comfort [Theme] Page 2

Your home is the best.

Comfort is more valuable than any golden palaces.

That's what I would write about if I were a poet– those who work at night. About guys unloading cars, about nurses on duty with their affectionate hands, about night employees in hotels, about taxi drivers, about waitresses in round-the-clock cafes. They understand a lot. They know how valuable it is that someone remembers your name, they know the comfort of the usual rhetorical questions - "How is life? Like children?" They know how long a night can be. They know what sound the departing life makes - it quietly clicks like a glass door closed in a draft. Night workers live without illusions - wipe other people's dreams from the tables, load weights, return to the airport for the last remaining passenger.

And the weariness in me is a delight.

ᅠ Any team can be compared with the Pleiades of stars - this is especially noticeable in the role-playing world, where shining individuals illuminate the firmacle of everyday life with their ideas and reasoning, touching the reader's heart with successful or seditious thoughts. Sometimes in the space of the Internet, people, like stars in the Universe, unite to form an exotic galaxy. Drifting through the plot, they fascinate with their flickering, inspire and even cause furious indignation. But they're all going out. Some imperceptibly and quietly, others - exploding dazzling and devastating, a supernova flash that generates a black hole, whose gravitational attraction is so great that it will not be possible to leave it, and stretches like a plume of aroma, exciting the soul with memories. For some, this is so unbearable that they indignantly renounce the person with whom they had a wonderful time. But to complain is to cross out everything that was excellent and mind-blasting, to annul the gift of magic - time spent together, which grew into an incomparable, amazing creativity, which in turn generates the spirits of the storm.
ᅠ But what about it, because no holiday can last forever?!
ᅠ Dare to bask even for a brief moment in the sun's rays with the risk of getting a hurricane or afraid to leave the usual comfort of your cave?

We have some axioms that young people want consumption. Young people never want consumption. And she did not want him. I remember this generation that went to the virgin lands. Then it was worse, during stagnation ... And then it was - for those who despised penny comfort. This is the property of youth, which all the time wants dreams, open prospects, some kind of miracle, struggle and everything else. Where did we get the idea that they want to vegetate?

Halloween is gradually becoming my favorite holiday, as something small and strange, when little shy hares change their costumes and come to show off simply because it is so good, and here, as in the case of beauty, no more arguments or excuses are needed , no logic. You don't need divine expectations from yourself. You need joy - cozy and sincere. And it's all.

Even at six or seven years old, boys feel more confident when certain responsibilities are assigned to them. But many mothers feel guilty for hanging a list of errands on their son. We are housewives, we do the housework and provide comfort for our family. It seems illogical for us to entrust our son with homework. However, you need to understand that the boy needs errands, despite his whining and grumbling; only then will he develop a sense of belonging to home and family.

The hut on chicken legs, where in a snowstorm sculpt dumplings with potatoes and cheese, you don't know, Nora, that comfort is a word invented in Russia.
Austrian mountain winter with ginger cookies, trails, mulled wine, it's all sweet and fabulous, but comfort is a bath white, good Baba Yaga over a basin of dough and storm, and the quiet, brown-millet Slavic creature with gnarled fingers, showing you pictures with inscriptions on the pillar - the pillar at boots - "boots", on potatoes - "kartohu".
Comfort is a word invented during the Russian winter the Russian Baba Yaga waiting for the fellow with pneumonia, otpaivala his Molotov cocktails with licorice, rubbing bear grease and singing a long, endless songs about horse.

Washing itself by the fire the cat gives the room a special comfort.

So I was in the place where before there never was. There's a shelf with books of Russian writers, antique China Cabinet; tea, as strong as our spirit, and as sweet as our tale.
Beach hot ocean, not the top of the great mountain, not pearl Islands - now I know for sure: the best place on the planet is where after a long journey you rest the soul.

The woman is not able to create emotional comfort - is doomed to spiritual loneliness!

There is a girl eh away if they told the truth the wise man?
Ripe cucumber on the field...
We sage - the cucumber, the damsel - in-interest entity,
Sin the beginning, truth the end.
Oh, I have sinned well you little trouble -
To create a household atmosphere.
Because the mouth breathers here and there, stare, walk and scurry,
Ripe, in our hands.
Yes, sin is guilty only in the fact that we call sin.
So there is no sin on him and not care.
And, so as not to grieve later, time to share experiences,
Besides, who wants to rule all.
And that means we need to water the field...

Outside the window, where loud children's laughter and bright light - good lives, there is no malice!