Books, books. Tonsillitica my long absence, mixed with panic that follows each post vacuum imposed silence, feeds the risk of forgetting my reading, so dispersing a diary of self-help to the memory of some importance for the writer used.
So: I finished Vargas, who died raise your hand. I said earlier that I would let this chance to redeem himself in my eyes (I imagine, the Vargas: and who cares, nun put it there? ), and the writing here, in my view, is lower than the book previous year, when I was particularly impressed, but the story is more interesting, I admit that I have arrived at the end full of assumptions and questions like should happen by reading a good yellow.
Then I remember leaning back on the table the five volumes of Gardening , almost completely re-evaluates them in the hope instilled in me the art of good gardener, although the court look at me with resigned despair.
A waste of time I have read several Friday of the Republic and Express, as good as just to get away from literature, and then a book that I can not remember right now, and I hope to find at the bedside. Now I'm
china (in the nineteenth century one can not be bent, given the quality of the lenses and lighting) on \u200b\u200bDickens, who remains my port, my birthplace, while steeped in soot and human wickedness.
Then I remember leaning back on the table the five volumes of Gardening , almost completely re-evaluates them in the hope instilled in me the art of good gardener, although the court look at me with resigned despair.
A waste of time I have read several Friday of the Republic and Express, as good as just to get away from literature, and then a book that I can not remember right now, and I hope to find at the bedside. Now I'm
china (in the nineteenth century one can not be bent, given the quality of the lenses and lighting) on \u200b\u200bDickens, who remains my port, my birthplace, while steeped in soot and human wickedness.
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