Из коллекции слов: Слова красивые

Самые обычный слова, которые мне очень нравятся в последнее время... некоторые из-за произношения, некоторые из-за смысла, некоторые просто так...



hisssss

wish

pathetic

ну-ну

---

Из коллекции стихов

Надо написать что-то на родном языке, а то совсем по-английски всё стало. Итак...



за нашу невстречу, за наше потом непрощанье

заплатим с лихвою любовью прозрачной и зыбкой,

руками, губами, словами даря обещанья

другим, принимающим их с благосклонной улыбкой.



цитировать Блока и пить неразбавленный виски,

и плакать украдкой у пьяного дня на задворках

во имя чего? старый скверик единственно близкий,

как чья-то душа в прошлогодней листве и в иголках...



весь наш нероман по странице, по строчке, по слогу

другие прочтут, переложат на новые ноты,

а мы, как ни странно, совсем не заметим подлога,

и будем играть в совершенстве любовь для кого-то...



(с) Горький Мёд

---

Again, no russian keyboard. Off topic.

Strangly enough, it seems that some people are interested in seeing my collection. I welcome the people who are brave enough to read this:



.Aki no Ame. - I was impressed by your diary and I find it quite pleasing to see you here.

Folk - Nabludatel'.

Mich-elle - I don't know you much, but your diary is very nice.

Долиана - no need to talk about you *)

меч Короля Мёнина - I am intrigued. By the by, interesting name.



As to me, I enjoy many different journals. Design, name, interests don't matter as much as the thoughts that are put in. Some people are amazingy good at expressing their feelings and saying whatever is on their mind. Those people are usualy really popular here. What am I saying? These people are respected because their thoughts are often misunderstood or considered very intelligent. Don't think I'm saying that they are not.

Mille pardons.

---

From a place far away, again.

It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.

(c) Robert Benchley (1889 - 1945)

The first time I wrote something good was... I can't actually remember what it was. Probably it had something to do with opinion writing for this was the thing that always facinated me. A long long time ago I used to write little stories everyday. It is fun to re-read them now. They never failed to make me laugh. But going back to the first thing I ever wrote. I truly enjoyed the results of my writing, but not the process. Where is the fun in taking a pen and putting down some letters and words? It is even worse with a keyboard. I just can't put myself to it. It is mainly up to other people. Rarely, very rarely, I decide to write myself. It usually happens when I am gravely affected by something. In those times I just sit down and don't get up until I'm finished, otherwise the unity is ruined. As to the quality of my writing... Well it could have been a lot better.



Sorry for the English. I don't have a russian keyboard around.

---

Из коллекции стихов

I've changed

for those who are and used to be



The feelind was profound.

I could go round and round.

I could go round and round,

Missing you.



But now...



The same thing everyday,

I don't know what to say.

I don't know what to say,

Whey you are here.



There's nothing left to hide

And no truth to confide.

And no truth to confide

All the way.



Nothing's meant to last.

I can't give you my trust.

I can't give you my trust.

Nor can you. anymore



There's nothing left to seek.

No words are left to speak.

No words are left to speak.

Emptiness.



I used to love you so,

But now I'll let you go.

But now I'll let you go

Because I've changed.

---

Из коллекции фильмов

I lived in the time of Hector.

I lived in the time of Achilles.

(c)

Is the world spinning any different when you are gone?

It doesn't. You know that far to well.

A silent cry in the frosty air.

Hero's come and go.

Fate and destiny bring them to Earth and show them the way...

To fulfill their quest or personal legend and then they...

Die just like everybody else... like everybody else.

?

---

Из коллекции прошлого

Do me a favour and listen for a moment.

You and I have been talking for a long time.

Believe it or not, but I have a question to ask.

In a way it is a stupid question.

Friendship is a strange thing…

Between two people.

A Man takes friendship is own way.

And doesn’t act with his friends the way others do.

A Woman thinks of a friend in a different light.

Or she just shows her affection more often.

Are those two people men or women doesn’t matter.

You and I are different, but we seem to care about each other.

Just don’t take me the wrong way.

Playing is not my thing and you know it.

Around now I should have asked the question, but I don’t have the guts.

?

---

What is the point of suffering if no one can see…

(с)

---

The House

It was a normal town. A town like many others. It was a quiet street. A street like many other streets. It was an average house. A house like many other houses. It was old, but well built. They say this house was the first one of its kind. All the others were just duplicates. However, it doesn’t matter to us. The house was built of red brick. It had a main entrance, which was like a big mouth devouring everyone who went into it. It had many windows, so it looked like a multi-eyed creature. Curiously enough, all the eyes were never open all together. The house wasn’t very tall, (only about 8 floors and the ground) but it was surrounded by same-type-houses, so no one noticed.

Every morning the house woke up very early. Every night the house went to sleep really late. Some days the house would feel down and low, but other days it felt young and fresh. Once a year, an old gentleman came to check on the house. The gentleman looked whether it was in good condition or not. He used to talk to the house and the house used to listen.

- Good morning, ol’ pal. How is it going this year? Oh, I see you’ve got a new crack right here, - and it was certainly true because the house had many little cracks on it. The house used to think they were wrinkles. You can’t get away from them, can you?

- Just look at this! They broke one of your windows! – the old gentleman exclaimed. He was right again. When little children used to play soccer by the house, they broke its window. They broke its glasses.

- And what happened here? Did they have an art contest? – the old gentleman used to ask, when he saw writings and drawings on the walls of the house. The house itself thought of them as tattoos. It was an old house, but it was still cool.

Each year the old gentleman smiled and used to write in his report that the house was in satisfactory condition because the old gentleman loved the house. It was where he grew up.

This year it was all different. The old gentleman didn’t come when he was supposed to. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. Only a week after, a middle-aged man came in. He was the new inspector. The man went through the house. He didn’t talk. He only shook his head, frowned and wrote something down in his report. The old house got scared and all its wrinkles, broken glasses, tattoos and other weaknesses became even more noticeable.

The next day the news came in. The house was to be repaired and reconstructed. All of its habitants were to leave the house within two weeks. The government gave them a temporary habitat nearby. The old house was sad, when he saw everybody abandoning it. It would have cried, if it only could. In two weeks, the house was absolutely empty.

The reconstruction went by quickly. The house was now clean, repaired and looking absolutely wonderful (like someone after a successful plastic surgery). All the windows were replaced. The walls were writing-free, the cracks were fixed, the lobby was renovated. There was even some work done in the apartments themselves. Everything looked perfect. People started moving back in the house. They were happy to get back there. The sat on the stairs, they opened the windows, they filled the place with joy… but something wasn’t the same… The old house was dead.

(с)

---

Will you join the dance?

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail.

"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.

See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?



Хорошая книжка. Посоветовала бы всем и каждому. Фильм немного изменён, но тоже ничего.

---

From a place far away...

Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is an absurd one.

(c) Voltaire



There are two ways to slide easily through life; to believe everything or to doubt everything. Both ways save us from thinking.

(c) Alfred Korzybski

So which one shall it be?

---

::whisper::

Шшш... - прошипела тишина. Some things are better left unsaid.

Конечно, всех всегда учили говорить правду. Те которые отклонялись от истины, были признаны лжецами и врунишками. Они ещё и наказывались. Иногда. А что теперь? Теперь существуют прямолинейные люди, которые всю правду скажут в глаза и за глаза. Люди, порой жестокие, но свято верующие в свою правоту. Только вот зачем эта правда? В прочем, риторические вопросы - не моя специальность. Some times silence is the wisest answer. Да, молчание - золото. Хотя многим нравится серебро. А что такое это серебро? Металл? Деньги? Столовые приборы? Седина? Роса? Туман? Снег? Вода? Цвет? Время? Материя? Жизнь? Каждому своё. Решайте для себя сами. Я-то уже знаю. Да знаю. Моё серебро это... Шшш... - прошипела тишина. Some things are better left unsaid.

---

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;

(c) Alexander Pope

---

Здравствуйте

Меня зовут... неважно как меня зовут.

Мне... неважно сколько мне.

Я... коллекционер.

---

Alice: Which way should I go?

Cat: That depends on where you are going.

Alice: I don’t know where I am going.

Cat: Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.



The Walrus and the Carpenter

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might:

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright--

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

и дальше

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done--

"It's very rude of him," she said,

"To come and spoil the fun!"



The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry.

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky:

No birds were flying overhead--

There were no birds to fly.



The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand:

"If this were only cleared away,"

They said, "it would be grand!"





"If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year.

Do you suppose," the Walrus said,

"That they could get it clear?"

"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,

And shed a bitter tear.



"O Oysters, come and walk with us.!"

The Walrus did beseech.

"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

Along the briny beach:

We cannot do with more than four,

To give a hand to each."



The eldest Oyster looked at him,

But never a word he said:

The eldest Oyster winked his, eye,

And shook his heavy head--

Meaning to say he did not choose

To leave the oyster-bed.



But four young Oysters hurried up,

All eager for the treat:

Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,

Their shoes were clean and neat--

And this was odd, because, you know,

They hadn't any feet.



Four other Oysters followed them,

And yet another four;

And thick and fast they came at last,

And more, and more, and more--

All hopping through the frothy waves,

And scrambling to the shore.



The Walrus and the Carpenter

Walked on a mile or so,

And then they rested on a rock

Conveniently low:

And all the little Oysters stood

And waited in a row.



"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings."





"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,

"Before we have our chat;

For some of us are out of breath,

And all of us are fat!"

"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.

They thanked him much for that.



"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,

"Is what we chiefly need:

Pepper and vinegar besides

Are very good indeed--

Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,

We can begin to feed."



"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,

Turning a little blue.

"After such kindness, that would be

A dismal thing to do!"

"The night is fine," the Walrus said.

"Do you admire the view?



"It was so kind of you to come!

And you are very nice!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"Cut us another slice:

I wish you were not quite so deaf--

I've had to ask you twice!"





"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,

"To play them such a trick,

After we've brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!"

The Carpenter said nothing but

"The butter's spread too thick!"



"I weep for you," the Walrus said:

"I deeply sympathize."

With sobs and tears he sorted out

Those of the largest size,

Holding his pocket-handkerchief

Before his streaming eyes.



"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,

"You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?'

But answer came there none--

And this was scarcely odd, because

They'd eaten every one."