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now that February is nearly over...
Disorganization personified, music, and faith and computing - but zero attention spa..
'Tradition or not, it's a bit bloody much to expect me to ponce down the nave with that bunch of flowers as if I were Rudolph Valentino'Extending the teaser slightly...and if I say that the first speaker is Philip I'll let you guess who the other one is!
'I think you mean Nureyev.'
'Same thing. They were both wooftahs.'
..a ghost story without a ghost, a whodunnit without a denouement, a historical parable without a lesson..A tale of Germany just before the First World War where everyone (almost) knew their place, a peaceful rural cummunity where the unsettling and nightmarish is only just below the surface. 143 minutes - but it gripped and carried you along with the narration of one looking back from a perspective of one looking back across even more nightmarish events. It will unsettle you - but do see it! I was reminded of last seasons El Orfanato (the Orphanage) another film placing innocence and threat of the young alongside each other.
That's not the sort of Latin I'm afraid of. That's an honest, holy sort of Latin like you get at Mass; and besides, you clerical gentlemen have to read what's written in the book in those cases. No, no; I was talking about that blackguardly out-of-church Latin which creeps up behind a man in the middle of a conversation.Three sentences too!
And while in certain parts those who were totally abandoned and reduced to extremity were raised up from the ground, brought back to life and given food and lodging for a time, there were a hundred other places where their brothers fell, languished and died without any help or comfort.The Thirty Years war and then, the plague, hits Milan!
All day long a confused murmur of imploring voices could be heard in the streets.
Snow
In the gloom of whiteness,
In the great silence of snow,
A child was sighing
And bitterly saying, 'Oh,
They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,
The down is fluttering from her breast!'
And still it fell through the dusky brightness
On the child crying for the bird of the snow.
Love. The place may be crass and exploitative, but the pilgrims who come here do so in good faith. Like everywhere else, that’s been invested with a sense of the sacred. It has an aura. It’s that aura that inspires people to keep coming. But it’s also us, or rather they, who’ve given it that aura: their hopes, their faith and above all, their love. It’s not something that’s beamed down from above.Here's the Guardian review which alerted me to the publication.
The world has changed so much so fast that the modesty of her life no longer seems a virtue but a sign of its insignificance. As she gazes at the battlefield banners and the war heroes plaques, all she can think is how little her life has been and how little difference it has made.(she's sitting in St George's chapel Westminster Abbey). That's a splendid random quotation but I'll hope to see how well the book stands the test of what's happened over the last 10 years. This is what Stephen Bates wrote about it all those years ago. And I'll keep an eye out in the local library for Jubilate!