Tag: streetart

Is there anything else you want to know?
Symbol of departure or of loneliness?
What birds were they?
He had written verses for her again after ten years.
His mind emptied of theory and courage, lapsed back into a listless peace.
Something we see and like!
What is art? What is the beauty it expresses?
Our day will come yet, believe me.
A keen October wind was blowing round the bank.
It will calm my heart. My heart is quite calm now. I will go back.
He wondered had he been in her thoughts as she had been in his.
Welcome to our trusty friend!
By thinking of things you could understand them.
Mais il ne parlait toujours pas.
Je me suis retourné pour la regarder avancer.
À présent c’était le silence de tous ces gens qui m’était pénible.
The anger comes back, but sweeter this time.
You’re not the only one who can be mysterious.
You’ll keep a secret if I do?
I have to be somewhere else tomorrow.
Are you going to do anything about it?
I doubt that will fool anyone.
I intend to try. I will not rest a moment.
I must say again, nonsense, nonsense!
But, I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.
I wish we might be friends.
Why do you write in the public streets?
Je n’ai jamais écrit, croyant le faire, je n’ai jamais aimé, croyant aimer.
He did not try to hear the answer.
All right, all right, everything’s all right.
I’m not one to judge.
He was outside, out in the cold, insignificant. He could not do anything.
It has all happened a hundred times in my mind.
Now, where are we bound?
I’d be interested in that, but nothing else.
I had learned a craft and had worked hard learning it.
But the tactics vary.
You can imagine the rest.
If only there were someone to trust — someone I know.
I think. I scribble notes.
All things to remember; some dark, some light.
Let us talk of better things!
There is only time for patience and care.
There is no time for mystery.
He was thinking many things.
Les mots sont faciles, liants.
Mais c’est une idée magnifique !
On s’habitue aux défauts des autres.
La peur qui donne la main au désir.
Je pensais confusément : cela devait arriver, cela devait arriver.