Sadlier Oxford Vocabulary Review

Treason. Discourse on

Marco was thinking of a song.

The song said "it is difficult mention the ghosts of a mind."

Lying in bed, half covered by the sheet, her face turned toward the woman they already could not remember the name.

He took a slight feeling of nausea, not for her she was beautiful and without fault, but just for him.

He dressed quickly and left on the table to pay € 10 by taxi.

car thought to his wife at home waiting for him with dinner almost ready.

He thought of the last ten years together, retraced my mind the film of his life with her unforgettable moments from the sleepless nights because of the children, fighting over the silliest reasons and whenever he felt a worm when, after he cheated on her, if she returned home, pretending nothing had happened.

the rest could not be said that he had not tried to stop, psychologists, psychoanalysts, religion ...

He thought the first time with her, which filled him so much that I can not think of something else: her, His genius, her grace, her beauty. Because he had begun to betray her? What had happened? She's not enough anymore? That was not the right one for him? Bullshit. She was his soul mate, would rather die than live without her. He grew up without parents, not in the literal sense, his parents had lived with him until he was married. There had been economically. They had maintained they had paid for his studies had taught him things as morality, independence, economy, education and so on.

There had been when he needed a hug.

Even when he had to decide his future, his dreams aside and taking the easy way.

And all the other difficult moments in his adolescence, he had managed to forget and did not want to remember.

They were his parents and he would have loved them always, but she had become the they had not been for him.

self-sufficient is something innate. Either we are born or can not do anything. And he is not enough, needed a reason to live, someone to be helpful, someone who loved him as he was unable to love.

She was also this: a reason to life.

He thought how beautiful she was even now on the threshold of forty, his smile, his lips, his gentleness and empathy with which compensated for the cold and strong character of Mark.

The truly loved, you and only you. The others were just heroin. It is not tied with the women they never had sex, it never saw them for more than two Sometimes he was sure that what for him was nothing more than a physical act for its own sake. But it was not a justification, for he knew that people like him there are no excuses.

cursed every time his nature, because otherwise it was not, that women need to possess in order to feel satisfied, to feel seen, to hear that someone else wanted it.

Everyone has their own drugs, and he, apart from the classic joints with friends during high school, had never tried hard drugs. He preferred the opium derivatives, but the many stories about him had always held dall'iniettarsene toxic dose. And then its drug was different.

He wondered if it was worse with some other birth defect. It was better to be an alcoholic or have a habit of betraying the person you love?

Stop, of course I had tried. He was worse than before. Worse than closing a junkie in a bunker without heroin without methadone for a week.

He left the head, became irritable, could not work quietly.

His friends were not like him, do not betray those who are married, those were the bachelors by choice.

He wanted to be like them, God, what would have wanted! Do not risk losing the most important thing, the thing he loved to world for a stupid habit that he could not in any way to suppress.

He stopped at the florist to buy a bunch of favorite flowers to his wife and went home.

Raylene Richards Friend

"I find that nothing is more admirable sunset," she said, "but on the sea shore, particularly."

"oh.io I love the sea!" Said Mr. Leon.

"and does not seem to you," replied Madame Bovary, "that the spirit of free spaces on the boundless expanse contemplation of which elevates the soul and gives ideas of infinity, in perfect? \u200b\u200b"

" The same thing happens with the landscapes of mountains, "continued Leon. "I told my cousin, who last year made a trip to Switzerland, which you can not even imagine the poetry of those lakes, the charm of the waterfalls, the effect produced by huge glaciers. You can see a pine incredible greatness thrown through the streams, cottages suspended over precipices, and a thousand feet below you, whole valleys when the clouds disappear. Shows to inspire, be prepared to prayer, to ecstasy! So much so that I do not wonder at all that famous musician who better to stimulate the imagination was in the habit of going to play the piano before some imposing landscape. "

[...]

" just like me, "said Leon. "What's better actually, that sit in the evening by the fire with a good book in hand, while the wind beat against the shutters and the burning light of the lamp?"

"It seems so to you? "Emma said, staring with his eyes wide open blacks.

"Do not think of anything," continued the young man, "and pass the hours. Without stepping through it imaginary countries and thought, intertwined with fantasy, or is lost in the details nicely follows the contours of every adventure. Mingles with the characters, as if we beat ourselves in their shoes. "

'It is true! It 'really well, "she said.

"And did you ever," continued Leon, "to find a book in the charge of the fleeting idea that you yourself have had, an image that returns from the past darkly, almost the full revelation of your feelings more intangible? "

" I tried all this, "she said.

"That's why," he said, "I like above all poets. I find that the verses are the cutest of prose, and move more easily to tears. "

"In the long run, however, get tired," continued Emma. "Instead, in this period, especially love stories that are read in one breath, in every page that make you tremble. I hate the characters banal and moderate sentiments, there are already too much in human nature. "

"Indeed," said the clerk, "works that touch the heart turn away, I think, the true purpose of Art. It 'so pleasant, in the midst of the disappointments of life, to return the greeting to the noble characters, with the pure, with images of joy.. "

Madame Bovary

Flatbed Truck Bed Plan

Zoo

Life is beautiful but cruel as a tiger, you can admire
, sometimes caressing,
even try to tame;
but you can not take it too lightly
or you will end up on the wrong side of her teeth

Sadlier Oxford Level E

sublime art and life experiences ...

at that late winter afternoon, a Lucy opened a window on the world.

At 19.30 went to fetch his friend, it was raining and they took two umbrellas.

The medieval streets deserted and full of fog did not seem promising, probably would not find any Tizo willing to sell that night.

Lucy quickly followed him through the alleys and narrow ever darker, until they saw that he opened a door and slipped out in a room that seemed to be no, given the absence of signs or other, who warning of their presence.

She followed him in that place, hesitating.

Entering, he found a counter left immediately in front of the plank scraped chairs that seemed stolen from the house of some poor old man, the first of the tables in the corner like a radiator off the wall, made almost entirely black rust, dirt and dust. The hall, L, was as big as a medium / large home kitchen, and not all was lit: there was, on the right of the bar, a place without light table and a sofa with a few torn and dirty.

The air was stagnant for the smoke and the fact that it was time that they did not ventilate the room. Lucy seemed that every breath was like inhaling the smoke of 10 cigarettes together, and the entire room had no heating.

The people who was inside, seemed to wake up out of some of Stevenson's novel. They were all toxic, ex-convicts and unemployed.

the dynamometer was used to look at a man who gave him no less than 70 years, and that Lucy would have sworn on their identity cards to the maximum 50 marks.

A shabbily dressed man who had every appearance of being Romanian, he was the last table pretending to read a newspaper, the first tables were occupied by a black man whose face was disfigured by a knife; two men in his forties who spoke softly, with the bad hair cut, his hands red from the cold and the clothes that seemed to be taken to the landfill.

At the bar, a brute whose weight will be totaled at least 150 kg, with a shaved head and a single clump at the base of the skull that was sliding down on the leather jacket. He saw the dark area in a boy could have a pretty face, but whose bloodshot eyes were frightened Satan himself.

's friend Lucy had started talking with some of them, and Lucy, still standing at the counter, to avoid meeting the eyes of some of them, stared at the wall, then the TV and pretended to listen.

was clearly uncomfortable, she disliked the air full of smoke and stench of closed

but the most feared, perhaps, was what seemed his attitude towards them if they had watched , they would have understood from his eyes, even his thoughts.

would feel under charge ... maybe you already heard, maybe they were saying to his friend "hey, why did you bring here arrogant little bitch?"

He thought of his parents, what they would do if they had seen in a place like this.

He thought of her friends, if you would be angry, or if you would laugh to see her, so perfect, well dressed, middle-class, in a dirty cellar frequented by people that society tends to dismiss.

In those minutes I think of that people, trying to avoid applying their own categories in which society teaches us to judge people.

did not want wonder why the old man behind the counter was so finished, that guy was a young man, if he went to prison and for what crime.

He found that there was poetry, even in the squalor.

Each had a story to tell, something that would let people like Lucy, with his mouth open.

sure everyone had suffered, or had pain inflicted on others. And he thought of what remained to live in each of them.

If they had dreams or expectations, or if their life was now all over them.

Unable to give answers, he continued to ask questions. He thought that two distance from that place, her house was warm, clean and well furnished, and his little world of days planned future programs, scheduled lives.

A short man at the counter, turned to her and said "hello" smile. She answered with the same smile, and then deny their own thoughts.

The facets of human life, lies the charm of that place, of those people.

Those nuances that Lucy was trying to grasp, because for her knowledge, was one of the reasons life. If there was one thing that Lucy could not stand, it was the superficiality of the people.

For her this was the real sin, together with the superficial assumption, and the environment in which he lived was full of people like that.

thought back to the words of a song: "If there's one thing that is immoral, it's banality."

And that place for someone like her, was far from trivial.

That day, in the mosaic of experiences that made her life would remain forever in relief.