 Член с 6 Июнь, 2005
jspencer
| Рейтинг: 1,990 | | Любовь: 6 |
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Местонахождение: minneapolis
Род занятий: student
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(145 взгляда)  
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Последний комментарий jspencerRed meat is NOT bad for you. Now blue-green meat, THAT'S bad for you!
Tommy Smothers
O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), "Othello", Act 3 scene 3
Yes, there is a Nirvanah; it is leading your sheep to a green pasture, and in putting your child to sleep, and in writing the last line of your poem.
Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931) 
(181 взгляда)  
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Последний комментарий jspenceri hate orange...
"Where does the violet tint end and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blending enter into the other. So with sanity and insanity."
Herman Melville (1819 - 1891) 
(181 взгляда)  
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Последний комментарий jspenceri hate orange...
"Where does the violet tint end and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blending enter into the other. So with sanity and insanity."
Herman Melville (1819 - 1891) 
(764 взгляда)  
HEX: #8A0000 RGB: 138, 0, 0

Последний комментарий jspencerWhich is worse? the wolf who cries before eating the lamb or the wolf who does not.
Author: Leo Tolstoy 
(213 взгляда)  
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Последний комментарий jspencer'Now, don't be frightened, loves,' Mrs. Whatsit said. Her plump little body began to shimmer, to quiver, to shift. The wild colors of her clothes became muted, whitened. The pudding-bag shape stretched, lengthened, merged. And suddenly before the children was a creature more beautiful than any Meg had even imagined, and the beauty lay in far more than the outward description. Outwardly Mrs. Whatsit was surely no longer a Mrs. Whatsit. She was a marble-white body with powerful flanks, something like a horse but at the same time completely unlike a horse, for from the magnificently modeled back sprang a nobly formed torso, arms, and a head resembling a man's, but a man with a perfection of dignity and virtue, an exaltation of joy such as Meg had never before seen. No, she thought, it's not like a Greek centaur. Not in the least.~ a wrinkle in time by madeline l'engle   |
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