четверг, 30 января 2014
00:21
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понедельник, 27 января 2014
00:05
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воскресенье, 26 января 2014
Shut the gates and sunset
After that you can't get out
You can see the bigger picture
Find out what it's all about
You're open to the skyline
You won't want to go back home
In a garden full of angels
You will never be alone
But oh the road is long
The stones that you are walking on
Have gone
With the moonlight to guide you
Feel the joy of being alive
The day that you stop running
Is the day that you arrive
And the night that you got locked in
Was the time to decide
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
If you close the door to your house
Don't let anybody in
It's a room that's full of nothing
All that underneath your skin
Face against the window
You can't watch it fade to grey
And you'll never catch the fickle wind
If you choose to stay
But oh the road is long
The stones that you are walking on
Have gone
With the moonlight to guide you
Feel the joy of being alive
The day that you stop running
Is the day that you arrive
And the night that you got locked in
Was the time to decide
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
After that you can't get out
You can see the bigger picture
Find out what it's all about
You're open to the skyline
You won't want to go back home
In a garden full of angels
You will never be alone
But oh the road is long
The stones that you are walking on
Have gone
With the moonlight to guide you
Feel the joy of being alive
The day that you stop running
Is the day that you arrive
And the night that you got locked in
Was the time to decide
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
If you close the door to your house
Don't let anybody in
It's a room that's full of nothing
All that underneath your skin
Face against the window
You can't watch it fade to grey
And you'll never catch the fickle wind
If you choose to stay
But oh the road is long
The stones that you are walking on
Have gone
With the moonlight to guide you
Feel the joy of being alive
The day that you stop running
Is the day that you arrive
And the night that you got locked in
Was the time to decide
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
Stop chasing shadows
Just enjoy the ride
суббота, 25 января 2014
00:45
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четверг, 09 января 2014
Флобер весь день ходил мрачнее тучи и всем говорил только одно: "Сегодня умерла госпожа Бовари."
цитаты
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среда, 08 января 2014
вторник, 07 января 2014
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels if Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And life, a Fury slinging flame.
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892)
In Memoriam
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels if Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And life, a Fury slinging flame.
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892)
In Memoriam
13:08
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00:14
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понедельник, 06 января 2014
воскресенье, 05 января 2014
00:37
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суббота, 04 января 2014
13:03
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12:22
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00:00
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пятница, 03 января 2014
Я леплю из пластилина,
Пластилин нежней, чем глина,
Я леплю из пластилина
Кукол, клоунов, собак.
Если кукла выйдет плохо
Назову ее - "Дуреха",
Если клоун выйдет плохо
Назову его - "Дурак".
Подошли ко мне два брата,
Подошли и говорят:
Разве кукла виновата?
Разве клоун виноват?
Ты их лепишь грубовато,
Ты их любишь маловато,
Ты сама и виновата,
А никто не виноват.
Я леплю из пластилина,
А сама вздыхаю тяжко,
Я леплю из пластилина,
Приговаривая так:
Если кукла выйдет плохо
Назову ее - "Бедняжка",
Если клоун выйдет плохо
Назову его - "Бедняк".
Пластилин нежней, чем глина,
Я леплю из пластилина
Кукол, клоунов, собак.
Если кукла выйдет плохо
Назову ее - "Дуреха",
Если клоун выйдет плохо
Назову его - "Дурак".
Подошли ко мне два брата,
Подошли и говорят:
Разве кукла виновата?
Разве клоун виноват?
Ты их лепишь грубовато,
Ты их любишь маловато,
Ты сама и виновата,
А никто не виноват.
Я леплю из пластилина,
А сама вздыхаю тяжко,
Я леплю из пластилина,
Приговаривая так:
Если кукла выйдет плохо
Назову ее - "Бедняжка",
Если клоун выйдет плохо
Назову его - "Бедняк".
Going to look at the Pacific Ocean, and I'll bet a hundred thousand dollars to nothing at all, he will say, “It isn't as big as I thought it would be.”
For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man—when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only half a step, never the full step back. This you may say and know it and know it. This you may know when the bombs plummet out of the black planes on the market place, when prisoners are stuck like pigs, when the crushed bodies drain filthily in the dust. You may know it in this way. If the step were not being taken, if the stumbling-forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be cut. Fear the time when the bombs stop falling while the bombers live—for every bomb is proof that the spirit has not died. And fear the time when the strikes stop while the great owners live—for every little beaten strike is proof that the step is being taken. And this you can know—fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself, and this one quality is man, distinctive in the universe.
For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man—when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only half a step, never the full step back. This you may say and know it and know it. This you may know when the bombs plummet out of the black planes on the market place, when prisoners are stuck like pigs, when the crushed bodies drain filthily in the dust. You may know it in this way. If the step were not being taken, if the stumbling-forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be cut. Fear the time when the bombs stop falling while the bombers live—for every bomb is proof that the spirit has not died. And fear the time when the strikes stop while the great owners live—for every little beaten strike is proof that the step is being taken. And this you can know—fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself, and this one quality is man, distinctive in the universe.
вторник, 31 декабря 2013
21:16
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