Letter to an imaginary tick talk letters to a dead Diary The little aristocrat An empty place thoug

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Writing is always a little lie. Uvi ----- -------- ---------- ------------ ------ A motionless traveler ----- - ------ ------- ------- -------- ---------- ----- ---- " In these impressions that have no connection to nor have, shall I tell my biography indifferent without facts, my life without life. They are my Confessions and when I tell them nothing, it's because I have nothing to say. " . ...... -------- -------- ----- Fernando Pessoa - From "The Book of Disquiet. .... ... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... ... . .... Que l'Importance soit dans ton regard, non dans la chose regardée. .... .... .... .... Les Nourritures terrestres, André Gide, éd. Gallimard, p. 21. ... ............................................... ....................................... La seule excuse qu'un homme ait d ' écrire c'est lui-même the s'écrire the dévoiler aux autres le sort du monde qui se mire and son miroir Individual. " ................................ Remy de Gourmont
Uvi Van singers and daughters Nina Van singers and daughters Uvi on the sadness of an old cupboard for Liliane Liekens on minibus comes as liliane Liekens on minibus comes as liliane Liekens on minibus comes as Liliane For Liekens on minibus comes as liliane Liekens on minibus comes as Nina in The sadness of an old cabinet Uvi on Small prophet cor beau on the little prophet Uvi What goes on in three letters? Uvi on how much goes in three letters? Nina on how much goes in three letters? cor beau What goes on in three letters? Uvi on The translators of skin and hair Kris on The translators of skin and hair Uvi on Small prophet Nina on The little prophet Uvi in Never on Sunday ria39 in Never on Sunday Uvi Now and then Nina Now and then Nina and Now then Uvi Oh, you voudrais tant que tu te souviennes madeleine Oh, you voudrais tant que tu te souviennes Uvi on if the snow was Nina on if the snow was Uvi on Letters to n-person madeleine on Letters to n-person
Letter to an imaginary tick talk letters to a dead Diary The little aristocrat An empty place thought Happiness randomly Love Me and Mrs. Jones With a p written Number nine from an 'Old diary "From a forgotten archive Self Portrait
Doubt. Alas, I was born with it. It is, therefore, a piece of my be. My existence. I meanwhile unlearned to ask 'why'. If you are then you learn to accept almost 72. Then you're grateful for 'forgetting'. tick talk The holes in your past.
As long as it is not one big black hole. I love the light that settles here now on the table. On my left the sun creeps out of the ground. The landscape of my table and its poets. These are the moments to cherish. Of course, easy to posit that here. If you do not go to school. Or to work.
And yet, and yet. This is called being happy. If this 'stuff' does not notice, you're tick talk sick. Or unhappy. I fear. With doubt I was born. But even with an overdose of wonder. And 'fear'. This threshold to live, I can not forget. Between and with these qualities and pains I had to get through. Throughout the days and years.
To be happy, you have to be lucky, I guess. Chance in life. In terms of today and neo-liberalism, I'm a big loser. Now and then it flashes through my brains. Alas, I have them every morning purify the night. And obscure thoughts. No one is better tick talk for it. Neither do I.
'Indifference' is a label that has been stuck fast on people who settle in a cocoon to avoid the suffering world, to be able to, to survive. Only when they are depressed, there is a light and understanding they can go to the psychiatrist. And if that does not help, there are other dead ends.
Dear reader-es, excuse me, I grow weekdays already some calluses on my fragile soul. That I 'la petite Bonté "could continue to hand out to my children and grandchildren. tick talk My little world and my little days.
PS. Athena's owl. Yesterday evening I hesitated a moment to watch the documentary on canvas. tick talk Until I read the topic. I wondered what helps me (and my environment) as I get sick of going to sleep sorrow. After such a deplorable nightcap.
"Sebastien is only one of the many French farmers who can barely keep the head above water. Each year 400 to 800 of them commit suicide because they do not see it anymore. Filmmaker Edouard Bergeon knows the problem as g