I want to go before she wakes up.
Alas! I'm on the side of the wall. I'll have to step over it. I'm afraid to brush her hip and that she will take me back in the process.
the cicada having sung
all summer,
was very helpless
when the North wind came:
not even a small piece
maggot or worm
she went begging
with its neighbor the ant,
begging her to lend him
some grain to survive
until the new season.
I'll pay you, she told him.
before August, animal faith,
Principal and Interest.
the ant is not lending:
that's the least of his problems.
what were you doing during hot weather?
she said to this borrower.
day and night to all comers
I was singing, don't you mind.
You were singing! I am glad.
well! dance now.
donkey loaded with sponges and donkey loaded with salt
an anier, his scepter in his hand,
led, like a Roman emperor,
two steeds with long ears.
one, of sponges load, walked like a courier:
and the other being prayed for,
carried, as they say, the bottles:
his load was salt. our fellow pilgrims,
over hills, and over valleys, and over roads,
at the end of a river came,
and very impediments were found.
the yesteryear, who crossed this gue-la every day,
on the donkey with the sponge went up
chasing the other beast before him,
who, wanting to do it in his head,
in a hole rushed,
returned to the water, then escaped;
because after a few swims
all its salt melts so well
that the donkey felt nothing
on his relieved shoulders.
comrade spongier took his example,
see my ass in the water; up to the pass it is leveled,
him, the driver and the sponge.
all three drank as much: the anier and the gison
were right with the sponge.
it became so heavy,
and so much water is filled first,
that the succumbing donkey could not gain the edge,
the anier kissed her, waiting
of a prompt and certain death.
someone came to the aid: who it was, it does not matter;
it is enough that we have seen from there that i; must not
act the same
I wanted to come to this point.
the swan and the cook
in a menagerie of birds filled with
lived the swan and the owl:
this one destines it for the eyes of the Master,
this one for its taste; one who prided himself on being
commensal from the garden, the other from the house.
the pits of the castle making their galleries,
sometimes we saw them swimming side by side,
sometimes to run on the wave, and sometimes to dive,
without being able to satisfy their vain desires.
one day the cook, having drunk too much at once,
took the swan for a gosling, and holding it around the neck,
he was going to slit it, then put it in soup.
the bird, ready to die, complains in its romance.
the cook was greatly surprised,
and saw that he was mistaken.
what? I would put such a singer in soup, he said!
no, no, please the gods that my hand never cuts
the throat who uses it so well,
so in the dangers that follow us behind
sweet talk does not hurt anything.
the little hare
abrupt, with a shiver
of fear and fever,
we see the little hare
escape from the bush.
doesn't he hear someone?
no it's just the breeze
which caresses and which intoxicates
her little body is fasting.
and in the brown thicket
the madman aromatizes
perfume
laburnum.
In the morning palot,
nimble and pulling his tail,
it's more than a league
All at once, at a gallop.
he stops at solo
nice wagtail,
near the water
green and blue.
the wolf and the dog
a wolf had only bones and skin,
so much the dogs kept guard:
this wolf meets a mastiff as powerful as it is beautiful.
fat, polite, who had erred by mistake.
attack him, put him in quarters,
Sir Wolf would have done it willingly:
but it was necessary to give battle;
and the morning was great
to defend oneself boldly.
the dancing wolf humbly approaches him,
comes in, and compliments him
on his overweight which he admires.
it will be up to you, handsome sire,
to be as fat as me, replied the dog.
leave the woods, you will do well:
your fellows are miserable there,
dunces, heres, and poor devils,
whose condition is to starve.
because, what! nothing guaranteed; frank lippee point;
everything at the tip of the sword.
follow me, you will have a much better destiny.
the wolf continued: what will I have to do?
almost nothing, said the dog: give chase to people
carrying sticks and beggars;
flatter those of the house, to his master please:
for what your salary
will be force reliefs in all ways,
bones of chickens, bones of pigeons;
not to mention a lot of caress.
the wolf is already forging a felicite.
which makes him cry with tenderness.
on the way, he saw the dog's collar peeled.
what is this? he said to her - nothing - what! nothing! - not much.
but still? - the necklace to which I am attached
of what you see may be the cause.
attached! said the wolf: so you don't run
or you want? - not always; but whatever?
it matters so much, that of all your meals
I do not want in any way,
and would not even want a treasure at this price.
that said, master wolf runs away, and runs again.
I think
I believe in valuing the supreme of the individual, his right to life, to freedom, to the search for happiness. I believe that every act implies a responsibility, every chance a duty, every possession an obligation. I believe that the law was made for man and man for the law, that the government is at the service of the citizens and not their master. I believe in the dignity of intellectual or manual work, that society owes no salary to anyone but that it must give everyone the opportunity to earn a living. I believe that saving is essential to a well-ordered life, that it is a prerequisite for sound financial management, whether it is government, business or personal affairs. I believe that truth and justice are the foundations of a lasting social order.
I believe that a promise is sacred, that a word is an oath, that strength of character is the supreme value, that will is more powerful than fortune. I believe that making oneself useful is the duty of every man and that it is only with the purifying fire of sacrifice that the dross of egoism is consumed and liberates the greatness of the soul. I believe there is nothing greater than love; man can only develop fully, achieve happiness and be truly useful by fulfilling his will. I believe that a wise and loving god, whatever his name, will overcome hatred, make the righteous triumph, overthrow tyrants.
thank you!
it's a little word otut simple
but who weighs heavy
if my lips express it gently
it is that it takes birth at the bottom of my heart.
a big thank you, a little thank you,
no matter its size
it has no dimension ...
whether in joy or in sadness
it's a sign of recognition
who does not know indifference
thank you!
a little word that feels good when you say it
a gracious little word that calms and rejoices
thank you! thank you!
thank you for allowing me to tell you,
to tell you:
thank you!
cruel absence has its charm.
like a drop of water in the sky,
immaterial happiness
sometimes fits in a tear.
when I was near her there
(human dream never ends),
I was still chasing a dream
that I did not forgive myself.
now my wishes of tenderness
no longer have sighs without an object;
a vague desire gnaws at me:
a definite regret oppresses me.
the absence, which hurts so much,
is often a happy sorrow:
she makes love certain
the elusive attraction of the ideal.
tenderness
when I put my head on your shoulder
and that, with closed eyes, I taste happiness ....
when I hold you close to my heart
and that I would like time to stop
to always feel you close to me ...
when a sweet smile comes to my lips
when I simply think of you ...
it is tenderness!
the tenderness that is there and unites us.
tenderness is the two of us,
the two of us again, the two of us still
the two of us plus just like yesterday
but the two of us more attached than ever ...
as if the patina of time
had embellished our love.
I love you ... dearly ..
the lion and the gnat
go away, wretched insect, excrement of the earth!
it is with these words that the lion
was talking to the midge one day.
the other declared war on him:
do you think, he said to him, that your title of king
scares me or cares?
an ox is more powerful than you
I take it where I fancy.
he barely finished these words
that he himself rang the charge,
was the trumpet and the hero.
in the first place he goes off,
then take your time, melt on your neck
of the lion that he almost drives mad.
the quadruped foam, and its sparkling eye;
he roars, we hide, we tremble around;
and this universal alarm
is the work of a gnat.
a fly runt harasses him in a hundred places,
sometimes pricks the enchine, and sometimes the muzzle,
tantot enters the back of the nose.
the alars rage is at its height.
the invisible enemy triumphs and laughs to see
that he is neither claw nor tooth in the irritated beast
who does not do duty to put her to blood.
the unhappy lion tears itself apart,
makes its tail ring around its sides,
bat 'air, which cannot but; and his extreme fuereur
fatigue, abot: here it is on the teeth.
the combat insect withdraws with glory:
as nil sounded the charge, he sounded the victory,
go everywhere announce it, and meet on the way
the ambush of an oroignee:
it also meets its end.
what can be taught by us?
I see two, one of which is that between our enemies
the most to grow are often the smallest:
the other, that at great perils such has been able to escape,
who perishes for the slightest deal.
live to rest.
love your bed, it's your temple.
if someone comes to see you to rest, help him
rest during the day so that you can sleep at night.
work is sacred, do not touch it.
never do tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.
work as little as possible. what needs to be done, leave it to others.
calm down, no one died while resting, but you can hurt yourself while working.
when you feel the desire to work,
sit down and wait for him to pass.
don't forget, work is health. therefore, leave it to the sick.
the little hope
it's the little light that shines deep in your heart
and that no one in the world can extinguish.
if your heart is broken, unhappy, lost
if your life is sad, monotonous without flavor
if anxiety sometimes and often seizes you
the little hope is there, at the bottom of your heart
which will allow you to go up the slope.
she is the sweet spring that arises after winter
she is your good star that sparkles in the sky
it is the breath of the wind which drives away the clouds ...
if you believe without success, without idea, without hope,
at the end of a dead end, in the dark of a tunnel
if you have no taste for anything, not even that of living ...
the little hope is still there, at the bottom of your heart
that gives you courage when it all seems over.
it is the drop of pure water which springs from the source the young bud which allows the tree to become green again
the light of day, over there, at the end of the night.
thank you for always being there, my little hope, deep in my heart
my wonderful magic lamp where I draw all my dreams
you who do not know the word End.
there is only one error and one crime: to want to enclose the diversity of the world in doctrines and systems. it is a mistake to turn other men away from their free judgment, from their own will, and to impose on them something that is not in them.
the life
life is a chance, take it
life is a beauty, admire it
life is a beatitude, savor it
life is a dream, make it a reality
life is a challenge face it
life is a duty, do it
life is a game, play it
Life is precious, take care of it
Life is wealth, keep it
life is love, enjoy it
life is a mustere, pierce it
life is a promise, fulfill it
life is sadness, overcome it
life is hymn, sing it
life is a struggle, accept it
life is adventure, dare it
life is happiness, deserve it
life is life, defend it
it's madness to hate all roses because a thorn has stung you. to give up all dreams because one of them didn't come true, to give up all attempts because we failed.
it is folly to condemn all friendships because one of them has betrayed you, to no longer believe in love just because one of them has been unfaithful, to throw away all the chances of being happy just because something has gone in the wrong direction. there is always another opportunity, another friend, another love, a new strength. for every end there is always a new beginning.
yseult
Far from the clamors of the world and denigrating courts
yseult, the white yseult, at the bottom of a dark wood
had joined tristan and the, among the fresh air
and the shadow of the thickets, full of attractive voices,
she wandered her crown, happy, indifferent,
her hair loose on her azure dress,
eyes delighted with love, intoxicated, intoxicating,
drinking from the sources of gold and biting the ripe fruit.
concern for their fault and care for their glory,
the blessings of King Mark and the oblivion of their court,
like an April dream, had fled their memory.
in the evenings, they stopped at the fountains to drink
and the old oaks, who knew their history,
softly called them the outlaws of love.
spleen
when the low and heavy sky weighs like a cover
on the moaning mind in the grip of long troubles,
and that of the horizon embracing the whole circle
it gives us a dark day sadder than the nights
when the earth is turned into a damp dungeon,
or hope, like a bat,
s; going beating the walls of his shy wing
and banging his head against rotten ceilings;
when the rain spreading its immense trails
of a vast prison imitates bars,
and that a dumb people of infamous spiders
comes to stretch its nets deep in our brains,
bells suddenly jump with fury
and throws a dreadful howl to the sky,
as well as wandering and homeless spirits
who start to moan obstinately.
and long hearses, without drums or music,
slowly scroll through my soul; ;'hope,
defeated, weeps, and excruciating anguish, despotic,
on my inclined skull plant its black flag.
the most beloved of my heart is saddened,
and plunges his hands like flowers,
to the sources of his eyes of sorrow,
the beloved of my heart is saddened.
to the beloved
my beloved, I am alone and far from you, and great is my distress.
and yet, this hour, a man kisses your knees, he gets intoxicated with your words and your smile, he breathes your being and the happiness of this man elevates him to the rank of gods.
my beloved, I am alone and far from you, and great is my distress.
I therefore resolved to get up, to walk through the city - streets and palaces - to seek the one whose soul is longed for; I looked for it and did not find it.
'
the guards who patrol the city met me:
have you seen, I asked them, the one with whom my soul is taken?
scarcely had I passed them when I found the one that my loving heart I seized and did not let go, until I had taken him to my mother's house, to the room of the one who gave birth to me ...
the fluers of evil
he leads me thus, far from the gaze of gods,
panting and gatigue breeze, in the middle
plains of boredom, deep and deserted,
and throw in my eyes full of confusion
soiled clothes, open wounds,
and the bloody apparatus of destruction!
the frog and the ox
a frog lives an ox
which seemed to him of good size.
she, who was not as big as an egg,
envious, expands, and swells, and works,
to match the animal in size,
saying: look closely at my sister
Is it enough? tell me, am I not there yet?
-nenni
- Here I am doc?
-not at all
- Here I am?
- you do not approach it.
the puny pecore
swelled so well that it burst.
dreams
the child sleeps in the shade
from the mother's bed.
while he rests,
her pink eyelid,
for the closed earth,
opens for the sky.
he has many dreams.
he sees at times
the sand of the strikes
full of diamonds
suns of flames,
and beautiful ladies
who carry souls
in their lovely arms.
dream that enchants him!
he sees streams;
a singing voice
comes out of the bottom of the water.
her sisters are more beautiful,
her father is near them.
his mother has wings
like birds ...
the rider at the fountain
ala fraiche fountain
under the big poplar,
at the cool fountain
a horseman stops.
his black horse is white
scum and dust.
he is tail white
down to the mane.
at the cool fountain
under the big poplar,
ala fraiche fountain
a horseman stops.
weariness
it is those long days of unspeakable unease
or one would like to sleep the heavy sleep of the dead;
of those hours of anguish where existence weighs on soul and body:
so we look in vain for a sweet thought,
a smiling image, a fruitful memory;
the soul struggles for a moment, then falls back slack
under his deep boredom.
so all that charms and all that we love
for our open eyes has only a deceptive glow;
and the bonehur dreams, if he comes, cannot even
overcome our torpor.
letter from paul to the corinthians
when I speak the language of men and angels,
if i miss love, i'm a metal that resonates,
a resounding cumbale.
when I have the knowledge of all the musteres and all the science,
when I have the most total faith, the one that transports the mountains,
if i miss love, am nothing.
when I distribute all my goods to the hungry,
if I miss love, don't gain anything by it.
love is patient,
love is of service,
he is not jealous,
he does not breastplate,
he does not get puffed up,
he doesn't do anything ugly,
he does not seek his interest,
he does not get irritated,
he does not maintain a youth,
he does not rejoice in injustice,
but he finds his joy in the truth.
he excuses everything, he believes everything,
he hopes for everything, he endures everything.
love never goes away.
under those bright rays of the September suns
the sky is soft, but pale, and the earth is turning yellow.
in the forests the leaf is the color of amber;
the bird no longer sings on the edge of its nest.
thought
do they ever have a dream,
a moment hoped,
a beautiful life,
like umbrellas
ladies time flies,
when muted they detach
from spring petals to May corollas,
without us guessing
in waterfowl,
their crinkled lace dress.
did they ever like,
a moment trembles,
beg in the night,
when flow without a sound
tears of regret,
and that in the reflections of the shining moons,
pearls like lovers' eyes
in the days of emoism,
the shards shine,
memories that always haunt us
perversity
I find at times a penetrating charm
to suffer, without knowing where my bitterness comes from.
and curve on my heart, eagerly I inhale
like a new perfume the pain which takes it.
I have this mad vanity of the conqueror
greedy for slaughter and blood; in the fog
whose doubt surrounds me and embraces me, I get used to it
to ward off a desperate evil in my mind.
but sometimes, drunk with this wine that I pour
drip to my weirdly perverted soul
I feel that I don't have the right to diminish myself,
let a whole flow of force in me boil and rise
and bruised, crushed by sudden shame,
I suffer from experiencing happiness in suffering.
fear
naked as a twig
in the nocturnal plain
madness in your eyes you dig the shadow
enumerating the vigilances.
like a long colchicum
with your purple corolla of specters
you are shaking.
sonnet
if I were in a wood pursued by a lion,
if I was by the sea in the midst of the storm,
if the gods anger wanted to squeeze my test
the burden of Mount Olympus and Mount Pelion;
if I saw the day that vid deucalion
or death will not leave man ny beste,
if to devour myself I saw all nimble
the rage of the torches which torched Ilion,
I would see these dangers with less boredom
that the violent evils that I suffer today
for a bad look that my angel gave me.
I already see a thousand lightning raining on me:
for the death of his son god against me takes revenge
since my phillis got annoyed to see me.
it is not pierrot in berbe,
no more than pierrot in wreath,
it is pierrot, pierrot, pierrot;
pierrot kid, pierrot kid,
the kernel bors of the pod,
it's pierrot, pierrot, pierrot
it is in this enchanting silence
it is in this enchanting silence
of moon, shadow and wonder,
in this cave that sleeps,
they say, the truth.
but we approach it, we launch it,
one a rose, the other a cry;
nothing answers, and we run away
terrified of this silence.
because we are afraid that in front of us
terrible, dazzling, and naked,
the truth, in his wrath,
suddenly appears and kills us.
one does not see well
only with the heart.
what is essential is invisible to the eye.