Dirty diapers are disgusting. Rotten eggs smell rancid. But skunks really stink! That's the finding of a light-hearted U.S. survey sponsored byWOW Power Leveling Renuzit, Dial Corp.'s air freshener unit.
脏尿布臭气熏天，臭鸡蛋令人作呕，但臭鼬才真的是臭不可闻！代尔公司的空气清新剂分公司雷纽兹发弹簧起了一次轻松愉快的调查，上述结论由此而来。
Skunks led the list of the bad odors in the nationwide survey, with 59.7 percent of respondents rating it a 6, the stinkiestGas Alarm rating. Rotten eggs came in second at 47.2 percent, dirty diaper bins received 45.1 percent, bathroom odors were fifth at 31.World Of Warcraft Gold6 percent. Participants were allowed to rank more than one smell as the stinkiest. The poll was conducted in conjunction WOW Goldwith the launch of a new Renuzit air freshener, Renuzit Super Odor Neutralizer.
在这次全国性调查中，臭鼬占据了臭气排行榜的首位，59.7%的受访者将其归入最臭的升降机级别——6级。臭鸡蛋以47.2%的成绩位居第二，装脏尿布的垃圾桶得票率为45.1%。排名第4的是卫生间，得票37.9%，得票31.6%的奶牛场排在第5位。参与者可以对最臭的气味进行多选。这次调查与雷纽兹公司的新型空气清新剂——雷纽兹超级除臭剂一同推出。
Respondents also nominated their own malodorous offenders that were not part ofWorld Of Warcraft Power Leveling Renuzit's original suggestions, with the top being spoiled meat, sewers and pet urine. Also receiving votes: "politics" and "the guy I have to work with."
在雷纽兹公司开具的名单之外，参加调查的人也提出了他们心目中的恶臭事物，出现频率最高数据恢复的是臭肉、下水道和宠物的尿液。获得提名的还有“政治”以及“我不得不与之共事的家伙”。
publié par wowgirl dans: wowgirl
As we all know, eyes are of vital importance to human beings. Eyes to us are like water to fish. We cherish them not only WOW Power Levelingbecause they are indispensable parts of our bodies but also because they are considered as the window of the souls(弹簧). Apart from our tongue, from my point of view, eyes are another kind of language World Of Warcraft Goldwe use to express ourselves.
Through one’s eyes, we can read sorrow, happiness or encouragement and many other emotions. We have eye contacts. We keep our eyes open to the danger. A girl can make her eyes to her crush. When to sides make an agreement, they see eye to eye WOW Goldwith each other. Eyes are always one of the fastest and most direct organs to get your thoughts unveiled(数据恢复). Until now I still remember an unforgettable experience, which happened when I took part in a singing contest at the age of nine.
It was the power of my mother’s eyes that encouraged me to go for it. I had Alcohol Testershowed great interest in singing before that. But I was too shy to sing in the public. So one day my mother took me to sign in the singing contest. With my mother’s company and encouragement, I was determined to meet that challenge. Standing on the stage,
I suddenly found I become the focus of all Breathalyzerthe eyes. I got so nervous to even keep my eyes open. When it was my turn to be introduced to the audience and sing, I became even more nervous. I felt my legs were shaking and my memory seemed gone, as I couldn’t remember anything. Gas Alarm Searching for help,
I met my mother’s eyes which are sparkling with encouragement and strong power. It seemed that they were speaking to me, “ Come on! Baby! Take it easy. I’ll always be with you!” I read the message through her eyes and at that moment I regained my confidence and began to sing my song. I did my best. Maybe my performance wasn’t good enough in the judges’ eyes, but marvelous enough in my mother’s eyes,
I was sure of that. When I came down from the stage, she came up to me, saying, “Great! I’m proud of you!” and gave me a big hug. At that time, I found her eyes filled with tears of joy. Sometimes, you see, just the encouraging eyes themselves can make a timid person daring. Eyes are another means of Gas Detectorcommunication which is very important and necessary in our lives. I can still recall the scene vividly when my father saw me off at the bus station. To me it was the most precious memory in my lifetime.
That year I went to the college for the first time and it was also my first time to leave home. When the bus was about to leave, my father helped me put down the luggage and stood in front of me, not knowing what to say. Unlike my mother, Co Alarmwho seemed to have endless reminding to make, from drinking more water, eating more food to wearing more clothes and so on. My father, kept silent, on the contrary, just stared at me, as if to say, “Take care….”
Then the bus began to move. I waved to my dad suggesting he should go back home. But he still stood there(升降机), motionless. When the bus pulled out, I couldn’t help turning back, and to my great surprise, my Dad was still standing there, watching me. At that moment, I was moved deeply, tears running out of my eyes. I realized it was another way of communication;
I knew it is not easy for a father to show his love to his child by words; I knew it was the best conversation that I had made to my father; I also knew it was the best way for my father to show his love to me, silent but touching. Sometimes, you see, only an eye contact can understand the unspokenwow gold mind. Eyes are like a mirror from which you can see yourself clearly, thoroughly and objectively. Through one’s eyes, we know where our weaknesses and strengths lie, thus we can learn from others and enhance ourselves. So sometimes, you see, only an eye to make a dark day bright.
Through one’s eyes, we can read sorrow, happiness or encouragement and many other emotions. We have eye contacts. We keep our eyes open to the danger. A girl can make her eyes to her crush. When to sides make an agreement, they see eye to eye WOW Goldwith each other. Eyes are always one of the fastest and most direct organs to get your thoughts unveiled(数据恢复). Until now I still remember an unforgettable experience, which happened when I took part in a singing contest at the age of nine.
It was the power of my mother’s eyes that encouraged me to go for it. I had Alcohol Testershowed great interest in singing before that. But I was too shy to sing in the public. So one day my mother took me to sign in the singing contest. With my mother’s company and encouragement, I was determined to meet that challenge. Standing on the stage,
I suddenly found I become the focus of all Breathalyzerthe eyes. I got so nervous to even keep my eyes open. When it was my turn to be introduced to the audience and sing, I became even more nervous. I felt my legs were shaking and my memory seemed gone, as I couldn’t remember anything. Gas Alarm Searching for help,
I met my mother’s eyes which are sparkling with encouragement and strong power. It seemed that they were speaking to me, “ Come on! Baby! Take it easy. I’ll always be with you!” I read the message through her eyes and at that moment I regained my confidence and began to sing my song. I did my best. Maybe my performance wasn’t good enough in the judges’ eyes, but marvelous enough in my mother’s eyes,
I was sure of that. When I came down from the stage, she came up to me, saying, “Great! I’m proud of you!” and gave me a big hug. At that time, I found her eyes filled with tears of joy. Sometimes, you see, just the encouraging eyes themselves can make a timid person daring. Eyes are another means of Gas Detectorcommunication which is very important and necessary in our lives. I can still recall the scene vividly when my father saw me off at the bus station. To me it was the most precious memory in my lifetime.
That year I went to the college for the first time and it was also my first time to leave home. When the bus was about to leave, my father helped me put down the luggage and stood in front of me, not knowing what to say. Unlike my mother, Co Alarmwho seemed to have endless reminding to make, from drinking more water, eating more food to wearing more clothes and so on. My father, kept silent, on the contrary, just stared at me, as if to say, “Take care….”
Then the bus began to move. I waved to my dad suggesting he should go back home. But he still stood there(升降机), motionless. When the bus pulled out, I couldn’t help turning back, and to my great surprise, my Dad was still standing there, watching me. At that moment, I was moved deeply, tears running out of my eyes. I realized it was another way of communication;
I knew it is not easy for a father to show his love to his child by words; I knew it was the best conversation that I had made to my father; I also knew it was the best way for my father to show his love to me, silent but touching. Sometimes, you see, only an eye contact can understand the unspokenwow gold mind. Eyes are like a mirror from which you can see yourself clearly, thoroughly and objectively. Through one’s eyes, we know where our weaknesses and strengths lie, thus we can learn from others and enhance ourselves. So sometimes, you see, only an eye to make a dark day bright.
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wow wow wow wow wow wow wow wowpublié par wowgirl dans: wowgirl
I was not yet 30 years old and was working as a firefighter in the South Bronx's Engine Co. 82, probably the world's most activewow gold firehouse at the time. It was warm and sunny, the kind of leisurely Sunday that brought extra activity to the neighborhood and to its firefighters. We must have had 15 or 20 calls that day, the worst being a garbage fire in the rear of an abandoned building, which required a hard pull Gas Detectorof 600 feet of cotton-jacketed hose.
Between alarms I would rush to the company office to read Captain Gray's copy of the Sunday New York Times. It was late in the afternoon when I finally got to the Book Review section. As I read it, my blood Breathalyzerbegan to boil. An article blatantly stated what I took to be a calumny -- that William Butler Yeats, the Nobel Prize-winning light of the Irish Literary Renaissance, had transcended his Irishness and was forever to be known as a universal poet.
There were few things I was more proud of than my Irish heritage, and ever since I first picked up a book of his poems from a barracks shelf when I was in the military, Yeats had been my favorite Irish writer, followed by Sean O'Casey and James Joyce.
My ancestors were Irish farmers, fishermen and blue-collar workers, but as far as I can tell, they all had a feeling for literature. It was passed on to my own mother, a telephone operator, who hardly ever sat down without a book in her hands. And at that moment my own fingernails might have been soiled with the soot of the day's fires, but I felt as prepared as any Trinity don to stand up in the court of public opinion and protest. Not only that Yeats wow goldhad lived his life and written his poetry through the very essence of his Irish sensibility, but that it was offensive to think Irishness -- no matter if it was psychological, social or literary -- was something to beAlcohol Tester transcended.
My stomach was Co Alarmchurning, and I determined not to let an idle minute pass. "Hey, Captain Gray. Could I use your typewriter?" I asked.(升降机)
The typewriter was so old that I had to use just one finger to type, my strongest one, even though I could type with all ten. I grabbed the first piece of clean paper I could find -- one that had the logo of the Fire Department of the City of New York across the top -- and, hoping there would be a break in the alarms for 20 minutes or so, wrote out a four-paragraph letter of indignation to the editor of the Sunday Book Review.
Throughout his poetry, I postulated, Yeats yearned for a messiah to lead Ireland out from under the bondage of English rule, and his view of the world and the people in it was fundamentally Irish.
Just as I addressed the envelope, the final alarm of my tour came in, and as I slid down the long brass pole, I felt unexpectedly calm, as if a great rock had been purged from the bottom of my stomach.
I don't know why I felt WOW Power Leveling it my obligation to safeguard the reputation of the world's greatest poet, at least next to Homer and Shakespeare, or to inscribe an apologia for Irish writing. I just knew that I had to write that letter, in the same way a priest has to pray, or a musician has to play an instrument.
Until that point in my life I had not written much of value -- a few poems and short stories, the beginning of a coming-of-age novel. I knew that my writing was anything but refined. Like a beginning artist who loves to draw, I understood that the more one draws, or writes, or does anything, the better the end result will be, and so I wrote often to better control my writing skills, to master them. I sent some material to various magazines and reviews but found no one willing to publish me.
It was a special and unexpected delight, then, when I learned something I'd written would finally see print. Ironically it wasn't one of my poems or short stories -- it was my letter to the Times. I suppose the editor decided to publish it World Of Warcraft Power Leveling because he was first attracted by the official nature of my stationery (was his staff taking smoke breaks out on the fire escape?), and then by the incongruity of a ghetto firefighter's using words like messianism, for in the lines below my letter it was announced that I was a New York City firefighter. I'd like to think, though, that the editor silently agreed with my thesis.(数据恢复)
I remember receiving through the fire department's address about 20 sympathetic and congratulatory letters from professors around the country. These letters made me feel like I was not only a published writer but an opinion maker. It was as if I was suddenly thrust into being someone whose views mattered.
I also received a letter from True magazine and one from The New Yorker, asking for an interview. wow goldIt was the latter that proved momentous, for when an article titled "Fireman Smith" appeared in that magazine, I received a telephone call from the editor of a large publishing firm who asked if I might be interested in writing a book about my life.
I had little confidence in my ability to write a whole book, though I did intuit that my work as a firefighter was a worthy subject. And so I wrote Report From Engine Co. 82 in six months, and it went on to sell two million copies and to be translated into 12 languages. In the years that followed, I wrote three more best-sellers, and last year published a memoir, A Song for Mary: An Irish-American Memory.
Being a writer had been far from my expectations; being a best-selling author was almost unfathomable. How had it happened? I often found WOW Goldmyself thinking about it, marveling at it, and my thoughts always came back to that letter to the New York Times.
For me, the clearest explanation is that I had found the subject I was searching for, one I felt so strongly about that the writing was a natural consequence of the passion I felt. I was to feel this sameWorld Of Warcraft Gold kind of passion when I began writing about firefighters and, later, when writing about my mother. These are subjects that, to me, represent the great values of human life -- decency, honesty and fairness -- subjects that burn within me as I write.(弹簧)
Over the years, all five of my children have come to me periodically with one dilemma or another. Should I study English or art? Should I go out for soccer or basketball? Should I take a job with this company or that one?
My answer is always the same, yet they still ask, for reassurance is a good and helpful thing. Think about what you're feeling deep down in the pit of your stomach, I tell them, and measure the heat of the fire there, for that is the passion that will flow through your heart. Your education and your experience will guide you toward making a right decision,WOW Power Leveling but your passion will enable you to make a difference in whatever you do.
That's what I learned the day I stood up for Ireland's greatest poet.
Between alarms I would rush to the company office to read Captain Gray's copy of the Sunday New York Times. It was late in the afternoon when I finally got to the Book Review section. As I read it, my blood Breathalyzerbegan to boil. An article blatantly stated what I took to be a calumny -- that William Butler Yeats, the Nobel Prize-winning light of the Irish Literary Renaissance, had transcended his Irishness and was forever to be known as a universal poet.
There were few things I was more proud of than my Irish heritage, and ever since I first picked up a book of his poems from a barracks shelf when I was in the military, Yeats had been my favorite Irish writer, followed by Sean O'Casey and James Joyce.
My ancestors were Irish farmers, fishermen and blue-collar workers, but as far as I can tell, they all had a feeling for literature. It was passed on to my own mother, a telephone operator, who hardly ever sat down without a book in her hands. And at that moment my own fingernails might have been soiled with the soot of the day's fires, but I felt as prepared as any Trinity don to stand up in the court of public opinion and protest. Not only that Yeats wow goldhad lived his life and written his poetry through the very essence of his Irish sensibility, but that it was offensive to think Irishness -- no matter if it was psychological, social or literary -- was something to beAlcohol Tester transcended.
My stomach was Co Alarmchurning, and I determined not to let an idle minute pass. "Hey, Captain Gray. Could I use your typewriter?" I asked.(升降机)
The typewriter was so old that I had to use just one finger to type, my strongest one, even though I could type with all ten. I grabbed the first piece of clean paper I could find -- one that had the logo of the Fire Department of the City of New York across the top -- and, hoping there would be a break in the alarms for 20 minutes or so, wrote out a four-paragraph letter of indignation to the editor of the Sunday Book Review.
Throughout his poetry, I postulated, Yeats yearned for a messiah to lead Ireland out from under the bondage of English rule, and his view of the world and the people in it was fundamentally Irish.
Just as I addressed the envelope, the final alarm of my tour came in, and as I slid down the long brass pole, I felt unexpectedly calm, as if a great rock had been purged from the bottom of my stomach.
I don't know why I felt WOW Power Leveling it my obligation to safeguard the reputation of the world's greatest poet, at least next to Homer and Shakespeare, or to inscribe an apologia for Irish writing. I just knew that I had to write that letter, in the same way a priest has to pray, or a musician has to play an instrument.
Until that point in my life I had not written much of value -- a few poems and short stories, the beginning of a coming-of-age novel. I knew that my writing was anything but refined. Like a beginning artist who loves to draw, I understood that the more one draws, or writes, or does anything, the better the end result will be, and so I wrote often to better control my writing skills, to master them. I sent some material to various magazines and reviews but found no one willing to publish me.
It was a special and unexpected delight, then, when I learned something I'd written would finally see print. Ironically it wasn't one of my poems or short stories -- it was my letter to the Times. I suppose the editor decided to publish it World Of Warcraft Power Leveling because he was first attracted by the official nature of my stationery (was his staff taking smoke breaks out on the fire escape?), and then by the incongruity of a ghetto firefighter's using words like messianism, for in the lines below my letter it was announced that I was a New York City firefighter. I'd like to think, though, that the editor silently agreed with my thesis.(数据恢复)
I remember receiving through the fire department's address about 20 sympathetic and congratulatory letters from professors around the country. These letters made me feel like I was not only a published writer but an opinion maker. It was as if I was suddenly thrust into being someone whose views mattered.
I also received a letter from True magazine and one from The New Yorker, asking for an interview. wow goldIt was the latter that proved momentous, for when an article titled "Fireman Smith" appeared in that magazine, I received a telephone call from the editor of a large publishing firm who asked if I might be interested in writing a book about my life.
I had little confidence in my ability to write a whole book, though I did intuit that my work as a firefighter was a worthy subject. And so I wrote Report From Engine Co. 82 in six months, and it went on to sell two million copies and to be translated into 12 languages. In the years that followed, I wrote three more best-sellers, and last year published a memoir, A Song for Mary: An Irish-American Memory.
Being a writer had been far from my expectations; being a best-selling author was almost unfathomable. How had it happened? I often found WOW Goldmyself thinking about it, marveling at it, and my thoughts always came back to that letter to the New York Times.
For me, the clearest explanation is that I had found the subject I was searching for, one I felt so strongly about that the writing was a natural consequence of the passion I felt. I was to feel this sameWorld Of Warcraft Gold kind of passion when I began writing about firefighters and, later, when writing about my mother. These are subjects that, to me, represent the great values of human life -- decency, honesty and fairness -- subjects that burn within me as I write.(弹簧)
Over the years, all five of my children have come to me periodically with one dilemma or another. Should I study English or art? Should I go out for soccer or basketball? Should I take a job with this company or that one?
My answer is always the same, yet they still ask, for reassurance is a good and helpful thing. Think about what you're feeling deep down in the pit of your stomach, I tell them, and measure the heat of the fire there, for that is the passion that will flow through your heart. Your education and your experience will guide you toward making a right decision,WOW Power Leveling but your passion will enable you to make a difference in whatever you do.
That's what I learned the day I stood up for Ireland's greatest poet.
publié par wowgirl dans: wowgirl
No one understands the nature of love; it is like a bird of heaven that sings a strange language. It lights down among us, coming from whence we know not, going we know not WOW Power Levelinghow or when, striking out wild notes of music that make even fatigued and heavy hearts to throb and give back a tone of courage. The sorts and kinds World Of Warcraft Goldof love are infinite in number, infinite as the days of the years of time. Each one of us is capable of many and various loves. We cannot love two creatures, not two dogs, with the WOW Goldsame love. To each of those whom we love we offer a gem of different colour and value;—to the unknown Master of the heavens, ah! who shall tell of what sort is the love we offer to Him? Yet in this love, too (which is natural worship), we discover the same vibrational atmosphere that invades World Of Warcraft Power Leveling the soul of all lovers. I doubt we shall not get much nearer to the nature of love by mere talking. Intellectual statements are of little use. God does not make intellectual statements, He creates. We have to find our way about in the vast medley of created things that life spreads out around us, and pick up what bits of knowledge we can as we make our way along.(弹簧)
Let me choose five images that will give an idea of what the awaking of this new life means. I. Shall we not say that the creature without love is like the lamp unlit? There it is, and no one needs it. But touch it with flame, and it trembles and glows and becomes the centre of the room where it stands. Everything that falls WOW Power Leveling under its rays is new-gilt. So does the lover see all natural things quite new. II. Or take the image of the withering plant that is dying of drought. The sun’s rays Alcohol Testerhave parched it; the roots have searched and searched for moisture in a soil that grows every day harder and drier. The plant wilts and hangs its head; it is fainting and ready to die, when down comes the rain in a murmuring multitude of round scented drops. the purest thing alive, a distilled essence, necessary to life. Under that baptism the plant lifts itself up; it drinks and rejoices. In the night it renews its strength; in the morning the heat it has had from the sun, reinforced by the rain, bursts out into coloured flowers. So I have known a man battered by hard life and the excess of his own passions: I have seen love come to suchBreathalyzer a man and take him up and cleanse him and set him on his feet; and from him has burst forth a flood of colour and splendour—creative work that now lends its fiery stimulus to thousands. III. Another image might be of the harp that stands by itself in Gas Alarm golden aloofness. Then come the beautiful arms, the curving fingers that pluck at the strings, and the air is filled with melody; the harp begins to live, thrilling and rejoicing. down to its golden foot.(数据恢复)
IV. Or picture the unlighted house, empty at fall of night. The windows are dark; the door shut; the clean wind goes about and about it, and cannot find an entrance. The dull heavy air is faint within; it longs to be reunited to the wind of the world outside. Then comes the woman with the key, and in she steps; the windows are opened, the imprisoned air rushes out, the wind enters; the lamps Gas Detectorand the fire are lit; so that light fills windows and doors. The tables are set, there is the sound of footsteps; and more footsteps. The house glows and lives. One could please oneself by many more images; such as the white garment of feathers that the young swans put on in the spring: the young flowers opening out their cups to the Sun that fills them with his golden wine. All life is full of such images, Co Detectorbecause nature has ruled that love, energy, beauty, and joy are one. V. A last image only I would like to add because of the pleasure it has given me. On the Co Alarmnorth door of the Cathedral of Chartres there is a sculptured design, some six hundred years old, of God creating the birds. God is charming, quite young, not more than thirty-eight or so; He has a most sweet expression. Behind Him a little stands the Son, about seventeen, tall as He and very like Him, but beardless. He has the same sweetness of look, as though upon each countenance an ineffable smile were just dawning. The Father is holding something that time has broken in His hand; most likely it is a bird. What a fortunate moment! What a wow goldfortunate thought! No wonder they both look pleased. Never have the birds disappointed Him as have we, His ruder children. Every spring since then these small creatures praise Him, head turned skywards, for the joy of the beloved, for the secret nest. Imagining and pondering, one is apt to grow a little wise; now perhaps we may say that love is a radiant atmosphere of thewow gold soul, a celestial energy, a fluid force.(升降机)
This force, this energy is set running in the wide kingdom that is within us by some Spirit touch. A soft tumult takes place in wow goldthe life within; waves on waves of joy, desire, grief, ecstasy begin to run, making a trembling music that often causes the whole body to shake and tremble too. I am in love with love; I do adore it;—from the smile on that rough fellow’s face as he talks to his dog, to the ardours of a St. Francis or a Joan of Arc. That bright creative flame, winged, conferring the gift of tongues, master of all music, of all joy, is the best thing we have of life.
Let me choose five images that will give an idea of what the awaking of this new life means. I. Shall we not say that the creature without love is like the lamp unlit? There it is, and no one needs it. But touch it with flame, and it trembles and glows and becomes the centre of the room where it stands. Everything that falls WOW Power Leveling under its rays is new-gilt. So does the lover see all natural things quite new. II. Or take the image of the withering plant that is dying of drought. The sun’s rays Alcohol Testerhave parched it; the roots have searched and searched for moisture in a soil that grows every day harder and drier. The plant wilts and hangs its head; it is fainting and ready to die, when down comes the rain in a murmuring multitude of round scented drops. the purest thing alive, a distilled essence, necessary to life. Under that baptism the plant lifts itself up; it drinks and rejoices. In the night it renews its strength; in the morning the heat it has had from the sun, reinforced by the rain, bursts out into coloured flowers. So I have known a man battered by hard life and the excess of his own passions: I have seen love come to suchBreathalyzer a man and take him up and cleanse him and set him on his feet; and from him has burst forth a flood of colour and splendour—creative work that now lends its fiery stimulus to thousands. III. Another image might be of the harp that stands by itself in Gas Alarm golden aloofness. Then come the beautiful arms, the curving fingers that pluck at the strings, and the air is filled with melody; the harp begins to live, thrilling and rejoicing. down to its golden foot.(数据恢复)
IV. Or picture the unlighted house, empty at fall of night. The windows are dark; the door shut; the clean wind goes about and about it, and cannot find an entrance. The dull heavy air is faint within; it longs to be reunited to the wind of the world outside. Then comes the woman with the key, and in she steps; the windows are opened, the imprisoned air rushes out, the wind enters; the lamps Gas Detectorand the fire are lit; so that light fills windows and doors. The tables are set, there is the sound of footsteps; and more footsteps. The house glows and lives. One could please oneself by many more images; such as the white garment of feathers that the young swans put on in the spring: the young flowers opening out their cups to the Sun that fills them with his golden wine. All life is full of such images, Co Detectorbecause nature has ruled that love, energy, beauty, and joy are one. V. A last image only I would like to add because of the pleasure it has given me. On the Co Alarmnorth door of the Cathedral of Chartres there is a sculptured design, some six hundred years old, of God creating the birds. God is charming, quite young, not more than thirty-eight or so; He has a most sweet expression. Behind Him a little stands the Son, about seventeen, tall as He and very like Him, but beardless. He has the same sweetness of look, as though upon each countenance an ineffable smile were just dawning. The Father is holding something that time has broken in His hand; most likely it is a bird. What a fortunate moment! What a wow goldfortunate thought! No wonder they both look pleased. Never have the birds disappointed Him as have we, His ruder children. Every spring since then these small creatures praise Him, head turned skywards, for the joy of the beloved, for the secret nest. Imagining and pondering, one is apt to grow a little wise; now perhaps we may say that love is a radiant atmosphere of thewow gold soul, a celestial energy, a fluid force.(升降机)
This force, this energy is set running in the wide kingdom that is within us by some Spirit touch. A soft tumult takes place in wow goldthe life within; waves on waves of joy, desire, grief, ecstasy begin to run, making a trembling music that often causes the whole body to shake and tremble too. I am in love with love; I do adore it;—from the smile on that rough fellow’s face as he talks to his dog, to the ardours of a St. Francis or a Joan of Arc. That bright creative flame, winged, conferring the gift of tongues, master of all music, of all joy, is the best thing we have of life.
publié par wowgirl dans: wowgirl