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sense and sensibility


אלה החיים שלי וזו נקודת המבט שלי... love it or leave it

כינוי: 

בת: 32





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ארכיון:


5/2008


She says I don't want nobody else, I love you She's lying There won't be somebody else and that's true She's lying Say you'll always be my friend sweet darling Why does she pretend ?

 

ain't no doubt-jimmy nail


It is much too late to find - when you think you've changed your mind - You'd better change it back or we will both be sorry

 

don't you want me-human league


Oth. By Heauen I saw my Handkerchiefe in's hand. O periur'd woman, thou do'st stone my heart, And makes me call, what I intend to do, A Murther, which I thought a Sacrifice. I saw the Handkerchiefe    Des. He found it then: I neuer gaue it him: Send, for him hither: Let him confesse a truth    Oth. He hath confest    Des. What, my Lord?   Oth. That he hath vs'd thee    Des. How? vnlawfully?   Oth. I    Des. He will not say so    Oth. No: his mouth is stopp'd: Honest Iago hath 'tane order for't    Des. Oh, my feare interprets. What is he dead?   Oth. Had all his haires bin liues, my great Reuenge Had stomacke for them all    Des. Alas, he is betray'd, and I vndone    Oth. Out Strumpet: weep'st thou for him to my face?   Des. O banish me, my Lord, but kill me not    Oth. Downe Strumpet    Des. Kill me to morrow, let me liue to night    Oth. Nay, if you striue    Des. But halfe an houre    Oth. Being done, there is no pawse    Des. But while I say one prayer    Oth. It is too late. Smothers her. aemilia at the doore. Aemil. My Lord, my Lord? What hoa? My Lord, my Lord    Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead? I that am cruell, am yet mercifull, I would not haue thee linger in thy paine? So, so. ....... Aemil. Oh my good Lord, yonders foule Murthers done    Oth. What? now? Aemil. But now, my Lord    Oth. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neerer Earth then she was wont, And makes men mad. Aemil. Cassio, my Lord, hath kill'd A young Venetian, call'd Rodorigo    Oth. Rodorigo kill'd? and Cassio kill'd? Aemil. No, Cassio is not kill'd    Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then Murther's out of tune, And sweet Reuenge growes harsh    Des. O falsely, falsely murder'd. Aemil. Alas! what cry is that?   Oth. That? What? Aemil. Out, and alas, that was my Ladies voice. Helpe, helpe hoa, helpe. Oh Ladie speake againe, Sweet Desdemona, oh sweet Mistris, speake    Des. A guiltlesse death, I dye. Aemil. Oh who hath done this deed?   Des. No body: I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord: oh farewell othelo-shakespeare

נכתב על ידי , 23/5/2008 14:07  
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הבלוג משוייך לקטגוריות: החיים כמשל , מגיל 14 עד 18
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