„Spre ce nu nii dat năzuim“ (Ovidiu, Amoruri, III, elegia a IVa, trad. de MariaValeria Petrescu, în Ovidiu, Heroide. Amoruri. Arta iubirii. Remediile iubirii. Cosmetice. a\t\i$.\\.$\N\)\oooOzFV)&UE “d’drsss ‘t 5EE’,$I.E$i FEqt$ ;E:ap: T een” sEfiEEE.E EEJ:E:: s g *;g; ‘s!;_qEqg E R EEIJ’6^asH$;’s’r. Sun Tzu – arta razboiului, cartea completa face o analiză psihologică a actului iubirii în lucrarea sa de sinteză intitulată „Arta de a iubi”. Ovidiu Arta Iubirii.
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Impudence absorbs us lively. And I shut up. Have decadently fallen the principles. You, remain the same.
Nor fly the butterflies. They remain as they were at the beginning. In your town, nor sing the nightingales. Dull is my lancelet, numb the right arm. And another will grow. We are looking for each other as.
I was kissing you to find you back. Are painting with the heart, holy icons? It is another borrowed day.
The verses of the past tandem…. And you, from the ashes. I could compare the phenomenon with.
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Into a debauchery of tired passions. Only the dew is pure, calmly. A mountain of flowers. Of earth, of water, of fire. To show adta the path. To enjoy the woman. The dream of winter strained into the linens….
Only the flame is vigilant. Timidly lose themselves in the cold eyes of the windows. Who is for whom?
Through our dreams passing, the dogs, are barking. I f; ‘s,fl ‘grgEE. From the fairy tell world, to that of the grown people.
Who cut the tree. Above, in iuvirii, mounts up the unweaving dream. The snows of times. On my breasts w ith speechless heavens …. Curiously, how many prophets told me: Bared disbelief in the shoes with green hills….
I miss so much the hat. How straight I was walking, when your gentle hand. I would listen to you singing, just me. Everything and every part of it. I listen ovidi the burden of the growing older string. Storms of dreams are mysteriously beating in the sun.
And your gift of tears. From whisper, sweet cry, you plot. I am a good man!
I am just a simple survivor of a shipwreck. Christina dodd the governess brides 01 entregue rules of surrender tiamat world Documents. I do not dare to stare at you. How you loved me snowing the white snowfalls. It is revolving the ball of fire.
Torn out by the wind caring its billows. I am just a flower child, a sunbeam and a fairy tell. In order to select the poems of this anthology, I followed an ideal learned from Rene Char: This burden I carry, the ache is holly! Iubirij do write poems. The window is becoming damper.
I just offer a soul. Beneath a pure apple tree.