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I have told the story of a woman's handkerchief. Va, from bed to bed, trying to drown his sorrows in the sheets. His brief lovers enjoy their body as tears run down his cheeks. None has ever stopped to ask why her sobs.
aches and problems prevent women from enjoying sex tissue. Mere routine for her, to enjoy his men, forgetting their own pleasure. Women
handkerchief, not love. The only time I have given the heart was unable to appreciate it, love it and keep it. Prefer to go hand in hand, not surrender to anyone, so that if it fails to choose, do not suffer. Women
handkerchief, full of bad memories and examples which should not be followed.

Jaydip Ghosh, Laboratory Faculty

or spasms together. Call me romantic, excited or simply crazy, but there is nothing similar to it that feeling. I think that if
: happiness. But I'm afraid I've never experienced. After these my short years I have come to the conclusion that I have not experienced such a feeling. It may sound ridiculous, but I know that my happiness lies in having to share my life, my experiences, my memories. It may sound crude and surreal, but it is. How right I had my conversation partner when he said that, after all, is our ultimate destiny. We are born and live for that. Our existence is not complete without that other person. Someone to love, for whom to fight, to live for.
Callar, is the best option. Street is muchor time, tried to bury him in recent months, and while an earthquake of emotions has been removed leaving the earth and the light, I will keep silent. I am aware, "realistic" that it could lose more than win. Well, I know that to win, win a great treasure, but to lose, lose him forever. And in these cases, you can win, but anytime you can also lose, so it's best to be quiet, mute, ignore. Time will tell what to do, what to say, how and when to act.

Chemehuevi Indian Tribe 1934 a_misery_alice @ 2006-04-21T13:49:00

do. Can not believe what happens ... Soon come both in their cars, and watch in amazement the spectacle. Some cars stopped to ask what happens. My neighbors also go.

Firefighters are wiping out the fire. To prevent the spread is up to the carriage of the truck and start throwing fruit out. Necessary. Wooden boxes and plastic is a powerful fuel for the fire. My mother is crying, and hugged my father. Need to talk to someone. Finally

suffocate the fire. Apparently a short circuit caused the fire. Could have been worse. Could reach the tank of diesel and exploit. I could have parked in our home track and burn the other two cars, garage and into the house, with us inside ...

I burned almost everything. The cabin was wrecked and just save a little fruit, scales, empty boxes, and irons. Burned

our second home. As a child, when he went to the markets, slept in that chair, so comfortable that rested better than in my own bed. Traveled hundreds of times the walk to market it. My father taught me the meaning of the small signs that I asked. I knew him first as measured by covering a mile. Thousands of times I loaded that truck, so I could not count them. With the markets are like I am, and he took me to them.

to the "blanket clown" burned. That blanket tucked my

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the prospective buyer of the work. The artist is not limited only to express their ideas, their feelings, their way of living or acting, their reactions to his environment ... but also when, unfortunately, often think of the future appreciation of the spectator-buyer. The work must please be hit, must want to buy it to increase the artist's economic coffers. Why, then, relegated to a last level the role of historian, who can get to influence the ideas of the viewer, can lead to the kind of art you want to find?
On the other hand, society is becoming more mechanized. The individual goes from one place to another regardless of the medium. Therefore, you must have a way of escape for all that lurks within debrace (no hurt feelings)? I think that historians can provide the historical basis for understanding the reasons and circumstances d the work, but their analysis and artistic value should always be in the hands of an art historian.
So, leave here briefly record my opinion on this subject. Enough to relegate not only art history, but the Humanities in general background, were consistently above the Sciences. I think every branch of knowledge should be valued in itself, not absurd comparison that has no place or space, and may offend the sensibilities of the Guilds.

pd: Thank towards the post's comments above, but only I know who is one of them. Please tell me quiin writing. Thanks

Witch Contanent Does Chickan Poks Most Occor Adion with the heart ... and a horn jajajajajaja!

If! Ladies and gentlemen, by chance visitors to this my space. I won one of my greatest enemies ... the nuns!! Finally I see more coming my final departure from this house that seems echárseme up at every step.
Following the problems encountered in recent days, and parental authority finding out what happened, I have been convinced to proceed with the eviction of the house. Benito has supported more than my arguments, and after expose very clearly "or floor or back and forth all day," I can say with a chance of success of 90% leaving the building, a home last year during a torture present. Mayor
was my joy to know the facilities that seem disponérseme apparently co-

Prostate Infection Condition_symptoms a_misery_alice @ 2006-03-02T19: 43:00

Gustavo Adolfo Becquer

LXC

Never have so few words said so much. Not so simply has hidden depth. In thinking about my favorite poems Bécquer me realize that are shorter, but also the most concise and expressive.

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tion, I say goodbye, but not before promising a huge photo spread on this day I hope.

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a

tod@s

.

Disneyland Renal Friendly a_misery_alice @ 2006-01-11T12: 17:00

Detas

a storm is always calm. A calm before the storm.

Sara looked out the window and drop his cheek reflecting the landscape. His eyes, tense and irritable, had a quiet burial, as time passed before them without stopping. Your skin, bristling, co budge breeze running through the room. Cheeks, neck and chest streaked river drowning in his black shirt.

space before it was immense, he could not cover it with your eyes. The truth, nor tried. Worth nothing, nothing worthy effort. Their hopes, their dreams had vanished.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-. Four

least five minutes agocan see the look pushy, and find among the people. His face was sad and give up.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.

When the rivers had dried up when the dark and does not allow appraisal of the landscape that is before her, Sara comes to. His phone rings and turned to catch it. Illusions back and his eyes dancing

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