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what is the use

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PostWysłany: 19 Maj 2011, 13:0 Temat postu: what is the use

Read an essay: an amateur folk songs in the field, he holding the camera, walking in the fields to find the best camera,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], take a moment found a King, is preparing to shoot, suddenly I thought, perhaps even in front of the scenery better,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], so he walked a few steps, found here is also good, about to shoot, another thought, perhaps in front of the scenery better, so he walked away, all the way to dark, or a picture did not shoot out. This in turn reminds me of elementary school textbook
people and the same time. Some people today do not want to complete a certain thing, you always think of it there is a tomorrow, something hurry, the use of such inert vindication for their own reasons. As everyone knows, tomorrow, tomorrow,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], tomorrow, life can have a few, lose today, as one has a tomorrow, so go to the end of the day of life, suddenly awakening, tomorrow is no longer with their affinity, and can talk about with?
people are always afraid to face up to reality, is always discontented, always dreaming about tomorrow is a colorful, can not be sure of today, do not want to grasp. In fact, tomorrow there may be flowers everywhere, may also be bleak minimalist, when we walked today, standing position for tomorrow look past to find that we repeat the photographic and the little monkeys in the past. We should take advantage of many days, in the beautiful fantasy away from us, never refuses to turn back, so people always sigh: If back to me ... ... which, if that day I ... .... But simply on the passage of time to regret the past, what is the use? Rolling in the Yangtze River east, the days lost lost forever in the past days will not come again. Since the past will not
again,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], why do not we firmly grasp the present, from scratch,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], starting from the foot of today to do a good thing today, to doing good and doing fun, did never regret, until today, the past, we will not feel sorry that the day I will be doing good. When many of today become tomorrow as yesterday, when we stumble into old people, look back on yo back, you will find time on this thread, actually strings on the shiny day after day, like a string of pearls,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], it is the long history of life light it!
honestly sum up the past, peace with the future, but also to firmly grasp the present, so that life in the years to draw a bright Star in the trace. Previous: expectation and disappointment Next: cheer Posts

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The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.


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