hair [Theme] Page 4

The wind blew my hair ... I was here, I remember everything too well.

- My name is Lethbridge-Stewart! The stranger declared. - Brigadier Alistair Gord ... No, wait, wait ... It's 1963, right? He paused for a moment to count on his fingers. - Yes exactly! I'm Colonel Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. British army, old man!

- Yes! she screamed. “See me, see Donna,” she stepped forward and made a movement with her head like in a shampoo advertisement. - Behold - the Red Goddess!

Not your puppet.

- You have wonderful fields. I am doctor. This is, as you've probably figured out by now, Rory Williams. Another friend of mine, Amy Pond, is wandering around nearby. Tall, red hair, tartan, but we try not to use that against her too often. Beautiful. She and Rory will be married in 75 years, plus or minus.

I thought it was okay to surprise Jamie with my endless returns from strange places.

It hurt to look at him - he seemed distraught. Closing his eyes, he shuddered and walked away without a word.

Not surprising at all, he thought. How many all at once piled on the poor thing! What is it like - first, to discover that the man she loved and called her dad all her life is not really her father; secondly, to find out that her real father is a Scottish Highlander, who lived two hundred years ago; and thirdly, to realize that he sacrificed his own life to save his wife and child and died a terrible death. Yes, there is something to be confused about!

Valery Mazmanyan

“Yes, I would,” he said, “but I didn’t carry your child.

“Yes, I would,” he said, “but I didn’t carry your child.

“And my secrets make my hair softer and shinier,” Severin said, smoothing his curls with his hand.

January was deaf and blind. Lazy and cruel. The dirty ice on the sidewalks, strewn with sand, looked angrily up at the passers-by. Naked trees along the road bared their teeth, pulled their branches twisted by frost, like beggars on the porch, “give, give, give,” periodically clung to the hair, to the fur coat, as if trying to tear it apart.

I didn't go to your dreams.
and in the crowd did not seem,
did not imagine in the park, where he lilac
rain, or rather - began
rain (I'll pull that line,
and I won't notice the other),
it blazned me, fool,
that I'm about to meet you,
it was you who appeared to me in a dream,
(and I was filled with
quiet tenderness), hair to me
on the temples corrected.
This fall, I even have poems.
managed in part
(but always missing a line
or rhymes - for happiness).