Dr. Evil The details of my life are quite inconsequential.. Very well, where do I begin My father was a relentlessly self improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum.. It's breathtaking I highly suggest you try it.
french life age genius evil childhood improving mother lessons lazy question spring insane drink father begin meat pretty possess lament details internationalrelations
Shall not one line lament our forest race, Struck out for you from wild creation's face Freedom the selfsame freedom you adore Bade us defend our violated shore.
race wild face forest lament freedom
There has never been an age that did not applaud the past and lament the present.
age past present lament thepast
There has never been an age that did not applaud the past and lament the present
age past present lament
My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul
silence manners soul lies shadows grief lament
You have suffered greatly, poor mother. Oh! Do not lament, you have now the portion of the elect. It is in this way that mortals become angels. It is not their fault; they do not know how to set about it otherwise. This hell from which you have come out is the first step towards Heaven. We must begin by that. -- Jean Valjean --
suffering heaven perfection mother mortality poor angels hell fault begin lament
You lament the loss of any job.
loss job lament
I don't know if Minnesota has anything to lament. It's never bad to have high income. But high income does bring high taxes.
bad taxes lament income
I think there is a shared belief we need to do something to improve education in the city,.. We can't just lament it anymore. We all have to take action.
belief action city education lament
Time is very slow for those who waitVery fast for those who are scaredvery long for those who lament Very short for those who celebrateBut for those who love time is eternal
time eternal lament love short
It seems more than a little patronizing for Westerners to lament the loss of the good old days when life in the Khumbu was so much simpler and more picturesque. Most of the people who live in this rugged country seem to have no desire to be severed from the modern world or the untidy flow of human progress. The last thing Sherpas want is to be preserved as specimens in an anthropological museum.
culture progress life people days live human colonialism world desire good loss flow modernity country modern lament thing
I must die. Must I then die lamenting? I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment?
life man death happiness choices positivity contentment smiles cheerfulness die exile lament
The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal, would accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness? No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved are softened away in pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness - who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave! The grave! It buries every error - covers every defect - extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
ruins duty solitude death affliction days soul voice meditation parents resentment heart sadness living sorrow present song bright mother remembrance remember regrets gloom child agony grief pleasure friend grave spring forget dead open wound heal cloud consolation error peaceful lament arms accept love anguish recollection forgetfulness
Hands that never touch. Lips that never meet. The Almost Lovers, never to be.
sadness romance heartbreak tragedy melancholy breaking-up lament lovers-love-story lovers-sadness
When someone is force to realize that the road he'd been working hard to make progress on was no different from the place he'd started, and when he realized that he had in fact gone backward, all that person can do is face the pale sky and lament.
pain lost abandoned lament
Everything good in life is either immoral, illegal or fattening.
life true immorality lament
When evening in the Shire was greyhis footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went awayon journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden doorand darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke.A deadly sword, a healing hand,a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,a weary pilgrim on the road.A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hatwho leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge aloneand Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.
gandalf lord-of-the-rings frodo lament j-r-r-tolkien
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