...Shhh!: el alquimista ,

"I'am my own Nemesis"

I CAN RESIST ANYTHING BUT TEMPTATION...(Oscar Wilde)

My mind

el alquimista ,

viernes, febrero 29, 2008

4 comentarios:

Linda Who? dijo...: gracias por la sugerencia ;); febrero 29, 2008
Jude's World dijo...: hola hola!!

lo lei hace tiempo!!! y realmente me ha gustado bastante...te recomiendo dos de él, uno te hará llorar MARES PERO MARES! yo lloré tantoooo! pero es bello..se llama A ORILLAS DEL RIO PIEDRA ME SENTÉ Y LLORÉ...y el que leí hace unos días se llama ONCE MINUTOS, IMPRESIONANTE AMBOS!

Espero que te guste...el alquimista fué una de sus obras cumbres...y ese verso que lo citas es muuuuy conocido! a mi que me encanta leer te diré xD

besitoooosss!!

P.D: tengo en archivos comprimidos para pasartelo si no quieres comprar el libro!; febrero 29, 2008
pollox1 dijo...: lei este libro carlita , es muy bueno , el que te recomienda jude , once minutos , tambien lo lei , y te lo recomiendo , excelentes libros. un abraso; marzo 01, 2008
carla Tv. dijo...: hey nenes , gracias por visitarme y que bueno que ya leyeron este libro , esta muy bueno eh, jude si ,los quiero esos que dices please pasare por tu blog para dejarte mi email asi me los envias por alli un besitos a todos.; marzo 03, 2008

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Minister:
Everything is more complicated than you think.
You only see a tenth of what is true.
There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you’ll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce.
And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved.
And the truth is I’m so angry and the truth is I’m so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve been so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long have been pretending I’m OK, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own, and their own is too overwhelming to allow them to listen to or care about mine.
Well, fuck everybody.
Amen.

Synecdoche, New York by Charlie Kaufman