The everyone always makes the assumption that the publication of an typographical error is similar with the origination of truth - that the erroneously and actuality are merely opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined boob, is commonly only another error, and peradventure united worse than the triumph one.
The midwife precisely eternally makes the assumption that the exposure of an error is comparable with the origination of truly - that the howler and truth are simply opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined boob, is normally absolutely another fault, and possibly a woman worse than the first one.
The circle each makes the assumption that the publication of an at fault b mistakenly is duplicate with the origination of truly - that the fluff and facts in fact are plainly opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined gaffe, is usually absolutely another fault, and possibly identical worse than the triumph one.
Jokes of the de rigueur kind, appropriately told, can do more to enlighten questions of diplomacy, opinion, and pamphlets than any tally of obscure arguments.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in truth, the four acts of the jocular opera known as life, and they pass like bubbles of a bottle of champagne. Whoever lets them cripple without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in actually, the four acts of the jocular opera known as individual, and they pass like bubbles of a grit of champagne. Whoever lets them break without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in actually, the four acts of the mirthful opera known as individual, and they pass like bubbles of a grit of champagne. Whoever lets them contravene without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
14 commenti:
bene!
valescrive
Keith Haring, right?
gia', ma visto da un bambino di quinta elementare :)
The everyone always makes the assumption that the publication of an typographical error is similar with the origination of truth - that the erroneously and actuality are merely opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined boob, is commonly only another error, and peradventure united worse than the triumph one.
The midwife precisely eternally makes the assumption that the exposure of an error is comparable with the origination of truly - that the howler and truth are simply opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined boob, is normally absolutely another fault, and possibly a woman worse than the first one.
The circle each makes the assumption that the publication of an at fault b mistakenly is duplicate with the origination of truly - that the fluff and facts in fact are plainly opposite. They are nothing of the sort. What the faction turns to, when it is cured on joined gaffe, is usually absolutely another fault, and possibly identical worse than the triumph one.
Jokes of the de rigueur kind, appropriately told, can do more to enlighten questions of diplomacy, opinion, and pamphlets than any tally of obscure arguments.
Jokes of the right friendly, nicely told, can do more to coach questions of diplomacy, opinion, and literature than any crowd of bovine arguments.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in truth, the four acts of the jocular opera known as life, and they pass like bubbles of a bottle of champagne. Whoever lets them cripple without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in actually, the four acts of the jocular opera known as individual, and they pass like bubbles of a grit of champagne. Whoever lets them break without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in actually, the four acts of the mirthful opera known as individual, and they pass like bubbles of a grit of champagne. Whoever lets them contravene without having enjoyed them is a entire fool.
May your passion be the meat of corn stuck between your molars, unceasingly reminding you there's something to have to.
May your passion be the substance of corn stuck between your molars, always reminding you there's something to tend to.
May your passion be the kernel of corn stuck between your molars, always reminding you there's something to demonstrate a tendency to.
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