петък, 18 януари 2013 г.

Don't kiss me

Don't kiss me,
you don't know who I am
but chase me,
please chase me
until i'm not ashamed
I love you...
I love you
when you are not around

now see me
just like I have planned
these beautiful lines
I'm sure you understand

събота, 12 януари 2013 г.

You, rare, unearthly thing


We‘re good friends, aren‘t we?

Yes, sir.

I have a strange feeling with regard to you as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave, I‘m afraid that cord of commune will snap. And I have a notion that I‘ll take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you‘d forget me.

How? I have lived a full life here. I have not been trampled on, I have not been petrified, I have not been excluded from every glimpse of what is bright. I have known you, Mr Rochester. And it strikes me with anguish to be torn from you.

Then why must you leave?

Because of your wife!

I have no wife.

But you ought to be married!

Jane, you must stay.

And become nothing to you? Am I a machine without feelings? Do you think that because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, that I am soulless and heartless? I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God had blessed me with beauty and wealth, I could make it as hard for you to leave me as it is for I to leave you. I am not speaking to you, through mortal flesh, it is my spirit that addresses your spirit, as it would pass through the grave and stood in God‘s feet: equal, as we are.

As we are!

I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.

Then let your will decide your destiny. I offer you my hand, my heart. Jane, I ask you to pass through life at my side. You are my equal and my likeness. Will you marry me?

Are you mocking me?

You doubt me.

Entirely. Your bride is Miss Ingram.

Miss Ingram? She is the machine without feelings. It‘s you. You, rare, unearthly thing. Poor and obscure as you are, please accept me as your husband. I must have you for my own.

You wish me to be your wife?

I swear it.

You love me?

I do.

Then, sir, I will marry you. 


петък, 11 януари 2013 г.

тя е феята на измислените неща

Тя е началото, а аз съм края,
на пътуването ни към безкрая в Рая

И тя е надеждата и страстта,
тя е илюзия, толкова истинска,
колкото е любовта

Тя е живота, а аз го живея,
тя е песента, която пея

четвъртък, 10 януари 2013 г.

Baby don't forget my name

when the morning breaks us...

Your cheek is softly by the sun
Your arms around me come undone
Makes my heart beat like a drum

oh, your touch so bittersweet...

and
YOU ALWAYS WANT WHAT YOU'RE RUNNING FROM


понеделник, 7 януари 2013 г.

wearing the sun in her hair

The house
where trees are laden with
fruit. Where phlox, forsythia,
and marigold grow. It's
the house where the woman
stands in the doorway
wearing the sun in her hair. The one
who's been waiting
all this time.
The woman who loves you.
The one who can say,
"What's kept you?"


Raymond Craver

All my tears have been used up

On another love...


I wanna sing a song, that'd be just ours
But I sang 'em all to another heart
And I wanna cry, I wanna fall in love
But all my tears have been used up


събота, 5 януари 2013 г.

IF


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! 

четвъртък, 3 януари 2013 г.