Saturday, January 8, 2011

Bollywood Actresses Boobs 2010

Sterile (Preview)

Alfred De Musset
Since it is your job, wretched poet,
Even in times of storm, where the mouth is silent;
While the arms talks, and that fiction
Disappears like a dream to the sound of the action;
Since it is your job to make your soul
A prostitute, and that joy or pain,
Any application ever to come out of your heart;
That's less histrionic, covered with a mask infamous
not go, degrading your thoughts with him,
On ignoble trestles put in the pillory;
Let no plan, no detour, no one will sail shade.
Abandon the elderly without strength and courage
This work spider, and all these shameful son
which surrounded the trembling fear pride eyes.
Point altar, tripod, point back to the profane!
Thy muse, breaking the lute courtesans,
grant that vibrate the air without fear of freedom;
she walks barefoot, as the truth.

[...]

Happy, thrice happy, the man whose Can be written
thought the edge of the sword and the sword!
Ah! He must despise those foolish dreamers
who when they were steeped in a mire lifeless
A vile phantom, a dream, a cold effigy
stop full of pride, and say: C is enough! What
thought, alas! When the action starts? One
back where the other intrepid advances. In
formidable aspect of reality,
It takes iron, and is preparing to fight;
That one frail idol, and that nothing can kill,
turns away, veiling his face in inanimate

[...]

Alfred De Musset, Greeting Sterile.

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