02/10/2010 § 1 Comment
Dude. This blog site is sick! How did you make it look this good .
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
« to the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream. The Bell Jar
La Mort des amants : beds of subtle fragrance shall be ours, soft divans far deeper than a tomb, fairer climes shall yield mysterious flowers — flowers which for us were made to bloom. lavishing our final amorous hours there, our flaming hearts shall merge and loom in the twin mirrors of these souls of ours — torches vast which side by side consume. then some evening, rose and mystic blue, charged with the sobbing woe of our adieu, Love shall links us in one lightning-spark; later, shall the faithful angel fling all the portals wide, illumining the flameless torches and the mirrors dark. – Baudelaire »
You are currently reading The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. – Robert Frost at there will be no miracles here.
Blog at WordPress.com.