lifestyle [Theme] Page 1

How to treat a person, so he lives.

Happy women are treated in the clinic of plastic surgery "Fedulov lips cheated."

I advocate for SKIN - cool lifestyle. It's like a healthy lifestyle, but without pripiski and booze.

Me the creeps run until the end of time linger on the trivial plane of existence...

Mountains for me I spent the best days of his life... even if I can't do a spectacular, high-profile ascents, but I want to enjoy the mountains at least for the most common routes.

The more you photograph, the paler it becomes your inner life. While you are photographed, your soul is languishing, it is time for your soul - dead season.

Always going somewhere, not seeing the road, people move on some pre-painted places, armed with lies. Always waiting when you get there, where just came back, or regret the things you haven't done yet.

Life, generally speaking, not raspberry. Here and drops, and marking time. Somewhere you find, somewhere you lose it. On average equated.

Only a healthy lifestyle will save you from a fullness, disease, apathy.

We all know time
life, like theater, are
and like yourself, but the mask
rental we take from childhood.

There are so many places, but there is less time, because the time you have to smear all over the place in a thin layer, like butter. So everyone is saying: hurry up. Hurry up. Try to keep up. Ending soon.
There's less time, because the time has to be spread extra thin over all the places, like butter. So all the persons say, hurry up. Let's get going. Pick up the pace. Finish up now.

... maybe that's it? You're a wandering artist. Did not open his mouth, throw the spoon, chopsticks also throw. All throw away, all of you - with all your plans, thoughts. Apostosis just watch.

I always have to take a deep breath of it as I go? As the smell of wax, which is smeared floor, and a faint flavor of turpentine together with the mahogany, washed leaves and all the way create fragrance, create the highest expression of bourgeois cleanliness, thoroughness and accuracy of duty and faithfulness in the small. Don't know who lives here, but behind that glass door should be a Paradise of purity, of the petty bourgeoisie without a single speck of dust, a Paradise of order and timidly touching devotion to the little habits and responsibilities.

There was a time in my youth when I saw the festering sores of beggars, sorry for them, hired them healers, bought ointments and ointments. Caravans carried gold to me balm on the outer Islands.
But then I saw that the poor picks open sores, moistened slurry, so the gardener muck land, begging for her scarlet flower, and realized that the stench and the stench - the treasure of beggars. The poor were proud of each other his plagues, boasted revenue, and the one who received more than the others, stood in his own eyes, feeling himself the high priest in the most beautiful of kumaran. Only out of vanity came to my poor healer, anticipating how he will marvel at the abundance of their fetid ulcers. Protecting their place under the sun, they shook ulcerated stumps, care about yourself esteemed honors, gadgets - worship. But having recovered, felt unnecessary, not feeding the disease, useless, and whatever was sought to regain their ulcers. And again socas pus, smug and worthless, they lined up with bowls along the caravan roads, robbing travellers in the name of their stinking God.