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least I Love Italian

Truth is never only one side. "He who is without sin cast the first stone," said someone more honest of us ... Iran accuses the U.S. of moralism, found guilty of using two weights and two measures on death sentences. That one of the two countries to kill a woman by stoning and the other uses lethal injection instead of little changes. E'pur true that killing someone for no crime of adultery, as the Iranian culture seems to support, is infamous and ancestral. Certainly, however, take lessons from someone who, although otherwise, still apply the death penalty, delegitimize po'il a warning. Killing is a crime. They are not very tolerant of those who make mistakes in terms so serious as child abuse, murder, sexual violence, etc., I had to shut them in and throw the key, even if our country, an informed and more wisely than I do, aimed at rehabilitation of the offender. Nevertheless I am strongly against the death penalty. Be it with stones, syringes, electric chairs and everything else, I believe that no one can claim the right to kill another person. Even when this is not, in fact, worthy to live this miracle called life. You can not take the side of the Executioner. And then, even the Great America, maybe it's that it begins to evolve. Why is a slap in the face too humiliating to receive from Iran. A slap is not entirely undeserved. For once we should be proud of being Italian and begin to see the glass half full. Italy is wrong, turn, cheats and arrabatta. But, at least, not kill.

http://www.corriere.it/esteri/10_settembre_21/sakineh-usa-lewis-iran_552ccbd4-c55a-11df-8164-00144f02aabe.shtml

Tawnee Stone Mediafire

Perhaps then it is true that when love is true love no one can separate two people meant to be together. If you stop along the way you can not live without that your hand holding tight. In everything that passes, returning again and, in trivial issues, in real tragedies in the days of darkness, love is all that remains. I do not know how many really have the good fortune to meet a soul mate, but who knows how to recognize it will live differently and better. We remain here, silent observer, contemplating a love that a little 'us and envy us cheers the heart. We, poor mortals, that we find our hope and our Sandra Raimondo. That without him and without her, nothing makes more sense. Turn on the Sun and unpack the stars: love, now triumphant.

http://www.corriere.it/spettacoli/10_aprile_18/sandra-volto-dolore_56b16a1e-4ad5-11df-b267-00144f02aabe.shtml?fr=correlati

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After

To start it takes courage. It would be better to erase everything and leave. And if one did not have the courage? If they ask to start over, but you do not know where and how? If you do not know if it's worth it? And if you realize that, however, do not want to start at all? Turn the page is always difficult and painful. But close the book and put it on the shelf it is even more. Yet it makes no sense to re-read pages always the same when the plot is over. There will be a Chapter II? Who knows! It would take the same writer, the same luck, the same protagonist. I am not convinced that the II is always worse than I: there is the experience, knowledge, ability to understand better what to expect. Of course The first emotion is always the most perfect and sublime, despite everything. How many books have already closed? Many already lying on the dusty shelves of your soul? And tell me, how you live then?

Cherokee Pinky And Starr

We are history

"We are history, no one will feel offended, we are this lawn of needles under the sky. We are the story, mind you, no one is excluded. We are history, we are this waves in the sea, this noise that breaks the silence, this silence so hard to chew. And then you say "All are equal, they all steal the same way." But it's just a way to convince you to stay indoors when it is closed in the evening . But the story really does not stop in front of a door, the story gets inside the chambers, burning, and gives the story gives wrong reason. We are history, we who write letters, we who have everything to win, everything to lose. And then the people, (because it's the people doing the story) when it comes to choosing and go, I'll find them all with his eyes open, they know exactly what to do. Those who have read millions of books and those who can not even speak, and that is why the story gives the chills, because nobody can stop it. We are history, we are fathers and sons, we are, hello beautiful, we're leaving. The story has no hiding places, the story does not pass his hand. The story we us, let this dish of wheat ".

Francesco De Gregori

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The Elephant and the Butterfly Buddies

is the title of an old song by Zarrillo. I like and I like all those elephants, but in flying with colorful wings of butterflies. I like it because people like that push you to compare yourself with yourself, to overcome limitations and prejudices a little that are common to all. I like the victory of those who deserve it, who seems destined only to and we usually lose the most and best of all. I like the dreams and emotions with that dream as if it were mine. Tifo for the elephants. They are light as the angels.

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I went to your new home on tiptoes, on tiptoe as I came into your life. It immediately made me very sorrowful imagine there alone. Why I want to be your shadow, I love you so much. Why have not the courage to tell you this, but I wish you'd intuit from you. Because I almost eighteen years and they expect my responsibility to take all decisions and expect me to be mature when they are not mature, nor do I want to force myself to look like. I'm seventeen years for another four months, I'm seventeen and a hand to write of my days aseptically.

You love me illegally for another four months.

On you, on that bed, I felt a seventeen year old and I left my old clothes on the chest of someone else.

I love to see you smile while we make love, and while casually yawn.

But in my life I do not know what to do. I just want to write and weep for what I read and play the piano and kiss you, but the passions are cultivated, such as plants that would otherwise wither. I forget what I want and I follow what society wants me to chase and I feel less conformist and rebellious than a year ago. Grayed and I feel fat, I see my face appear on a sign for every time that I have betrayed my morale is still not well defined.

I can not take care of us alone. And 'the real problem.

So choose what makes me feel good and I do not love him.