欧宝娱乐

“If there were no eternal consciousness in a man, if at the bottom of everything there were only a wild ferment, a power that twisting in dark passions produced everything great or inconsequential; if an unfathomable, insatiable emptiness lay hid beneath everything, what would life be but despair?”
― Soren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

“賱賱丨亘 毓賱丕賲丕鬲 賷賯賮賵賴丕 丕賱賮胤賳貙 賵賷賴鬲丿賷 廿賱賷賴丕 丕賱匕賰賷 . 賮兀賵賱賴丕 廿丿賲丕賳 丕賱賳馗乇 賵丕賱毓賷賳 亘丕亘 丕賱賳賮爻 丕賱卮丕乇毓 貙 賵賴賷 丕賱賲賳賯亘丞 毓賳 爻乇丕卅乇賴丕 貙 賵丕賱賲毓亘乇丞 賱囟賲丕卅乇賴丕 貙 賵丕賱賲毓乇亘丞 毓賳 亘賵丕胤賳賴丕 . 賮鬲乇賶 丕賱賳丕馗乇 賱丕 賷胤乇賮 貙 賷賳鬲賯賱 亘鬲賳賯賱 丕賱賲丨亘賵亘 貙 賵賷賳夭賵賷 亘廿賳夭賵丕亍賴 貙 賵賷賲賷賱 丨賷孬 賲丕賱 .
賵賲賳賴丕 毓賱丕賲丕鬲 賲鬲囟丕丿丞 賵賴賷 毓賱賶 賯丿乇 丕賱丿賵丕毓賷 貙 賵丕賱毓賵丕乇囟 丕賱亘丕毓孬丞 賵丕賱兀爻亘丕亘 丕賱賲丨乇賰丞 賵丕賱禺賵丕胤乇 丕賱賲賴賷噩丞 . 賵丕賱兀囟丿丕丿 兀賳丿丕丿 貙 賵丕賱兀卮賷丕亍 廿匕丕 兀賮乇胤鬲 賮賷 睾丕賷丕鬲 鬲囟丕丿賴丕 賵賵賯賮鬲 賮賷 丕賳鬲賴丕亍 丨丿賵丿 丕禺鬲賱丕賮賴丕 鬲卮丕亘賴鬲 貙 賯丿乇丞 賲賳 丕賱賱賴 毓夭 賵噩賱 鬲囟賱 賮賷賴丕 丕賱兀賵賴丕賲 . 賮賴匕丕 丕賱孬賱噩 廿匕丕 兀購丿賲賳 丨亘爻賴 賮賷 丕賱賷丿 賮毓賱 賮毓賱 丕賱賳丕乇 貙 賵賳噩丿 丕賱賮乇丨 廿匕丕 兀賮乇胤 賯鬲賱 貙 賵丕賱睾賲 廿匕丕 兀賮乇胤 賯鬲賱 貙 賵丕賱囟丨賰 廿匕丕 賰孬乇 賵丕卮鬲丿 貙 兀爻丕賱 丕賱丿賲毓 賲賳 丕賱毓賷賳賷賳 . 賵賴匕丕 賮賷 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賰孬賷乇 貙 賮賳噩丿 丕賱賲丨亘賷賳 廿匕丕 鬲賰丕賮賷丕 賮賷 丕賱賲丨亘丞 賵鬲兀賰丿鬲 亘賷賳賴賲丕 卮丿賷丿丕賸 貙 賰孬乇 鬲賴丕噩乇賴賲丕 亘睾賷乇 賲毓賳賶 貙 賵鬲囟丕丿賴賲丕 賮賷 丕賱賯賵賱 鬲毓賲丿丕賸 貙 賵禺乇賵噩 亘毓囟賴賲丕 毓賱賶 亘毓囟 賮賷 賰賱 賷爻賷乇 賲賳 丕賱兀賲賵乇 貙 賵鬲鬲亘毓 賰賱 賲賳賴賲丕 賱賮馗丞 鬲賯毓 賲賳 氐丕丨亘賴 貙 賵鬲兀賵賱賴丕 毓賱賶 睾賷乇 賲毓賳丕賴丕 貙 賰賱 賴匕丕 鬲噩乇亘丞 賱賷亘丿賵 賲丕 賷毓鬲賯丿賴 賰賱 賵丕丨丿 賲賳賴賲丕 賮賷 氐丕丨亘賴”
― 丕亘賳 丨夭賲 丕賱兀賳丿賱爻賷, 胤賵賯 丕賱丨賲丕賲丞 賮賷 丕賱兀賱賮丞 賵丕賱兀賱丕賮

“Leisure is the mother of Philosophy”
― Thomas Hobbes

“Language is my whore, my mistress, my wife, my pen-friend, my check-out girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God, the dew on a fresh apple, it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning sun when you pull from an old bookshelf a forgotten volume of erotic diaries; language is the faint scent of urine on a pair of boxer shorts, it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party, a creak on the stair, a spluttering match held to a frosted pane, the warm wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl, cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.”
― Stephen Fry