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Quote by Mean

“True love; the feeling that takes you so much effort without needing something in return.”

Quote by Mean

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Mean

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“And then came a damp, cold night in Flanders, through which we marched in silence, and when the day began to emerge from the mists, suddenly an iron greeting came whizzing at us over our heads, and with a sharp report sent the little pellets flying between our ranks, ripping up the wet ground; but even before the little cloud had passed, from two hundred throats the first hurrah rose to meet the first messenger of death. Then a crackling and a roaring, a singing and a howling began, and with feverish eyes each one of us was drawn forward, faster and faster, until suddenly past turnip fields and hedges the fight began, the fight of man against man. And from the distance the strains of a song reached our ears, coming closer and closer, leaping from company to company, and just as Death plunged a busy hand into our ranks, the song reached us too and we passed it along: Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles, über Alles in der Welt!”

“Как-то летел над синим морем в теплые края белый Лебедь. Утомился, больше нет сил махать крыльями. Видит — плывет в небе розовое Облачко. — Спаси меня, Облачко, — говорит Лебедь. — Нет у меня больше сил лететь. Я очень устал. — Ложись на мои розовые крылья, — сказало Облачко. — Вместе поплывем. Лег Лебедь, отдыхает. Долго летело Облачко. Вдруг почувствовал Лебедь: чего-то испугалось Облачко. — Лети скорее, Лебедь, — говорит Облачко. — Догоняет нас огненная молния. Разобъет она меня. — Нет, — говорит Лебедь. — Ты меня спасло, и я тебя спасу, хоть и сам погибну. Закрыл Лебедь своими крыльями Облачко. Ударила молния и убила Лебедя. Упал Лебедь в море и говорит: — Прощай, любимое розовое Облачко. Поплыло в синем небе Облачко красивое, но грустное. Очень жалко ему белокрылого Лебедя. Красота только потому и есть на свете, что есть верность.”

“Because, just then, death had come and rested its head on the foot of the cot and he could smell its breath. "Never believe any of that about a scythe and a skull," he told her. "It can be two bicycle policemen as easily, or be a bird. Or it can have a wide snout like a hyena." It had moved up on him now, but it had no shape any more. It simply occupied space. "Tell it to go away." It did not go away but moved a little closer. "You've got a hell of a breath," he told it. "You stinking bastard.”