recognize that this curious book, which belongs to the 2010 reading, and I find myself rereading some of your pages , I never would come to its interior, except that it was an unexpected gift: a friend, whom we had previously given him, after reading it, was thrilled and bought several copies and gave them to us on his birthday.
Apparently, from time to time adults take the time to sit and contemplate the disaster of their lives. So grieve without understanding and, as flies that crash again and again against the same crystal, are concerned, suffer, eat, grieve and wonder about the gear that has led them where they do not want to go .
The Elegance of the Hedgehog is not a masterpiece nor a masterpiece, but it draws the reader into its pages can breathe peace, tranquility, there are jazz and jasmine tea with camellias and Russian writers.
This morning, while listening to the radio station France Inter, I have been surprised to discover that I am not one who thought he was.
How much better would be if we shared each other our insecurity, if all together we shall go in ourselves to say that the green beans and vitamin C, Although the animal feed are not lifesaving or sustain the soul.
Where is beauty? What great things, like others, are doomed to die, or in the small, unpretentious, crimping know the instant a gem of infinity?The tea ritual, the precise repetition of the same gestures and the same taste, the sensations access to simple, authentic and refined, the license granted to everyone, without much effort, to become an aristocrat taste, because tea is the drink of the rich as it is for the poor, the tea ritual, then, has the extraordinary virtue of introducing into the absurdity of our lives a serene harmony gap. Yes, the universe conspires to emptiness, lost souls mourn the beauty around us insignificance. Then, take a cup of tea. There is silence, out hear the wind blowing, rustling the leaves fall and fly away, the cat, bathed in warm light. And each sip, the time is sublime.
But every morning, although there was an evening session and Solola have slept two hours, gets up at six and read su periódico tomándose un café bien cargado.
(...) mamá se pidió un té de jazmín y me dio a probar. Lo encontré tan rico, tan yo misma, que esta mañana he declarado que es lo que quería tomar siempre de desayuno a partir de ahora.
La camelia sobre el musgo del templo, el violeta de los montes de Kyoto, una taza de porcelana azul, esta eclosión de la belleza en el corazón mismo de las pasiones efímeras, ¿no es acaso a lo que todos aspiramos? ¿Y lo que nosotros, civilizaciones occidentales, no sabemos alcanzar?. La contemplación de la eternidad en el movimiento mismo de la vida.
I am very camellia on moss
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