Не нужен бродягам дом и уют,
Нужны - океан, земля.

Последняя Тень
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Могу также предложить пуговицы от джедайской мантии, сапоги на хатта, беретку на тогруту и от мертвого гандарка уши.
Шел Энакин по берегу, видит - река горит. Лег на берег и сгорел.

"Весь мир театр.
Но пьеса поставлена плохо." © Оскар Уайльд

Все арахнофобы на самом деле латентные пауки.

" - Те люди, внизу, они живут по правилам, а толку? Их всё равно поглотил страх.
- А перестанут бояться и что?
- Тогда всё просто. Выбираешь путь и идёшь без оглядки." (с) FaF III

Nazareth – Games
Комаров Кирилл – У входа в рай
Peter Gabriel – Games Without Frontiers
Воскресенье – Кто виноват
Антонио Вивальди – Танец смерти (Escala Palladio)
Андрей Миронов – Где ты была?
Hammerfall – Last Man Standing
Кукрыниксы – Холодно
Disturbed – Indestructible

Все арахнофобы на самом деле латентные пауки.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Fuck strategy! I have a shotgun! ^_^

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Fuck strategy! I have a shotgun! ^_^

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Fuck strategy! I have a shotgun! ^_^

"Невинный блаженец" © D.G.

Ilaan vanished – and took all the sounds and sources of light along. Only Ilaan remained. Down on his knees, an obedient servant of the Force, just like all those months ago. It spoke to him – and he listened, without saying a word. Out of his silence, the sounds and images appeared, filling the space around them, giving the reality its meaning and weight, just like clean white cloth that gradually becomes heavy with blood when it covers the body.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

"Невинный блаженец" © D.G.

Ilaan vanished – and took all the sounds and sources of light along. Only Ilaan remained. Down on his knees, an obedient servant of the Force, just like all those months ago. It spoke to him – and he listened, without saying a word. Out of his silence, the sounds and images appeared, filling the space around them, giving the reality its meaning and weight, just like clean white cloth that gradually becomes heavy with blood when it covers the body.