On the way back we did not agree. The leaves were turning yellow to brown on the edges of sidewalks, the umbrella was no longer become useless and cumbersome, I would have preferred not to have forgotten my scarf but it slipped my hand into the pocket of his coat.
The scenes shot in the HP displeased him, history was anxious, he preferred the brunette (normal!) because he thought that the blonde look was drive. We exceeded the building decorated with mosaics. I liked the defense of Kleist, the silence and lack of Priss resigned, the character of the flute teacher, the spread of Noemi. To get an idea, go see Girls in black Civeyrac John Paul, who can not stay indifferent.
Will you, like us, try the chocolate crepes creperie early in front of the large bookstore afterwards?
Will you, too, dip your hands are frozen in tanks a bit of a dirty flea market vinyl in search of a pocket of Leonard Cohen? Will you be inhibited
by that chocolate crepe for you later refuse a slice of salted butter with a little creamed honey? (We not)
**** The previous day, next to a couple who had nothing to say and gently crush the mackerel fillets on their bread buttered wrong, we asked a second sweet chocolate and another glass of Crémant d'Alsace around 23 hours to Nebuchadnezzar.
There was talk of tights (plum, pine green, electric blue), Bob Dylan (memories of imprérissable I want you escaping a smoky Viennese coffee), a man who had heard J ' choking with through when I burst into tears on the phone articulating laboriously I did everything wrong , the direction in which we will one day, a road trip across the U.S. (the opportunity for anyone to defend his favorite side. Because of my reading girls and Woody Allen, I have a soft spot for the east), the need to succeed at the game
But I'm not quite sure to get there. I feel despite the billions of pages blacked out since I know that I write will not do anything better than these stories pourraves whose ink fades after all these years. Worse yet, I do nothing to save me this mediocrity, I have no discipline, I am working for the task, I only find excuses ( yes but then I have to write the thesis or that nobody cares about except for two three daughters, who like capes ). I have long thought that I was not meant to write, but to read the rest, read Poppies in october Sylvia Plath, and having chills full skin.
I do not know how I feel bogged down. I would love to make an impact, just like when I hear Vincent Delerm to la-la-la-la in Here the city , or Eric Rohmer when he filmed the last shot of summer Conte. For example. There are many others.
What can I write so when I read in Gwendoline silver My life? story or a weekend country by Cleo? Not to mention tickets Miss Meals ...
G. listens to all this in silence, swaying just the white rocking chair that gave me, and I feel sad for my own distress. I read in his eyes, trembling a little something that reminds me of what Leonardo said to one of his students who lamented that he had no talent Draw Antonio, draw and do not waste your time.
(I'll try to do anything other than write on the blog)
(maybe it will not work at all)
(but I want to try)
One last recipe, for which I liked peel then cut into tiny dice a bunch of carefully selected vegetables in Annie Bertin, star market, listening to the radio someone was talking about Rimbaud.
Minestrone heretic (but guaranteed without tofu)
For a large saucepan
carrots
-4 -1 -1 slice of leek
kabocha
-4 potatoes with firm flesh
-1 handful chopped spinach
-4 small tomatoes (the last!) -2 Onions
- 2 cloves garlic
-3 thick slices of pancetta-
small short pasta
-about 1.5 L chicken stock
-crust
Parmesan-pesto (homemade or hand-picked)
Peel all which requires it and cut everything into small dice.
Melt in a good olive oil onions, garlic, pancetta, carrots and leeks. When they begin to be well stewed, add tomatoes, Parmesan crust and broth. Cook for half an hour over low heat. The opportunity to turn off the radio and choose a disk. Old songs of Gainsbourg and Francoise Hardy will do.
Add kabocha and cook a bit before adding the potatoes.
Three quarters of an hour later, it was the turn of the handle of pasta and spinach just before serving, just long they melt.
In the bowl, pour the soup, then a swirl of pesto relaxed in olive oil.
Do not burn yourself.
The scenes shot in the HP displeased him, history was anxious, he preferred the brunette (normal!) because he thought that the blonde look was drive. We exceeded the building decorated with mosaics. I liked the defense of Kleist, the silence and lack of Priss resigned, the character of the flute teacher, the spread of Noemi. To get an idea, go see Girls in black Civeyrac John Paul, who can not stay indifferent.
Will you, like us, try the chocolate crepes creperie early in front of the large bookstore afterwards?
Will you, too, dip your hands are frozen in tanks a bit of a dirty flea market vinyl in search of a pocket of Leonard Cohen? Will you be inhibited
by that chocolate crepe for you later refuse a slice of salted butter with a little creamed honey? (We not)
**** The previous day, next to a couple who had nothing to say and gently crush the mackerel fillets on their bread buttered wrong, we asked a second sweet chocolate and another glass of Crémant d'Alsace around 23 hours to Nebuchadnezzar.
There was talk of tights (plum, pine green, electric blue), Bob Dylan (memories of imprérissable I want you escaping a smoky Viennese coffee), a man who had heard J ' choking with through when I burst into tears on the phone articulating laboriously I did everything wrong , the direction in which we will one day, a road trip across the U.S. (the opportunity for anyone to defend his favorite side. Because of my reading girls and Woody Allen, I have a soft spot for the east), the need to succeed at the game
But I'm not quite sure to get there. I feel despite the billions of pages blacked out since I know that I write will not do anything better than these stories pourraves whose ink fades after all these years. Worse yet, I do nothing to save me this mediocrity, I have no discipline, I am working for the task, I only find excuses ( yes but then I have to write the thesis or that nobody cares about except for two three daughters, who like capes ). I have long thought that I was not meant to write, but to read the rest, read Poppies in october Sylvia Plath, and having chills full skin.
I do not know how I feel bogged down. I would love to make an impact, just like when I hear Vincent Delerm to la-la-la-la in Here the city , or Eric Rohmer when he filmed the last shot of summer Conte. For example. There are many others.
What can I write so when I read in Gwendoline silver My life? story or a weekend country by Cleo? Not to mention tickets Miss Meals ...
G. listens to all this in silence, swaying just the white rocking chair that gave me, and I feel sad for my own distress. I read in his eyes, trembling a little something that reminds me of what Leonardo said to one of his students who lamented that he had no talent Draw Antonio, draw and do not waste your time.
(I'll try to do anything other than write on the blog)
(maybe it will not work at all)
(but I want to try)
One last recipe, for which I liked peel then cut into tiny dice a bunch of carefully selected vegetables in Annie Bertin, star market, listening to the radio someone was talking about Rimbaud.
Minestrone heretic (but guaranteed without tofu)
For a large saucepan
carrots
-4 -1 -1 slice of leek
kabocha
-4 potatoes with firm flesh
-1 handful chopped spinach
-4 small tomatoes (the last!) -2 Onions
- 2 cloves garlic
-3 thick slices of pancetta-
small short pasta
-about 1.5 L chicken stock
-crust
Parmesan-pesto (homemade or hand-picked)
Peel all which requires it and cut everything into small dice.
Melt in a good olive oil onions, garlic, pancetta, carrots and leeks. When they begin to be well stewed, add tomatoes, Parmesan crust and broth. Cook for half an hour over low heat. The opportunity to turn off the radio and choose a disk. Old songs of Gainsbourg and Francoise Hardy will do.
Add kabocha and cook a bit before adding the potatoes.
Three quarters of an hour later, it was the turn of the handle of pasta and spinach just before serving, just long they melt.
In the bowl, pour the soup, then a swirl of pesto relaxed in olive oil.
Do not burn yourself.
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