Night: Imperial World Holds Breath

Marques 2022-03-21 09:02:46

Unfamiliar city, awakened by a nightmare in the dark night, opened the curtains and looked at the deserted street, the light touch of Ye's fingers made the silent panic. In the night, accompanied by the frivolous and sad sound of the harp, it tapped the blank space, tore at the hazy, light flow, and finally stopped heavy. A sudden heavy rain washed away the order and elegance of an ordinary party. Men are tired in sex, and women are too tired in love. When they come to the intersection of deadlock and bifurcation, they can't help but do multiplication and division in spite of their love. Why can't we stay in love with each other, and the price of laughter is indifference? Why do you have to say goodbye and leave, leaving behind eachother? The short is always romantic, the long is always dissatisfied, the lie destroys the promise, the eulogy replaces the love letter, and the youth is burnt out perfectly. The night of the drunken and gold fans unconsciously added the yellow robe, and the erotic lust, shaking his head, leaned Erlang's legs aside, his eyes were cold, the corners of his mouth were smiling, and he listened to the government leisurely. In the turbulent world, the winner of love is only a line between the winner and the loser. In the dead silence of the day, I lose my strokes in the silent night. I don't know how many lonely hearts have been crushed. The mountains and the rain are about to come and the wind is filling the building, and the thousands of troops and horses can't stop the woman's tidal intuition. In desperation, knowing that "the bamboo basket is empty", it is still necessary to test how far the distance is. Breaking dawn dissects the incompleteness, love is more than a second, hatred is not less, commitment is torment, in the disintegration, one is ashamed, and the other has no way out. The bright morning can't take away the sadness of sadness and sorrow, but the yin and yang sky is like a god. of the undead.

People and wild geese fly south and cry at night - Lidia chapter: The dark night, the cold heart, meet in the lonely, long-sounding, mottled wall of sighs, at first sight but speechless. Between his side glances, the night was bleak, and a drizzle of rain was falling. Looking at the world that had no sense in front of him, the empty and dying good intentions were still lingering. In the reinforced concrete jungle, in the life of calling and calling, panic day after day, love to death, but do not understand the ins and outs of all this, the feelings of truth, kindness and beauty are idle by the surrounding holes. The past has not disappeared, and it has never really passed. It is just like turning a book, page by page, being pressed down in a controlled manner. When I revisit it again, I have mixed feelings. On the edge of the city, I calculated the gap between my dream and reality, and I dreamed of provoking a dream that I didn't want to wake up from, but before I could open my eyes, the dream had closed the valve and held my breath, and was overdrawn to the point of dystocia. . The lingering back held the soul, the lingering voice choked in the throat, and fell into those bright eyes, but their hearts could not be connected for a long time. I miss the soft light in your eyes when you loved me, the madness that I was still in love when I was deceived, the sadness that stopped at the station of love, staggered, smiling bitterly at the legacy of love, maybe the wound is still bleeding, maybe There were tears in his eyes. Why is there no response for all the hard work, and all efforts are zero? Why have you exhausted all your enthusiasm, all your determination, and been denied by you? How unfair this is! Standing on the barren land of Qian Mo, your expression erodes my mood, the lonely mask is frozen by the rusty iron heart, the boundless infatuation is powerless to return to the sky, losing is more cruel than not getting it, just like hearing love That eternal laughter. Missing turns into nostalgia, heartbreak turns into heartbreak, but you still care, who do you belong to in the end? The sky is barren and the sea is dry, leaving a piece of soil in my heart, even tears can irrigate happiness. The moon is dead, the lights are out, the black people are blurry at night, this life is clear because I love you. Once upon a time, the sea was difficult, but Wushan, you still have clouds, jumped out of the enclosure of self-deception, and returned to the established fineness. When you ignore it and fall behind you, it is not the petals, but my withered heart. In this chilly season, the autumn wind swept the leaves, parked and sat in the maple forest at night, all the lights had already been extinguished, just like the deceased old friend, the expected despair revealed unexpected calm. Frozen three feet, not a day's cold, Lang Jun is like a play unsatisfactory, so he understands but does not understand, fearing that people will ask, he swallows tears and pretends to be happy. The purple-red dark dust locked his heart unbearably, it was about to die, anesthetized but not drunk, even the dawn of the dawn could not penetrate, the layers of bruises.

Sleepless nights in the dark - Giovanni: The city at midnight is very sad, like a man who waits in a panic after making a mistake, the sky in the distance will light up, and the pair of holy hands of love will not be released innocently. There are three or two peach blossoms on the outside of the bamboo, the spring river plumbing the duck prophet, and the lobster wormwood all over the ground with short reed buds. The numb and numb chameleon, the eyes are full of forks, the means are not firm, the clothes are well-dressed and beautiful, and the lust is ups and downs. Red apricots go out of the wall, go to the acupoints and taste the flavors and turn around, the heart of the wild waves, how can you refuse the ripples in the river that talk but don't talk; the heartless man who comes and doesn't go, the future is not a dream, and the erosion is not a hole, lying on his stomach and wiping some oil, twisting A twist, a lick, a soak, it's hard to look at the tone, but if you look closely at the superb tone, it's too strong to be sloppy. The frivolous greed, the frivolous abandonment, the fragrant path stealing the period, coming and going in a hurry, inadvertently breaking the wine glass, the playful person ignores it. That pair of eyes gathered the essence of honey and salt, shining brightly with oil, but behind it was hidden a softening hideousness, looking at love as if picking up grass, the indifferent kindness and deafness of the concerns were straightforward and unnecessary techniques. Struggling and frantic, tired and turbulent, like a wild horse roaring in the desert, opening its chest towards the flying sand, those passions ignited the fire in their hearts and ran into the distance. Forgetting to look for it, estranged and close, like a child talking about a toy, throwing it and picking it up, picking it up and dropping it, bumping and bumping, making the weak rub out sharp edges and corners. I love you, but the passion is not as strong as it used to be, it is too cold when holding hands, not close enough when hugging, not serious when talking, too careful when silent, eyes betraying the intention, even so, it is still like searching for something It won your heart away; thinking of her, distracted and fascinated by the flirtatious sensuality, too aggressive when approaching a conversation, a little distracted when playing games, too attentive when smiling, too aggressive when kissing , his eyes clearly pointed out his intention, but despite this, he still abducted her love like walking on thin ice. In the eternal spring, fall in love with the upper floors, express sorrow for new words, calm down in embarrassment, be in a state of embarrassment, transfer the warmth of one person to the chest of another, and let the mistakes made last time reflect on the dream. Regardless of whether the karma is forgiven or not, the burning years of hunting have demolished the east wall to make up the west wall in disguise and deception, and I am content with happiness, even if there are dangers. Mixed with hatred and love, each is bored and sings, no staples are needed for illustrations, peach footpaths are messed up, lightly flipped over Liu Mo, come back as soon as you refuse, can’t go home, shoot yourself in the foot, love is paler than heart quick. Sitting on the ground, scanning accurately at the junction of the two hearts, it is not an empty set, and I dare not guarantee that it is an intersection, leaving a dead knot of memory that I do not want to open, and prowling and surveying in the wedge-shaped complement. Looking down, facing the question of love, there is no echo. If you answer honestly, love and not love are not the answer, and repentance and unrepentance are presumed to be true harm. The unfamiliar and familiar kisses and hugs return like crazy, the turbulent drowns the tender seedlings, the scorching heat burns the aftertaste, all the words lose their meaning, and let love bury a coffin in the "ecology".

Frowning Night Frowning - Valentina: Looking up at the starry sky, the night is fading and no one is still, and the outline of the encounter is extraordinarily delicate under the shadow of the moonlight. God bestows beauty, beauty draws a circle, and intellectual goodwill occupies the center of the circle, allowing the charming halo to revolve smoothly. In the world of two people, the "throwing game" is threaded, and the memory is taken away, like grinding sleeves, vaguely infatuated with one, just as the tide rises under the wind and rain, do not want to ask yourself whether you have ever admired it. To be prudish is to be powerless but intentional, and to come and go in the dark; to be insincere, to be powerless or intentional, like a mystery, to be felt from the brows, but not visible from the corners of the eyes, as if it was the most direct exposure. The dream is too demonic, it melts the feeling, and there is no defense; the dream is too short, and it has a good harvest, so let it go. Passionate about love, more than politeness, seeing through the rhetoric that is as perfect as a machine, clarifying the abrupt soul-moving method, perfectionism is too stupid. The distance was shocked by the enthusiasm, slowly cooled down, a heart sank, and they finally returned to strangers. Gradually understand that feelings are used for browsing, not for collection. Feelings need someone to take over, approaching in exchange for expectations, and expectations bring about a vicious circle of disappointment. After enjoying the fear, I refused to be a lamb for love and sin. Memories are the moonlight that cannot be caught. When you hold it tightly, it becomes dark, and the false back disappears into the clear sky. Don’t deal with it, don’t let it go ? When I approached and listened carefully, the enthusiasm for waiting no longer trembled, and if I figured it out, it would be difficult to be defeated again. I don't want to dismantle his absurd moves, and I don't want to be sympathetic to her loose posture. The playground at night is full of friends and I, who can't get in, are fireworks of different colors, the strongest foam in the sky and sea, and let Rose produce a result, Naked as in full bloom in a lonely desert. Lost was like sand soaked in water and settled on the bottom of the sea. Before I realized it, I let my dream take me away. I stood in the corner of the light, no need to paint, no more dodging, and I hurried to get my purity back before the possessive counterattack. , transcribed the night into vinyl. Just like this, through the thick French windows, listening to the long-silent mood, clear and transparent, burning love into leaves, and admiring the silent desolation, this is not stubbornness, nor is it escaping, no one can tie me to go hapiness. The aurora swept across the sky, the north wind swept over the face of drowning, love is worth paying, but it can be withdrawn, when it comes, it gathers into dewdrops, and when it leaves, it is like a mist in the morning. burden. How about the future, how many fates are there, there is only one kiss, only one word, I don't know who to tell?

If love is broken, it may be doomed; if it is broken, forget it, and no longer respond. The sound of grinding across the quiet night sky, the face carved with memory, the black humor all the way north, pulling the split heart. Asking how long the sky is, how much is the earth, or superstitiously flattering to fate, not allowing far-fetched scrutiny, giving up everything, leaving everything behind, love and non-love end without a hitch, and only pay homage to love because of God’s will. Walking non-stop, unable to rush when it should be fast, unable to stop when it should be slow, the stop button of love was strangely touched. The soul is left behind, the pieces are withered, slowly pieced together, and anxious to restore, but the attributes that have been distorted and broken can no longer be restored. The facsimile is easy to write, and the fragrance of ink never fades, leaving only the aftertaste of hanging in a solitary posture, inviting you to enter the urn, but unfortunately that "people's faces don't know where to go", but not far away, "peach blossoms still laugh in the spring breeze." The roses in the garden compete with each other, fetching a favorite one with a smile, falling in love seriously, but unexpectedly being stabbed severely. Complaining intentionally, blaming without intention, roses are all red, it is inevitable to misread it. For the time being, I will use "a moment in the dark is worth a thousand dollars" to suppress the shock and talk about masturbation. I hope there is a beautiful woman on the side of the water, so that people are willing to go down despite the pain. If happiness is far away, at least dreams will follow. In a certain corner, there must be someone who is also waiting for the dispatch of God, unconditionally embracing all the inspiration of the Creator, but that perfect rose, how many hills have to be crossed before it can be found. Lovely flowers, please be obedient, don't wither too fast, and wait for the children of the wind and the girls of sand who are rushing to their names, smell the fragrance of the night, and pour the luminous cup.

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La Notte quotes

  • Giovanni: I've been selfish. It's strange to realize only now that what we give to others comes back to us.

  • Mr. Gherardini: It's what you say that counts, not your intention.