William The Conqueror And King Arthur

Love Dossi

Carlo Dossi
"The ending in A"

-1884-Eropatìa
"If one of those 'rare giovanottini, on whose cheeks the leaf Rose did not yield even to that of nicoziana, miraculously intact between bambinaje past, the schoolmaster and the priests were asked, pointing to a procession of people who seem to Lucerta nurtured and hangs more al verde che al giallo, màssime nelle tasche, e trae fin dalle calcagna i sospiri e ti risponde una cosa per l'altra, o cose che nessuno capisce, compresa lei, si domandasse, dico <<¿or che vedi?>> certo risponderebbe <<ammalati>>.
E noi, battèndogli amichevolmente la spalla, <<bravo tè>> gli diremmo <<hai trucciato, perocchè sono innamorati>>.
[...]
¡O amore, fonte di maggiore rovina che non la fame e la peste, tu che le sei, non often, both!
And here, nell'interminàbil sequela of your victims, a young man. To him, beautiful, rich, talented, smiling all around. The prohibition was not a heart, not a dead end, and he was able, for the Favourite, quickly, who owned a carriage, touching the goal, both for the demerits, what, which is more difficult much to the credit.
yet his face is like a yellow leaf in November, has withered as a bag at Christmas, yet in comparison of his soul, black is a cheerful color.
¿Who ever? The doctor, who felt him and I hope and knocked, assures us that he rings bells well. But the scientific eye has been brought to the brain where the image of a woman's dry, insatiable sponge, while every vile thought, a young woman whose only yearns alms a look, without daring to look. That love, which often gives impudence, where it has taken courage.
The mirror makes the young ugly beauty of him, nor numb the talent is there to comfort him by reminding him that he always keeps that second beauty, which for women is the first, countably beauty, intellect rather a time he no longer feels if not that glimmer, that do it as sighted genius is gone. And, completely despondent, flees friends whose smile offends; flees from human society in every suspicious look, fled in the end, with an ounce of lead, the unbearable if - ¡a twenty-three ; years, think. "

Woman Carried In Movies

A second class of poetry by Isidore Ducasse

In his "Songs of Maldoror" one of the best treatments on the evil inherent in man (and thus God), the beloved Isidore perhaps too often gets lost (and complicated life, with great courage literary) in explanations too difficult, but one of many I have found that the closest
to explain the inexplicable, which is the poem:
"[...] It 's so that, as the inclination of our spirit to take farce to a wretched pun, often is nothing in the author's thought that an important truth, proclaimed with majesty. "
Well, perhaps it would be useful to read everything that came before and that leads to the aforementioned sentence, so who can be moved by curiosity (The I bless him) does so without waiting for anyone or anything.
Ducasse is a seer, visionary ideal of the poet Rimbaud: disrupting the senses to make them their own. How do you declare the mind "our" if we do not know in the beautiful and the ugly and all?
believe it is impossible to predict the future? It 's simple, the mechanisms humans never repeated in cycles, but under the circumstances. So now you do a little 'you.

*********
Ducasse Still, dealing with the human animal, certainly worse than the human animal, of course! Here's what he says
in two lines that do not require further comment: "[...] The Seine
drag a human body .[...] The corpse, bloated, it is claimed the Water [...] The master of a vessel [...] links it to its passage, and return it to the ground .[...] The dense crowd gathers around the body .[...] Everyone says: "I would not be drowned for sure. He pities the young man, who killed himself, you can admire but not imitate it. Yet he found it extremely natural kill himself, judging that nothing on earth was able to satisfy him, and aiming higher .[...]... night falls. Everyone goes away quietly. No one dares to overthrow the drowned to make him vomit the water that fills the body. They are afraid of passing sensitive , and no one has moved, all dug into his shirt collar . "
but this is nothing, every page will show the humanity in all clothes, the more miserable the other, but perhaps most of all: that the Creator