Så det finns värre saker att oroas för? Ja, till exempel krig. Jag blev inkallad 1941 och utbildade mig till maskingevärskytt. Ledarna sade att vår genomsnittliga livslängd i krig skulle vara tre minuter. Men jag hade tur, säger Philip Hilden (96) med ett leende. Hans lastbilskort från pappa Hildens bageri räddade honom från farligare uppgifter. I stället för att skickas till fronten fick han köra pappas brödbil i Helsingors i all lugn och ro. Sen åtta år bor han i ålderdomshemmet i Brunakärr med drygt 200 andra livsveteraner. Vi har det så bra här att de flesta inte ens vet om det. Nu kan vi dö av coronavirus i stället.
xxx/ellauri084.html on line 814: No, not in the least. She was a dickhound, she was a major pussyhound, big Woodrow Wilson supporter. She looks like she suffered from severe vaginal dryness.
xxx/ellauri085.html on line 443: The stupidity of the trickle down slur is the notion that lower tax rates are somehow supposed to free up a little more rich peoples’ income to be put in to spending and investment to boost the economy. That’s as stupid as the leftist notion that we will all get rich doing each others laundry and it is put forward by the same people. It is tried and true that only the rich get rich by getting the poor to do their laundry, and clean their golden toilet seats.
xxx/ellauri087.html on line 332: Milton was born in Brooklyn, New York on July 31, 1912. His parents, Sára Ethel (née Landau) and Jenő Saul Friedman, were Jewish immigrants from Beregszász in Carpathian Ruthenia, Kingdom of Hungary (now Berehove in Ukraine). They both worked as dry goods merchants. Shortly after his birth, the family relocated to Rahway, New Jersey. In his early teens, Friedman was injured in a car accident, which scarred his upper lip.
xxx/ellauri120.html on line 359: "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo." I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? "You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; "They called me the hyacinth girl." - Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Öd’ und leer das Meer.
xxx/ellauri136.html on line 706: Polisen gav Elokapinas demonstranter drygt trekvart framför Riksdagshuset.
xxx/ellauri137.html on line 779: Barry A. Hudson says: Good writing and a good introduction to Japanese culture. I note than some Japanese criticize her works, but my comment would be that Japanese culture never likes to air its dirty laundry. I find her cultural observations right on the mark. I actually think she has great love and admiration for Japan and its people, but she occasionally does not pull her punches.
xxx/ellauri138.html on line 286: About a year after my diagnosis, in 2010, Philip invited me to join him for weekends at his country home. After that he dropped me, as it was getting too hard for him to turn me on my back. I didn't want to use the clothes drier but hung my panties on a line. Philip joked that I was turning his home into a trailer park but never insisted I use the dryer. I didn't need to cook, Philip planned where to eat and made the reservations. I used to like resting my ear on the hard metal of the implanted defibrillator that sat just below the skin of his chest to treat dysrhythmia.
xxx/ellauri166.html on line 153: Golden Pelydryn Pentacle The Ebony Horse
xxx/ellauri187.html on line 195: Getting to the point wasn’t exactly Rilke’s forte. It may not be fair to expect that of any poet, especially one born in 1875 and swimming in the currents of the Symbolists. Rilke’s flowery — and daresay twee — verses do not jibe with today’s tastes for cut-and-dry clarity, blasé irony, and Tweet-able brevity. But that’s precisely why Rilke is enjoying somewhat of a posthumous comeback. He offers what Twitter can’t.
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TV Reality, Robinsoniads and sundry Parsonses