b\u200bcan not be universal, not all, at least. the pain that leads to a meditative state and it is a moment to compose sonnets narcissistic production. What is our real danger is the pain of nothing. Pain without tears. I try to describe it.
I'm behind the screen to useless and I think of my scientific work and my inability to carry it forward, although the premise is true. I dream of a solution to this impasse. One could be that I am strengthened by sincere hugs. Provided by a person worthy of love and capable, intelligent, cultured, witty and engaged. The fact that this solution is ridiculous pave the pain of which I speak: closer to the present. But if this pain is the only possible one, then it is harmful. It should be driven with all their might. To everyone, good luck!
0 comments:
Post a Comment