And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,  Through the tranquil air of morning,  First a single line of darkness,  Then a denser, bluer vapor,  Then a snow-white cloud unfolding,  Like the tree-tops of the forest,  Ever rising, rising, rising,  Till it touched the top of heaven,  Till it broke against the heaven,  And rolled outward all around it.

I ought to of shot that dog myself, George. I shouldn't ought to of let no stranger shoot my dog.

Khud ke anubhav se jo sikhate hai,
Vah koi dusra khabi nahi sikha sakta

There's more to clothing than just adornment. It does more than merely change how the world perceives us. It changes how we perceive ourselves.

Written By Jacqueline Carey

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links