2006 (101)
2007 (60)
2010 (1)
2013 (4)
2015 (1)
2018 (1)
昨天出去買東西,雜七雜八就買了一堆。其中包括12本書, 2本新的,10本舊的~ 厚厚厚 :)
現在懶得很,看書也不是很起勁兒。目前共有四本書在讀,寫在下麵算是對自己小小鞭策一下。(如果過了半年還沒看完就太羞人答答了! 嘻嘻)
Dude, where’s my country, by Michael Moore
The little friend, by Donna Tartt
The speckled people, by Hugo Hamilton
How to be idle, by Tom Hodgkinson [I know I know, I STILL haven’t finished it yet. But speed-reading this book is against the spirit of this lofty volume, so I make it my commitment, or at least a shameless excuse, to read it slowly in an excessive manner. ;)]
每本書都有吸引我的地方。等我看完了 [半年以後某一天 ;)],再來細細話你知。
昨天還買了一雙靴子,從我的新寵鞋店 Bakers。大力推薦該鞋店的說,非常不 cliché~
Tonight I can write the saddest lines
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Pablo Neruda
I like the people who like to read. I also got a book yesterday, "All He ever Wanted" by Anita Shreve who wrote the Pilot's Wife.