What Tempeature Fo Baking A Cake

These are the things that make me happy

"These are the things that make me happy. I do not want others. I want a room where you can work itself. A fourth or particularly neat and tidy ... but comfortable, intimate and familiar. With an atmosphere of smoke and the smell of old books and countless smells decent clothes ... I've used for some time and a pair of old shoes. I want a summer shower and a good fire with firewood in winter. I want a home where they can be myself. I want some good friends who are as familiar as life itself, friends that did not need to be polite and I have all their difficulties, marriage and others, able to summon friends Aristotle and storytelling color uploads, friends who are spiritually rich and who can speak with obscenities and philosophy with the same candor, hobbies and friends who have definite opinions about things, they have their beliefs and to respect mine.

I want a good cook who knows how to make delicious soups and an old servant who think I am a great man, but do not know what my greatness lies. I want a good library, good cigars and a woman who understands me and leave me free to do my job. I want freedom to be myself. "

Lin Yutang

Globe Theatre Model To Make

The last island


Again life and death mingle
as in the backyard
input
carts with noise in the bucket well.
Again the sky reminds
hate lightning injury,
and almond not want to think
in his black roots.


The silence can no longer be my language,
but only find those words
unrealistic that they go dead the stars and ants,
and my memory away the love and joy
as the light of a jug of water thrown
uselessly against the darkness.


Again only hear the crackling
unquenchable
rain that falls and fall without knowing why
similar to lonely elderly continues
weaving and weaving;
and wants to flee to a town where
spin stops spinning yet
waiting for me to pick, but
where they put their feet
roads disappear,
and it is better to stay still in this room
so maybe now is the end of the world,
and rain is the sterile echoed that view,
a song I try to remember
lips are cracking under the earth.

Jorge Teillier