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.