Luxury, peace and delight without bottom
I like to work from home because in peace and silence, my brain function differently than in a noisy environment. This is, of course, known in the quality (and quantity) of the texts submitted. But skiing after a full, noisy editorial also has any advantage. Chat with coworkers, say.
More interesting contributions from the section Good morning can you read here.
Recently one of them on social network shared a photo collections of poetry my far -favorite (foreign) poet Charles Baudelair. Flowers of evil have been one of the highlights of poetry for me since high school years, Angel, serenity full And a song I can rely in in the middle of the night.
N. She then went to work with the ancient edition of the poetry of the French poet in her backpack and even allowed me to take her in my hands.
I love chatting about books and also the people I can talk to about what they read, which one book She impressed them and what is not worth wasting time. Because these conversations are never just talks about literary works, but there are talks about life, the wishes and dreams of the reader (or the writer, as it applies), about losses, and here and there also talk about sadness. Even you love me – sadness is, last but not least, part of life.
Chat is also almost never existed in one book, but it leads one title to another and the one to the third. Fans of books They are like mysterious family members for me, which I have never met before.
Before this year’s longer summer vacation, I already have my ears launched, and at every opportunity I offer, I add new editions to the list, interesting reading, anything that anyone offers to me, and for what I feel that it will make my hot holidays.
I long for silence, which is broken only by the sound of the gills, the peace that I feel in me in the blue lagoon when I have no other concern under the sun, than what and when I will eat and what book I will take in my hands.
I can’t wait to go where the order and beauty are at home, luxury, peace and delight without bottomas Charles Baudelaire wrote in those unclear « flowers.
