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Thread: Apospasmata Thread

  1. #571
    Spammity Spam rat_poison's Avatar
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    O Joyce ορίζει το trolling εν έτει 1922 (Ulysses)

    The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious.
    Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;

  2. #572
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    Or is it that from being a deluder of others he has become at last his own dupe as he is, if report belie him not his own and his only enjoyer?
    To those who create themselves wits at the cost of feminine delicacy (a habit of mind which he never did hold with) to them he would concede neither to bear the name nor to herit the tradition of a proper breeding: while for such that, having lost all forbearance, can lose no more, there remained the sharp antidote of experience to cause their insolency to beat a precipitate and inglorious retreat. Not but what he could feel with mettlesome youth which, caring nought for the mows of dotards or the gruntlings of the severe, is ever (as the chaste fancy of the Holy Writer express it) for eating of the tree forbid it yet not so far forth as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a gentlewoman when she was about her lawful occasions.

    http://www.online-literature.com/jam...ce/ulysses/14/
    Last edited by menumission; 13-06-2011 at 21:14.

  3. #573
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    Quote Originally Posted by Μαλβίνα η μητροπολιτάνα
    Βλέπει Τσόντα ο Πρόεδρος;


    Αυτοί οι τύποι, οι μικροαστοί, δεν σκέφτονται ποτέ τους να αυτοκτονήσουν, γιατί η ζωή τους ανήκει στο Θεό, αλλά στην ουσία, επειδή δεν αποφασίζουν ούτε για τη ζωή τους, ούτε για το θάνατό τους. Είναι αμνήμονες εκεί που τους συμφέρει, αλλά οραματιζόμενοι το μέλλον δεν ζουν ποτέ ένα παρόν της προκοπής. Κάνουν μακροπρόθεσμα όνειρα που, κατά κανόνα, τα προφταίνει ο θάνατος. Χτίζουν ντουβάρια. Αγοράζουν οικοπεδάκια. Δεν ψάχνουν τσάντες, γιατί σπάνια ερωτεύονται και όπως όλοι οι βλάκες, ποτέ δεν νιώθουν ανίσχυροι. Τρέμουν τις υποχρεώσεις, αλλά τελικά παντρεύονται μια υπομονετικιά, αφού την πρήξαν επί χρόνια τόσο, που δεν θέλει πια ούτε να τους χέσει. Κάνουν δύο μόγγολα, γιατί "ένα ίσον κανένα". Ή τρία αν τα δύο πρώτα είναι κορίτσια. Και βέβαια, τους αρέσουνε πολύ οι βιζιτούδες, τις οποίες πάντα ρωτάνε μετά το πήδημα: "Πως ξέπεσες έτσι;"

    Όχι, δεν έχουν αρκουδάκι οι μικροαστοί. Μόνο σκουπίδια. Σε τρόφιμα, σε ιδέες, σε τρόπο ζωής, σε πράξεις. Την ξέρω απ' έξω κι ανακατωτά την Αδελφότητα που βρήκε την πεμπτουσία της στο πρόσωπο του προέδρου. Τρέμει μην πιαστεί κορόιδο και πάντα πιάνεται. Υπεκφεύγει. Στρεψοδικεί. Αναβάλλει. Υποκρίνεται. Ζητάει τα πάντα και δεν δίναι τίποτα. Παριστάνει τη Δίκαιη. Αρνείται τα τεστ πατρότητας για να γλιτώσει τη Διατροφή και πάντα είναι από κοντά ένας μειλίχιος και τίμιος επαρχιακός δικηγοράκος, πρόθυμος να σπιλώσει την άπορη κακομοίρα.

    Ο Μικροαστός δεν θέλει μπλεξίματα. Γι' αυτό δεν μπορεί να είναι ποτέ επαναστάτης, άρα παλικάρι. Δεν είναι αντιπαθής σαν υπέρμετρος, είναι σιχαμένος σαν πλαγιοδρόμος. Νομίζει πως είναι διπλωμάτης και πως λύνει γόρδιους δεσμούς, στην ουσία όμως ξεμπερδεύει μόνο τον εαυτό του και τρελαίνει όλο τον κόσμο γύρω του. Κανείς δεν είναι πιο επικίνδυνος από αυτά τα ήσυχα, μειλίχια ανθρωπάκια, τους μικροαστούς."
    this is radio freedom.

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    TRANIO
    Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
    I am in all affected as yourself;
    Glad that you thus continue your resolve
    To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
    Only, good master, while we do admire
    This virtue and this moral discipline,
    Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
    Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques
    As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:
    Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
    And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
    Music and poesy use to quicken you;
    The mathematics and the metaphysics,
    Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;
    No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en:
    In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

    http://www.online-literature.com/shakespeare/shrew/3/

    Presenting HORTENSIO

    Cunning in music and the mathematics,
    To instruct her fully in those sciences,
    Whereof I know she is not ignorant:
    Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:
    His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

    [...]

    Presenting LUCENTIO

    that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning
    in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other
    in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray,
    accept his service.

    http://www.online-literature.com/shakespeare/shrew/5/
    Last edited by menumission; 20-06-2011 at 06:18.

  5. #575
    314222 Mitsmann's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by menumission View Post
    TRANIO
    Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,
    I am in all affected as yourself;
    Glad that you thus continue your resolve
    To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
    Only, good master, while we do admire
    This virtue and this moral discipline,
    Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;
    Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques
    As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:
    Balk logic with acquaintance that you have
    And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
    Music and poesy use to quicken you;
    The mathematics and the metaphysics,
    Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;
    No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en:
    In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

    http://www.online-literature.com/shakespeare/shrew/3/

    Presenting HORTENSIO

    Cunning in music and the mathematics,
    To instruct her fully in those sciences,
    Whereof I know she is not ignorant:
    Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:
    His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

    [...]

    Presenting LUCENTIO

    that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning
    in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other
    in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray,
    accept his service.

    http://www.online-literature.com/shakespeare/shrew/5/

    PRESENTING ALBERTO



    Perché deve esserci sempre un resp... un deficiente di turno qua, che paga per tutti, cazzo?
    Dodici anni, ventiquattro allenatori: e cazzo, sarà mica sempre l'allenatore qua che deve pagare. Sempre l'allenatore... i tifosi diano una mano alla squadra oggi invece di contestarla, che sono giovani, abbiamo fatto una squadra, diano una mano! Abbiano i coglioni di dare una mano alla squadra!
    Io son là ventiquattro ore al giorno, io! Ventiquattro ore al giorno sono là io! Tutti i giorni, cazzo! Non è possibile una roba del genere... vergognatevi, cazzo!
    E sono arrabbiato no perché ho pareggiato... sono arrabbiato perché è uno schifo 'sta roba qua! Io non ho mai visto una roba del genere! Ma come dove siamo, cazzo? Cos'è diventato il calcio? 'na giungla, cazzo! No, no no calma... e ridono, e ridono, cosa ridete cosa? Vi divertite a scrivere cosa dopo? Cosa ridete che? Cosa ridete, cazzo? Cosa ridete? Cosa ridete? Abbiate il rispetto della gente!
    Con voi bisogna dire bugie e fare i ruffiani, come coi tifosi... io non lo sono, cazzo!!! Okay? Io guardo tutti in faccia, tutti, dal primo all'ultimo! Perché sono serio, cazzo! Vado a lavorare con serietà. No, no parlo io adesso... è finita qua, cazzo. Parole! Parole di che, cazzo? Dopo quattro mesi che giochi a calcio, parole! Ma fatemi un piacere, dai, su! Cazzo! Fatemi un piacere! È ora di finirla qua, state calmi tutti, cazzo! State calmi! Non ho mai visto una roba del genere! Tutti presuntuosi, ironici, ridono: eh eccolo, arriva il scemo di turno! Qua si fanno le cose seriamente, cazzo!
    No è meglio che... e vabbè lo stesso... va... non preoccup... dont uori det saum, samuan, sam pipol andestèn dett ai sei, don dont uori. Bravo. Ecco, se hai capito traducilo te allor'! Lascia che, traduci te, avanti. No no, io non ce l'ho con te. No no, io non ce l'ho con te, eh. Ho detto "traduci te". No no, io non ce l'ho con te, eh. Oh, io posso andar fuori. Scusami, no no, io posso andar fuori. A me non me ne frega neanche se m'ammazzano, perché la coscienza ce l'ho a posto! Cazzo! Lavoro 24 ore al giorno, fatela finita, cazzo! Fatela finita! E domande dal cazzo, sempre! E la pubblico, e qua e là.
    E si lavora, lasciate mister Varidoia... ringraziate mister Varidoianis, ringraziatelo, cazzo, 'na brava persona. E aiutatelo mister Varidoianis, cazzo! No contestarlo, il pubblico. Cosa contesta che, il pubblico, cosa vuol contestare, cazzo. Cosa contesta? Varidoianis? Ma se se... Dopo se se ne va vedremo dopo, cosa succede. Cazzo. Cosa contestiamo, Varidoianis qua? Ma dai, su... Figa, su, basta
    Last edited by Mitsmann; 20-06-2011 at 10:27.
    "Τι χτυπαω??"

    "Ενα μονο με ελιες. Και ενα μονο με πατατες."

  6. #576
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    To Master Bastard, a minister, that made a pleasant Book of English Epigrams:

    You must in pulpit treat of matters serious;
    As it beseems the person and the place;
    There preach of faith, repentance, hope, and grace;
    Of sacraments, and such high things mysterious:
    But they are too severe, and too imperious,
    That unto honest sports will grant no space.
    For these our minds refresh, those weary us,
    And spur out doubled spirit to swifter pace.

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Bastard

  7. #577
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    IN DEFENCE OF THE BUSH by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

    So you're back from up the country, Mister Lawson, where you went,
    And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent;
    Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to hear
    That it wasn't cool and shady -- and there wasn't plenty beer,
    And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view;
    Well, you know it's not so often that he sees a swell like you;
    And the roads were hot and dusty, and the plains were burnt and brown,
    And no doubt you're better suited drinking lemon-squash in town.


    Yet, perchance, if you should journey down the very track you went
    In a month or two at furthest you would wonder what it meant,
    Where the sunbaked earth was gasping like a creature in its pain
    You would find the grasses waving like a field of summer grain,
    And the miles of thirsty gutters blocked with sand and choked with mud,
    You would find them mighty rivers with a turbid, sweeping flood;
    For the rain and drought and sunshine make no changes in the street,
    In the sullen line of buildings and the ceaseless tramp of feet;
    But the bush hath moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall,
    And the men who know the bush-land -- they are loyal through it all.


    But you found the bush was dismal and a land of no delight,
    Did you chance to hear a chorus in the shearers' huts at night?
    Did they "rise up, William Riley" by the camp-fire's cheery blaze?
    Did they rise him as we rose him in the good old droving days?
    And the women of the homesteads and the men you chanced to meet --
    Were their faces sour and saddened like the "faces in the street",
    And the "shy selector children" -- were they better now or worse
    Than the little city urchins who would greet you with a curse?
    Is not such a life much better than the squalid street and square
    Where the fallen women flaunt it in the fierce electric glare,
    Where the sempstress plies her sewing till her eyes are sore and red
    In a filthy, dirty attic toiling on for daily bread?
    Did you hear no sweeter voices in the music of the bush
    Than the roar of trams and 'buses, and the war-whoop of "the push"?
    Did the magpies rouse your slumbers with their carol sweet and strange?
    Did you hear the silver chiming of the bell-birds on the range?
    But, perchance, the wild birds' music by your senses was despised,
    For you say you'll stay in townships till the bush is civilised.
    Would you make it a tea-garden and on Sundays have a band
    Where the "blokes" might take their "donahs", with a "public" close at hand?
    You had better stick to Sydney and make merry with the "push",
    For the bush will never suit you, and you'll never suit the bush.
    "Τι χτυπαω??"

    "Ενα μονο με ελιες. Και ενα μονο με πατατες."

  8. #578
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    "We have come, monsieur, after taking cognizance of an article inserted this morning in the 'Echo de la Bievre,' to inquire of you what may be precisely the origin and bearing of that article; thinking it incredible that, having solicited our suffrages, you should, on the eve of this election, and from a most mistaken puritanism, have cast disorder and disunion into our ranks, and probably have caused the triumph of the ministerial candidate. A candidate does not belong to himself; he belongs to the electors who have promised to honor him with their votes. But," continued the orator, casting his eye at Minard, "the presence in these precincts of the candidate whom you have gone out of your way to recommend to us, indicates that between you and him there is connivance; and I have no need to ask who is being here deceived."

    http://www.gutenberg.org/files/1641/...h.htm#2HCH0034

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    "Shadow flipped through the newspaper to see if there was anything in it about dead men in a freight train. There wasn't. The only story of interest was on the cover: crows in record numbers were infesting the town. Local farmers wanted to hang dead crows around the town on public buildings to frighten the others away; ornithologists said that wouldn't work, that the living crows would simply eat the dead ones. The local were implacable. 'When they see the corpses of their friends' said a spokesman, 'they'll know that we don't want them here."

    Gaiman - American Gods

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    Quote Originally Posted by Drumsick View Post
    "Shadow flipped through the newspaper to see if there was anything in it about dead men in a freight train. There wasn't. The only story of interest was on the cover: crows in record numbers were infesting the town. Local farmers wanted to hang dead crows around the town on public buildings to frighten the others away; ornithologists said that wouldn't work, that the living crows would simply eat the dead ones. The local were implacable. 'When they see the corpses of their friends' said a spokesman, 'they'll know that we don't want them here."

    Gaiman - American Gods
    I'll bury you in your god's fucked garden

  11. #581
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    Il y a eu aussi les cigarettes. Quand je suis entré en prison, on m'a pris ma ceinture,
    mes cordons de souliers, ma cravate et tout ce que je portais dans mes poches, mes
    cigarettes en particulier. Une fois en cellule, j'ai demandé qu'on me les rende. Mais on
    m'a dit que c'était défendu. Les premiers jours ont été très durs. C'est peut-être cela qui
    m'a le plus abattu. Je suçais des morceaux de bois que j'arrachais de la planche de
    mon lit. Je promenais toute la journée une nausée perpétuelle. Je ne comprenais pas
    pourquoi on me privait de cela qui ne faisait de mal à personne. Plus tard, j'ai compris
    que cela faisait partie aussi de la punition. Mais à ce moment-là, je m'étais habitué à ne
    plus fumer et cette punition n'en était plus une pour moi.

    The lack of cigarettes, too, was a trial. When I was brought to the prison, they took away my belt, my shoelaces, and the contents of my pockets, including my cigarettes. Once I had been given a cell to myself I asked to be given back, anyhow, the cigarettes. Smoking was forbidden, they informed me. That, perhaps, was what got me down the most; in fact, I suffered really badly during the first few days. I even tore off splinters from my plank bed and sucked them. All day long I felt faint and bilious. It passed my understanding why I shouldn’t be allowed even to smoke; it could have done no one any harm. Later on, I understood the idea behind it; this privation, too, was part of my punishment. But, by the time I understood, I’d lost the craving, so it had ceased to be a punishment.

    http://www.scribd.com/doc/27870913/T...y-Albert-Camus
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was the old Adam in me, I suppose—the taint of that first father who was the first rebel against God’s commandments. Most strange is man, ever insatiable, ever unsatisfied, never at peace with God or himself, his days filled with restlessness and useless endeavour, his nights a glut of vain dreams of desires wilful and wrong. Yes, and also I was much annoyed by my craving for tobacco. My sleep was often a torment to me, for it was then that my desires took licence to rove, so that a thousand times I dreamed myself possessed of hogsheads of tobacco—ay, and of warehouses of tobacco, and of shiploads and of entire plantations of tobacco.
    [..]
    In the sixth year I increased the base of my pyramid, so that in eighteen months thereafter the height of my monument was fifty feet above the height of the island. This was no tower of Babel. It served two right purposes. It gave me a lookout from which to scan the ocean for ships, and increased the likelihood of my island being sighted by the careless roving eye of any seaman. And it kept my body and mind in health. With hands never idle, there was small opportunity for Satan on that island. Only in my dreams did he torment me, principally with visions of varied foods and with imagined indulgence in the foul weed called tobacco.
    [...]
    As the time passed, I grew more contented with my lot, and the devil came less and less in my sleep to torment the old Adam in me with lawless visions of tobacco and savoury foods.
    [...]
    I cannot refrain from telling here a curious incident. The ship had by this time drifted so far away, that we were all of an hour in getting aboard. During this time I yielded to my propensities that had been baffled for eight long years, and begged of the second mate, who steered, a piece of tobacco to chew. This granted, the second mate also proffered me his pipe, filled with prime Virginia leaf. Scarce had ten minutes passed when I was taken violently sick. The reason for this was clear. My system was entirely purged of tobacco, and what I now suffered was tobacco poisoning such as afflicts any boy at the time of his first smoke. Again I had reason to be grateful to God, and from that day to the day of my death, I neither used nor desired the foul weed.

    http://www.online-literature.com/london/the-jacket/19/
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Franchement, y a-t-il une excuse à cela ? Il y en a une, mais si misérable que je ne puis songer à la faire valoir. En tout cas, voilà : je n’ai jamais pu croire profondément que les affaires humaines fussent cho-ses sérieuses. Où était le sérieux, je n’en savais rien, sinon qu’il n’était pas dans tout ceci que je voyais et qui m’apparaissait seulement comme un jeu amusant, ou importun. Il y a vraiment des efforts et des convic-tions que je n’ai jamais compris. Je regardais toujours d’un air étonné, et un peu soupçonneux, ces étranges créatures qui mouraient pour de l’argent, se désespéraient pour la perte d’une « situation » ou se sacrifiaient avec de grands airs pour la prospérité de leur famille. Je comprenais mieux cet ami qui s’était mis en tête de ne plus fumer et, à force de volonté, y avait réussi. Un matin, il ouvrit le journal, lut que la première bombe H avait explose, s’instruisit de ses admirables effets et entra sans délai dans un bureau de tabac.

    Tell me frankly, is there any excuse for that? There is one, but so wretched
    that I cannot dream of advancing it. In any case, here it is: I have never been
    really able to believe that human affairs were serious matters. I had no idea
    where the serious might lie, except that it was not in all this I saw around
    me which seemed to me merely an amusing game, or tiresome. There are really
    efforts and convictions I have never been able to understand. I always looked with amazement, and a certain suspicion, on those strange creatures who died for money, fell into despair over the loss of a position, or sacrificed themselves with a high and mighty manner for the prosperity of their family. I could better
    understand that friend who had made up his mind to stop smoking and through sheer
    will power had succeeded. One morning he opened the paper, read that the first H-
    bomb had been exploded, learned about its wonderful effects, and hastened to a
    tobacco shop.

    http://www.scribd.com/doc/887992/Albert-Camus-The-Fall
    Last edited by menumission; 29-06-2011 at 04:00.

  12. #582
    Sympathy Junkie. Amnesiac.'s Avatar
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    Here they are, on a day early in the Second World War: the boy and his mother on the bridge, the stick floating over the water’s surface, and Virginia’s body at the river’s bottom, as if she is dreaming of the surface, the stick, the boy and his mother, the sky and the rooks. An olive-drab truck rolls across the bridge, loaded with soldiers in uniform, who wave to the boy who has just thrown the stick. He waves back. He demands that his mother pick him up so he can see the soldiers better; so he will be more visible to them. All this enters the bridge, resounds through its wood and stone, and enters Virginia’s body. Her face, pressed sideways to the piling, absorbs it all: the truck and the soldiers, the mother and the child.

    Michael Cunnigham - The Hours of Tamagothi
    Last edited by Amnesiac.; 13-07-2011 at 14:07.
    I went down into the valley to pray.
    I got drunk and I stayed all day.

  13. #583
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    Default William Faulkner - As I Lay Dying

    Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking
    straight ahead, steps in a single stride through the window. Still staring
    straight ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he crosses the
    floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of a cigar store Indian dressed in
    patched overalls and endued with life from the hips down, and steps in a single
    stride through the opposite window and into the path again just as I come around
    the corner. In single file and five feet apart and Jewel now in front, we go on
    up the path toward the foot of the bluff.
    [...]
    When we enter she turns her
    head and looks at us. She has been dead these ten days. I suppose it's having
    been a part of Anse for so long that she cannot even make that change, if change
    it be. I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon
    of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind and that of the
    minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end;
    the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single
    tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

    She looks at us. Only her eyes seem to move. It's like they touch us, not with sight or sense, but like the stream from a hose touches you, the stream at the instant of impact as dissociated from the nozzle as though it had never been
    there. She does not look at Anse at all. She looks at me, then at the boy.
    Beneath the quilt she is no more than a bundle of rotten sticks.
    [...]
    She watches me: I can feel her eyes. It's like she was shoving at me
    with them. I have seen it before in women. Seen them drive from the room them
    coming with sympathy and pity, with actual help, and clinging to some trifling
    animal to whom they never were more than pack-horses. That's what they mean by
    the love that passeth understanding: that pride, that furious desire to hide
    that abject nakedness which we bring here with us, carry with us into operating
    rooms, carry stubbornly and furiously with us into the earth again. I leave the
    room. Beyond the porch Cash's saw snores steadily into the board. A minute later
    she calls his name, her voice harsh and strong.
    "Cash," she says; "you, Cash!"

    http://www.scribd.com/doc/976219/Wil...As-I-Lay-Dying
    Last edited by menumission; 18-07-2011 at 23:51.

  14. #584
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    Χθες είδα πάλι στον ύπνο μου τον πατέρα. Καθόμασταν οι

    δυο μας σ’ ένα τραπέζι με καρό τραπεζομάντιλο. Κάποιος μας

    έφερε δυο ποτηράκια και κρασί. – Είσαι καλά; Του λέω.

    - Καλά, καλά, και μου ‘πιασε το χέρι. – Άντε, στην

    υγειά σου, είπε. Σήκωσε το ποτήρι, τσούγκρισε και το άφησε

    πάνω στο τραπέζι. – Δεν πίνεις; Ρώτησα. – Εσύ να πιεις,

    απάντησε. Εγώ δε θέλω να ξεχάσω.

    Γιάννης Βαρβέρης, «Ο πατέρας δεν πίνει στους ουρανούς»

  15. #585
    Spammity Spam rat_poison's Avatar
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    Jul 2003
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    green midget cafe in bromney
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    Default

    The Difference Engine - Stirling & Gibson

    "It's a knowledge guild," he said soberly. "The bosses, the big'uns, they can take all
    manner of things away from us. With their bloody laws and factories and courts and
    banks . . . They can make the world to their pleasure, they can take away your home
    and kin and even the work you do . . . " Mick shrugged angrily, his lean shoulders
    denting the heavy fabric of the greatcoat. "And even rob a hero's daughter of her
    virtue, if I'm not too bold in speaking of it." He pressed her hand against his sleeve, a
    hard, trapping grip. "But they can't ever take what you know, now can they, Sybil?
    They can't ever take that."
    Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam;

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