Mantaha, la mashome a mabeli a metso e robeli ho August, likete tse peli le mashome a metso e supileng

I have a date with Kate on Friday.

Do you remember Kate?

OK, I am not supposed to call her Kate.

And I am not supposed to call her Mrs Hudson
because she is not my landlady.

I am supposed to call her Doctor Hudson
becauses she is my psychiatrist.

And it will not be a romantic date on Friday.

It is going to be more like a professional appointment.

Oh, how I hate my life...

Ndiripi?

I can see what you are doing.
But where am I?

ترجمي ۾ وڃايو ويو ...

# Hey, Bromford. What is wrong with
you?

- I've been hit by that bus again. Do

you remember that red double

decker bus that hit me all those years

ago? The were-bus as I like to call it?

The one that turned me into an

English speaking were-wolf with

English thoughts and dreams and plans?

That bus did it again.

And the walls and floors have

become paper-thin.

But that image, that metaphor is not

correct. If the floor was really paper-

thin I would break in and fall right

thru it and pay a visit to my

neighbours in the most unusual way.

And William shakes beer.

Why? Nobody knows…

බලන්න මේක ලස්සනයි ...

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this (and all is mended)
That you have but slumber'd here,
While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend.

If you pardon, we will mend.

And as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck,
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long:
Else the Puck a liar call.

So good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

Exit.

Where are the prophets?

Where are the visionaries?

Where are the poets?

Pätnásteho augusta dva tisíce-sedemnásť

It didn't work.

Bromford is brooding again.

He is the King of brooding, a real Bastard of brooding after all.

Evropski čebelar ...

Why do we all remember the day that Tennyson died but don't remember the names of our next door neighbours' dead children?

He used to be such a nice and quiet fellow. She was always so friendly and polite…

I envy not in any moods

.......... The captive void of noble rage,

.......... The linnet born within the cage,

That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes

.......... His license in the field of time,

.......... Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,

To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,

.......... The heart that never plighted troth

.......... But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;

Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

.......... I feel it, when I sorrow most;

.......... 'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

I used to read a lot but my eyes are getting weak these days.

AB, ma waxaad weli akhriya blog?

Answers in the comments below...