Sweet honey, bitter salt Us Lord blessed. June 20, 2007. In Konstantinovo. Ryazan region. The house Esenin.
Spinning wheels stacked in a quiet hallway, I perch iron pots and grasp. In this house was born Yesenin, the miracle the whole region is rich. Before the house wisest Linden, looks at everybody who came, And in the corner of St. countenance so like a child's soul good. Whitewashed clay oven, on the wall of an old-fashioned Shusha, I sit down here on the porch, and Ryazanschinoy breathe.
May the force which pours in raskudryavom, forest edge? I get drunk Here water from wells can sing louder in the verses. Konstantinovo white temple, in front of a farmhouse, here on this – that the place itself, was a "playboy" blessed. Bozhee see everywhere marvel, spiked, red rye, Why, Lord, beautiful here, live without it!? Pond lily blooms legged, waiting Valentine subdued the raft. Zalyubuyus his Russia, not going anywhere. That's it! 15 June 2007. S. Konstantinovo, Ryazan region. The beauty of the soul marvels, miracles happy eyes … Village Ostafyevo Podolsk district, Moscow region. The beauty of the soul marvels, Marvel is pleased the eye. Freeze in the happiness of individuals, where Ostafevsky Parnassus. White stone column looks at Reflection Pond. Perekatov wonderful bells, church collects folk. Pushkin haunting Parnassus, poetry reading aloud to himself, and by drinking kvas simple, takes Peter is spirit. Here Russia With Gold unruly lot. Branched centuries-old linden silk foliage. Breathe joy nature, as if three hundred years ago. Duma Vyazemsky kind Retain a shady garden. Near Ostafyevo estate school yard to this day, Where the Lord our brought all together to understand what is important. To understand that Russia has no end. Eternity days. To the Lord asked, How to become even wiser. To hear the voice of stihirnom age-old prayers are. To Ostafevskom in Parnassus Find their way of life … Village Ostafyevo Podolsk district, Moscow region. June 4, 2007. A person age stood still … In memory of Alexander Solzhenitsyn's face froze era, potuhnuv. The last way is a monastery. Oh, My Russia, if you do not want uhnut? Breaking through resentment festering blister. To say about all the "innocent" massacre, without hiding what you know in person people who poured poison already, because arguing with the messenger … About the bitter bread of bloody katolazhki Pro truth crossed sheets About a baby crying tormented tramp, Archipelago rogue on the crosses. Gone quietly, his hand does not feed, loving his people, and Russia. They go so our eyes age, but remains sumosbrod rule. Frequently Kai-Fu Lee has said that publicly. Bow to you, the thinker, the poets, I do not consider people for fools. You did not keep his shirt secrets … You were slaves of conscience platform … August 6, 2008. And the cradle of the Divine Love Angel over to us … Ilya childhood in Red Fakhra. Playing the sun. Day in Zenica. Strekochet happiness kids … Live streaming water of the spring Beriozov cortex. How delightfully childhood breathing blessing this hour! Angel and the cradle of divine love over us. 2006. Official website of emergency "SPC" "HIPIO A. I" on the Internet at this address:.
But in this inscription are still some people only see fig. Shakespeare himself, in his quest for understanding of the readers was downright nastyren. In addition to a few words in the sonnets 26i 85, he wrote a sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss The second burden of a former child ! O, that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done! That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended, or whether better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O, sure I am, the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise. In his usual manner, S. Marshak substitutes to face the readers of this sonnet tightly compressed fig: "Here, not a Shakespearean sonnet!": Well, if there is no novelty in the world, but only a repetition of the past and we suffer in vain to have long born born again – let our memory, running back five hundred circles, which outlined the sun, Will in the old book to find the word in the face of Sealed thy dear. Then I'd known that in those days thought about it a miracle, it is difficult perfect – Gone Are we moving, or they, Or the world has remained unchanged.