Book: Songbird

Poison to swallow at once, man or dies, or lives. And to mix it with syrup to drink SIP is a nasty, disgusting thing. Should I inform slowly but gradually - like cutting the man saw...

Laughing, I start crying, crying - laughing. Yesterday evening I was very cheerful. Going to bed, felt very happy, and in the morning when it was still dark, woke up in tears. Why did I cry? I do not know. I felt like that night, I went around all the houses in the world, collected all the sorrows and worries and filled your heart. Enveloped in such a causeless, inexplicable anguish, I was shaking, sobbing: "Mom! My mom!" and clamped my mouth to avoid screaming.

Seen people who like the calligraphers handwriting "sulus" they write. But writing them is not worth a penny. And there are those that write awry askance flourishes, like ant legs. Here are some of them good turns.

She needed to take a NAP just for a minute, waking up, she began to tell endless dream about our house and the grove in Callander, on the waters of the Bosphorus. Which, I suppose, longing gnaws at the human heart, if he is in a few minutes manages to see such a long dream!

They say: "an Honest woman and the rooster runs".

Is a ray of light that came in a dark dungeon, or a wretched flower, blooming among the rocks from the destroyed wall, not a sign of life, carrying the human hope and comfort?

Loneliness magnifies only one God.

If you have the game of love makes so burn and tremble, so what is the love?

I had studied her. This strange girl! She might be capricious, to come up with something. Never mind, never let go of it. And need, be wild and rough as the highlanders who kidnap women. You know, if she dies in your arms so she he died of happiness.

My bright love, don't open my mouth, don't!
Don't ask me to sing never, the heart is full of the torments of hell.
Cruel, do not disobey me. You only joy.
Don't ask me to sing never, the heart is full of the torments of hell.

For a moment I imagined that, during the night, will meet him face to face on this tree, and I almost went crazy. That would be terrible! To see up close his green eyes.

And this foolish girl was born for love, because of love suffered, but unwanted love was for her unbearable torture...

Killed you in my heart one evening in autumn, two years ago...

Men, most of them bad, cruel - no doubt about it. And all women are good, meek is also no doubt. But there are men, albeit very few of them who have a pure heart, honest intentions; and such purity in women will never find.