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We wear the Mask. By Paul Lawrence Dunbar.

We were the mask that grins and lies.
It hides our cheeks and shade our eyes.
This debt we pay to human guile :
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over wise.
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but Oh great Crist, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise
We sing, but oh the day is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile
But let the world dream otherwise
We wear the mask.
Tere Aragón

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When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

------------------

You will find here an interesting analysis of the poem:

https://poemanalysis.com/lord-byron/when-we-two-parted

Antonio Ortigosa Fernández
(English - B2.2)

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Hell
Song I
IN the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray gone from the path direct: and even to tell It were no easy task, how savage wild that forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Yet to discourse of what there good befell, All else will I relate discover'd there.

You can read all the text in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8789/8789-h/8789-h.htm#link1

Salvador Martos García.
B2.2

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Antoine de Saint - Exupéry.

“It is much more difficult to judge oneself than to judge others. If you succeed in judging yourself rightly, then you are indeed a man of true wisdom.”

Cristóbal Jiménez
B2.2 English.

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“A day wasted on others is not wasted on one’s self”. A Tale of Two Cities
“We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me.” Great Expectations
“There are books of which the backs and covers are by far the best parts.” Oliver Twist
“When the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain is driving against the dark windows, I love to sit by the fire, thinking of what I have read in books of voyage and travel”. The Long Voyage
“No one who can read, ever looks at a book, even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.” Our Mutual Friend
Laura Herrera B2.2. English.

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🔴 10 Impressive Quotes by Charles Dickens

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https://images.app.goo.gl/ZmYYhs5RYLHJG4Qt8

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Ironicly
most famous tea
it got bitter
overseas

The swetten taste
of slavery
wipe his sailors
with bravery

On their own blood
and hands on coal
the industrial era
Start to cough

The money steams
the pots are hot
now mother and children
start from dawn

With Parlament laws
from Royal lords
the roads are traces
the canals floads

The time has come
you drink is served
The tic goes fast
for black men flesh

So just relax
this is your tea
enjoy indeed
the blood on it.
By Fran Coto.

English B22. Loli R.

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Tarha Erena

I'm breaking little by little,

in tiny pieces,

in small cries,

I'm breaking into drops apart.

That the drops slide down my body

and wash my bare feet

and can walk-in this way-better in the world

taking small steps,

skipping,

striding,

or dancing.

That the drops reach the river

and then to the sea,

where they mix with the drops of other rivers,

who have washed other feet,

that have been discarded in other bodies,

over other bodies,

soaking sheets.

How to distill deep pain

how to find the origin,

how to pull the thread to get there,

to the center of the wound,

look her in the eye

and hug her gently.

Leli English B22

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I share with you the end of this amazing tale.

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany their in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.

“Gentlemen,” I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, “I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this-this is a very well constructed house.”(in the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all.)-”I may say an excellent well constructed house. These walls are you going, gentlemen?- these walls are solidly put together.” and here, through the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane with which I held in my hand, upon that very portion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosson.

But my God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb!-by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman- a howl-a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the damned in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.

On my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!.

I hope you liked it as much as the first time I read it.
Ana Luz F.
English B2.2

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LA FORCÉ DU SILENCE contre la dictature du bruit.

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LA FORCÉ DU SILENCE contre la dictature du bruit.

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D’après Robert Sarah

... la parole ne représente plus grand-chose. Il faut savoir garder le silence, savoir caresser affectueusement l’être que souffre pour lui transmettre la proximité, la chaleur et la compassion de Dieu. Il suffit de saisir sa main, et de se regarder sans rien dire. La tendresse d’un regard peut porter la consolation et le réconfort de Dieu. Devant un malade qui souffre, il n’est pas nécessaire de parler. Il faut compartir silencieusement, aimer, et prier, avec la certitude que le seul langage qui convient à l’amour, c’est la prière et le silence.

María Romero C1.2. Francés

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Marcus Tullius Cicero; "A room with books is like a body without soul"
Jane Austen: "The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid"
Mark Twain: "Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life"
Groucho Marx: "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog,  it's too dark to read"
" I find tevision very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into other room and read a book"
José Luis Borges: "I have always imagined that PARADISE will be a kind of library"
Oscar Wilde: "If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all"
Ernest Hemingway: "There is no friend as loyal as a book"
J. D. Salinger: "What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone  whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though".

Ángeles R. B22

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I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY SOULS I HAVE,
BY Fernando Pessoa

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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Five Orange Pips (Arthur Conan Doyle)

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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Five Orange Pips (Arthur Conan Doyle)

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“I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.”

“Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.”

“He said that you could solve anything.”

“He said too much.”

“That you are never beaten.”

“I have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman.”

“But what is that compared with the number of your successes?”

“It is true that I have been generally successful.”

“Then you may be so with me.”

“I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case.”

Mario C. Inglés: B2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAYSyMLf1To (5´10´´)

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A Sherlock Holmes Adventure: 5 The Five Orange Pips Audiobook

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He had turned himself into a moth, and he spent the rest of the day fluttering around a hot, burning candle. He knew that his wings could ignite at any moment, but the closer he came to touching the fire, the more he sensed that he was fulfilling his destiny. As he put it in his journal that night: “If I mean to save my life, then I have to come within an inch of destroying it”.

Carlos Ramírez Durán – EOI teacher

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I don't know how many souls I have " by Fernando Pessoa

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''A room without books is like a body without a soul.'' Cicero.

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''A room without books is like a body without a soul.'' Cicero.

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Aida M. (English B2.2)

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Jose Saramago
... son una plaga maligna de las peores que pueden asolar al mundo. Decimos a los confusos, Conócete a ti mismo, como si conocerse a uno mismo no fuese la quinta y más dificultosa operación de las aritméticas humanas, decimos a los abúlicos, Querer es poder, como si...

Alicia T. ( English - B2.2.)

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Niklas Natt  Och Dag

If your mind says one thing and reality says another, no doubt it's your mind that makes a mistake.

Francis R. (English - B2.2)

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Anne Frank

JUNE 12, 1942
"I hope I will be abe to confide everything to you, as I have never been able to confide in anyone, and I hope you will be a great source of comfort and support"

COMMENT ADDED BY ANNE ON SEPTEMBER 28, 1942
"So far you truly have been a great source of comfort to me, and so has Kitty, whom I now write to regularly. This way of keeping a diary is much nicer, and now I can hardly wait for those moments when I´m abe to write in you.
Oh, I´m so glad I brought you along!
Luisa P. C1.2

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Deixa-me ser a tua amiga, Amor,
A tua amiga só, já que não queres
Que pelo teu amor seja a melhor,
A mais triste de todas as mulheres.
Que só, de ti, me venha mágoa e dor
O que me importa a mim?! O que quiseres
É sempre um sonho bom! Seja o que for,
Bendito sejas tu por mo dizeres!
Beija-me as mãos, Amor, devagarinho...
Como se os dois nasceêssemos irmãos,
Aves cantando, ao sol, no mesmo ninho...
Beija-mas bem!... Que fantasia louca
Guardar assim, fechados, nestas mãos
Os beijos que sonnhei prà minha boca!...
(Florbela Espanca)
Mariló L. Português B-1

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Amor é um fogo que arde sem se ver,
é ferida que dói, e não se sente;
é um contentamento descontente,
é dor que desatina sem doer.
É um não querer mais que bem querer;
é um andar solitário entre a gente;
é nunca contentar-se de contente;
é um cuidar que ganha em se perder.
É querer estar preso por vontade;
é servir a quem vence, o vencedor;
é ter com quem nos mata, lealtade.
Mas como causar pode seu favor
nos corações humanos amizade,
se tão contraio a si é o mesmo amor?
(Luís de Camões)
Luis B.  Português B-1

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Oliver Twist.

there stands a white marble tablet, which bears as yet but one word: ‘AGNES.’ There is no coffin in that tomb; and may it be many, many years, before another name is placed above it! But, if the spirits of the Dead ever come back to earth, to visit spots hallowed by the love—the love beyond the grave—of those whom they knew in life, I believe that the shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn nook. I believe it none the less because that nook is in a Church, and she was weak and erring.

Antonio d l S

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Elena V grupo C1.2
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=3170968876260255&id=460681373955699?sfnsn=scwspwa&extid=hPRU3KdtlznxOZJV

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As autumn falls

Shrouded in golden leaves,

we wait.

The world doesn’t end at sunset

and only dreams

limit themselves to things.

Through a labyrinth of blank hours

time leads us on

as autumn falls

over our house, our patio.

Shrouded in a relentless fog

we wait, we wait:

nostalgia means to live without remembering

the word we are made of.

Inma Sánchez - A1.

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Poem

Thought blood shall dry

The deep remains;

The clock shall die

But Time walks on.

We spoke a word

And then we turned,

For neither dared

To watch love end.

In Heart's deep well

The world still falls

Answer beats love's soul

Against the walls.

And so I say,

Thought blood shall dry,

The deep is fresh,

But the soul life… .

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Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I often want to tell Nkiru that her mother visits weekly in the harmattan and less often during the rainy season, but if I do, she will finally have reason to come here and bundle me back with her to America and I will  be forced to live a life cushioned by so much convenience that it is sterile. A life littered with what we call "opportunities". A life that is not for me.

Juan C
B2-1-VF English

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I DON’T KNOW IF THE STARS RULE THE WORLD

OR IF TAROT OR PLAYING CARDS

CAN REVEAL ANYTHING.

I DON’T KNOW IF THE ROLLING OF DICE

CAN LEAD TO ANY CONCLUSION.

BUT I ALSO DON’T KNOW

IF ANYTHING IS ATTAINED

BY LIVING THE WAY MOST PEOPLE DO.

YES, I DON’T KNOW

IF I SHOULD BELIEVE IN THIS DAILY RISING SUN

WHOSE AUTHENTICITY NO ONE CAN GUARANTEE ME.

OR IF IT WOULD BE BETTER (BECAUSE BETTER OR MORE CONVENIENT)

TO BELIEVE IN SOME OTHER SUN,

ONE THAT SHINES EVEN AT NIGHT ,

SOME PROFOUND INCANDESCENCE OF THINGS,

SURPASSING MY UNDERSTANDING .

FOR NOW…

( LET’S TAKE IT SLOW)

FOR NOW…

I HAVE AN ABSOLUTELY SECURE GRIP ON THE STAIR-RAIL,

I SECURE IT WITH MY HAND

THIS RAIL THAT  DOESN’T BELONG TO ME

AND THAT I LEAN ON AS I ASCEND

YES...I  ASCEND…..

I ASCEND TO THIS:

i DON’T KNOW IF THE STARS RULE THE WORLD.

BY Fernando Pessoa.

LOLA G.

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Il video è stato creato dall'insegnante di viola del conservatorio Manuel Carra  Estefanía Guerra Matilla di mia figlia e voleva la mia poesia "Aspettami Roma ".  La copertina del libro in italiano è un libro che ho comprato a Napoli. L'insegnante ha organizzato Erasmus con gli studenti del Conservatorio di Musica in Sicilia e che alla fine gli studenti provenienti dall'Italia non sono potuti venire. Lo ha messo su Instagram e la cantante ha risposto con un  messaggio privato.( Me dió permiso para compartirlo).
Autrice della poesia : Raquel Romero B1 Mattina Italiano.
Video : Estefanía Guerra Matilla.

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Sur le bord Gauche du Nil se trouve la maison de Poëri,le jeune homme que Tahoser a regardé , le jour où elle est allée voir la rentrée victorieuse du Pharaon.........

Loli Ponce
A2 Français

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Ιησούς, ο Γιός του Α

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Ιησούς, ο Γιός του Ανθρώπου : ΧΑΛΙΛ ΓΚΙΜΠΡΑΝ

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Petit bout d'Afrique perché en altitude
Je doute de mes amours tu resteras ma certitude
Réputation recouverte d'un linceul
Petit pays pendant trois mois tout le monde t'a laissé seul
J'avoue j'ai plaidé coupable de vous haïr
Quand tous les projecteurs étaient tournés vers le Zaïre
Il fallait reconstruire mon petit pays sur des ossements
Des fosses communes et tous nos cauchemars incessants
Petit pays te faire sourire sera ma rédemption
Je t'offrirais ma vie à commencer par cette chanson
L'écriture m'a soigné quand je partais en vrille
Seulement laisse-moi pleurer quand arrivera ce maudit mois d'avril
Tu m'as appris le pardon pour que je fasse peau neuve
Petit pays dans l'ombre le diable continue ses manœuvres
Mais tu veux vivre malgré les cauchemars qui te hantent
Je suis semence d'exil d'un résidu d'étoiles filante

Ana C. Français B2.2

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Poem by Moem
We begin not by waiting to exist,
but by chance.
A complex dance of nature.
Nutured. Take your
talk of fate and seek to make
more of your turn.
Learn what make you tick
because you don't have to stick
with what is presented;
pretending is your thing when it's not.
You've got the power and it's within you.
So begin,
win your own definition of success
and don't settle for less, as giving up
only means you ensure that it will never happen.
Break the pattern.
If chance brought you here,you have nothing for fear by beginning.
So take a chance, and never stop swimming.
By waiting not just to exist, we begin.

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The September sun  was  shining  brightly into the windows of 221B Baker Street, and London was enjoying a beautiful late summer. I had finished my breakfast and was reading the newspaper. As usual, Holmes had got up late, and was still eating. We were expecting a visitor at half-past ten, and I wondered whether Holmes would finish his breakfast before our visitor arrived.
Holmes was in no hurry. He was reading once again a letter he had received three days ago. It was from Dr James Mortimer, who asked for an appointment with Holmes.
‘Well, Watson’, Holmes said to me, ‘I’m afraid that a doctor from Devonshire won’t bring us anything of real interest. His letter doesn’t tell us anything about his business though he says it’s very important. I hope we can help him.’
At exactly half-past ten there was a knock on our front door.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

MARUXA L.
Prof: VALERIE F.
B2.1

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Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant
D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime
Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même
Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend.

Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur, transparent
Pour elle seule, hélas ! cesse d'être un problème
Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême,
Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant.

Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse ? - Je l'ignore.
Son nom ? Je me souviens qu'il est doux et sonore
Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila.

Son regard est pareil au regard des statues,
Et, pour sa voix, lointaine, et calme, et grave, elle a
L'inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.

Paul Verlaine. Poèmes saturniens.

Yolanda Núñez. B1 français.

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Sam Gamgee: But in the end it’s only a passing thing, this shadow; even darkness must pass.

Ángel Rubio. B2.2 English.

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Oh! Oh! murmura-t-il, qui m'envoie cette pensée? est-ce vous, mon Dieu? Puisqu'il n'y a que les morts qui sortent librement d'ici, prenons la place des morts. Et sans perdre le temps de revenir sur cette décision, comme pour ne pas donner à la pensée le temps de détruire cette résolution désespérée, il se pencha vers le sac hideux, l'ouvrit avec le couteau que Faria avait fait, retira le cadvre du sac, l'emporta chez lui, le coucha dans son lit, le coiffa du lambeau de linge dont il avait l'habitude de se coiffer lui-même, le couvrit de sa couverture, baisa une dernière fois ce front glacé, essaya de refermer ces yeux rebelles, qui continuaient de rester ouverts, effrayants par l'absence de la pensée, tourna la tête le long du mur afin que le geôlier, en apportant nos repas du soir, crût qu'il était couché, comme c'était souvent son habitude, rentra dans la galerie, tira le lit contre la muraille, rentra dans l'autre chambre, prit dans l'armoire l'aiguille, le fil, jeta ses haillons poruquón sentît bien sous la toile les chairs nues, se glissa dans le sac éventré, se plaça dans la situation où était le cadvre, et referma la couture en dedans.

Auteur: Alexandre Dumas.
(La fin du chapitre XX - Le cimetière du Château d'If.)
María Pilar MR A2.

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"J’ai appris, dit le Petit Prince, que le Monde est le miroir de mon Âme…
Quand elle est enjouée, le Monde lui semble gai
Quand elle est accablée, le Monde lui semble triste
Le Monde, lui, n’est ni triste ni gai.
Il est là, c’est tout
Ce n’était pas le Monde qui me troublait, mais l’Idée que
je m’en faisais…
J’ai appris à accepter sans
le juger, totalement, inconditionnellement… "

Rosa P. B2.2

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Manuel Alcántara
Vine a la mar dudando si estaría
donde yo la dejé: junto a la raya
donde la espuma eventual acalla
su antigua discusión con la bahía.
Llegué a la mar. Estaba todavía.
Ella lo mismo y yo distinto. Vaya
una cosa por la otra y, por la playa,
vayan las dos en busca de aquel día.
Vine a la mar y me encontré en la arena
-niño llevando cubos a la pena
y palas a la orilla del verano-.
Me hice a la mar, estando hecho el recuerdo,
por perderme otra vez como me pierdo
junto al que fui, cogidos de la mano.

Andrea C. (Librería Luces)

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En temps de coronavirus les livres nous permettent de nous promener dans n'importe quelle rue du monde
Ouvrez-le!!

José Juan(A1-1)

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When my mother entered my room, I realized that during all this time I had been waiting for her.
I had been waiting so long that I began to fear that she would never come.
-I love you Susy.

No one knows when we are leaving,  I mean the moment we choose to really leave.
At most, you feel a whisper, the wave of a whisper rippling down.
My name is Salmon; Susy Salmon like fish.
I was 14 years old when I was murdered on December 6,1973. It was a moment and then I disappeared.
I wish you all a long and happy life.

Author:  Alice Sebold.
Belén M. (B2-2)

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In this distressing  situation Don Gumersindo began to frequent the house of Pepita and her mother, and to pay attentions to the former with more ardor than he had shown in his attentions to other girls. Nevertheless, to suppose that a man who had passed his eightieth year without wishing to marry, should think of commiting sush a folly, with one foot already in the grave, was so wild and improbable a notion that Pepita's mother, still less Pepita herself, never for a moment suspected the audacious intentions of Don Gumersindo.
Author: Juan Valera.
Rafael R. 5th year B.

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HAMLET

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ' tis noble in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by oppsing end them. To die, - to sleep, -
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ' tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, - to sleep: -
To sleep! perchance to dream! Ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That pariente merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare budkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dreid of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Author: William Shakespeare

Pepe R.
B2.1-VF

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To Be Or Not To Be - Hamlet (Andrew Scott Full Soliloquy)

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LA COLOMBE ET LA FOURMI

Le long d'un clair ruisseau buvait une Colombe,
Quand sur l'eau se penchant une Fourmis y tombe;
Et dans cet océan l'on eût vu la Fourmis
S'efforcer, mais en vain, de regagner la rive.
La Colombe aussitôt usa de charité;
Un brin d'herbe dans l'eau par elle étant jeté,
Ce fut un promontoire où la Fourmis arrive.
Elle se sauve; et là-dessus
Passe un certain Croquant qui marchait les pieds nus.
Ce Croquant par hasard avait une arbalète.
Dès qu'il voit l'Oiseau de Vénus,
Il le croit en son pot, et déjà lui fait fête.
Tandis qu'à le tuer mon villageois s'apprête,
La Fourmis le pique au talon.
Le Vilain retourne la tête.
La Colombe l'entend, part, et tire long.
Le soupé du Croquant avec elle s'envole:
Point de Pigeon pour une obole.

Jean de La Fontaine

Mar N
Français A2
Prof: Leticia

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Listen. The trees in this story are stirring, trembling, readjusting themselves. A breeze is coming in gusts off the sea, and it is almost as if the trees know, in their restlessness, in their head-tossing impatience, that something is about to happen.

Author: Maggie O'Farrell

Valerie F.

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The hand that first held mine by Maggie O'Farrell

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Now, i'm not going to give you my Wish or anything. But I also have an interest in meeting Peter Van Houten, and it wouldn't make sense to meet him without the girl who introduced me to his book.
It definitely wouldn't, I said.
So I talked to the Genies, and they are in total agreement. They said Amsterdam is lovely in the beginning of May. They proposed leaving May third and returning May seventh.
Augustus, really?

Author: John Green.
(The end of chapter 5).
María Pilar MR C.1.1.

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Exciting final to a great film for literature lovers.
""
"DEADS POETS SOCIETY"
M.Ramos.
ING1M11A

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Oh Capitán, mi Capitán - La sociedad de los poetas muertos

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The GaroStudios
Joaquín N  ING1M11A

https://youtu.be/XuyADFBAe2Q

| a thing about life.*** "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not li...youtu.be

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Author: Ángela Ávila

Empty figures
lost in time.
Stolen kisses.

Time goes by.
Craters in the sky.
Children cry.

What is love?
Remains of desire.
Rotten meat.

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Autrice : Raquel Romero B1 Mattina Italiano

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La tua virtù è la mia sicurezza.E allora
non è notte se ti guardo un volto,
e perciò non par andar nel buio,
e nel bosco non manco compagnia
perché per me tu sei l'intero mondo.
E come posso dire d'esser sola
se tutto il mondo è qui che mi contempla?

Autore : Shakespeare
Raquel Romero B1 Mattina Italiano.

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ne reste pas immobile
sur le bord de la route
ne gèle pas la joie
n'aime pas à contrecoeur
ne te sauve pas ni maintenant
ni jamais
ne te sauve pas
ne te remplis pas de calme
ne garde pas du monde
qu'un simple coin tranquille

ne laisse pas retomber tes paupières,lourdes comme des jugements
ne reste pas sans lèvres
ne dors pas sans sommeil
ne pense pas sans sang
ne juge pas sans temps
mais si
malgrè tout,
tu ne peux t'êmpecher
et que tu gèles la joie
et que tu aimes à contrecoeur
et que tu te sauves maintenant
et te remplis de calme
et ne gardes du monde qu'un simple coin tranquille
et que tu laisses retomber tes paupières,
lourdes comme des jugements
et que tu te sechès sans levrès
et que tu dors sans sommeil
et que tu penses sans sang
et que tu juges sans temps
et que tu restes immobile
sur le bord de la route
et que tu te sauves
alors
ne reste pas avec moi

Mario Benedetti
Encarna B. (Français A/2)

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I’m lost.

All the angels around me,

killing the last day of my life,

bombarding me with their wings of fire.

Tired, so tired…

I’m surrounded.

All the saints praying for my sins.

Salvation, I have to defeat.

I’m at the end of this fence,

suffering the torture of my cage.

But this bird has flown, lost…

Just my imagination captures

the sense of this battle.

Inside of me,

a soldier aiming his rifle

and prepared to fire

all the reasons of survival.

I’m on the other side,

with the devil tempting my desires.

The beast, whispering all the lies

I have never told,

burning under my skin.

The time when I have to pay some cost,

to be myself,

to stop being lost.

By Ramón Ariza Guerrero

RAMÓN A_Inglés C1.1_Francés B2.1.

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	La spécificité de la littérature, art majeur d'un Occident qui sous nos yeux se termine, n'est pourtant pas bien difficile à définir. Autant que la littérature, la musique peut déterminer un bouleversement, un renversement émotif, une tristesse ou une extase absolues ; autant que la littérature, la peinture peut générer un émerveillement, un regard neuf porté sur le monde. Mais seule la littérature peut vous donner cette sensation de contact avec un autre esprit humain, avec l'intégralité de cet esprit, ses faiblesses et ses grandeurs, ses limitations, ses petitesses, ses idées fixes, ses croyances ; avec tout ce qui l'émeut, l'intéresse, l'excite ou lui répugne. 

Houellebecq, Michel. Soumission 
José Luis G. 4º Francés.

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“To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.”

By Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Ángeles A.
Inglés C1.1

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Au-dessus des étangs, au-dessus des vallées,
Des montagnes, des bois, des nuages, des mers,
Par delà le soleil, par delà les éthers,
Par delà les confins des sphères étoilées,

Mon esprit, tu te meus avec agilité,
Et, comme un bon nageur qui se pâme dans l'onde,
Tu sillonnes gaiement l'immensité profonde
Avec une indicible et mâle volupté.

Envole-toi bien loin de ces miasmes morbides ;
Va te purifier dans l'air supérieur,
Et bois, comme une pure et divine liqueur,
Le feu clair qui remplit les espaces limpides.

Derrière les ennuis et les vastes chagrins
Qui chargent de leur poids l'existence brumeuse,
Heureux celui qui peut d'une aile vigoureuse
S'élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins ;

Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes,
Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor,
- Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort
Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !
Antonio L. Francés 1

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Élevation Les fleurs du mal de Charles Baudelaire

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Soulmate
A soulmate isn't someone who completes you. No, a soulmate, is someone who inspires you to complete yourself. A soulmate is someone who love you with so much conviction, and so much heart, that it is nearly impossible to doubt just how capable you are of becoming exactly who you have always wanted to be.
By Bianca Sparacino

Jennifer L. ING4L730

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“The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had said something”

This sentence from Khaled Hosseini's book "Kite runner" has made me think about how many things would have changed in my life if I had said or done something.

I strongly recommend reading this book because reading it you will understand that it is never too late to solve pending problems.

Do not spend  hours of sleep and peace of mind thinking about what you did not do. There's still time!

Francisco F.     ING5CM530A

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- You don´t feel guilty?
- No. I felt blameless then, and I feel blameless now. I always assumed you felt the same way.
I want to feel guilty. I tell myself I should feel guilty, but the truth is that I don´t. That´s why I think we were insane. Because we walked away from it without any scars.
You can´t feel guilty unless you think you've done something wrong.
Helena Bosch - English C-1.1

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Après tout ce blanc vient le vert,
Le printemps vient après l'hiver.
Aprés le grand froid le soleil,
Après la neige vient le nid,
Après le noir vient le réveil,
L'histoire n'est jamais finie.
Après tout ce blanc vient le vert,
Le printemps vient après l'hiver,
Et après la pluie le beau temps.

Claude Roy
Pepi C. A-1 Francés M,J etV. 11-1

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True tales of American life, by Paul Auster

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True tales of American life, by Paul Auster

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As a teeenager in the 1950s, I went to visit my cousins in Bloomington, Illinois. While walking together one day, we were arguing about the wording of a popular song. I said that they were saying, "an Indian named Standing Bear". My cousin said it was, "Standing There". As we continued along, I noticed a piece of paper on the sidewalk. I picked it up, and it was the sheet music for that very song. There was no further argument. I was right, of course.
Álvaro Fernández (C.1.2. CAL Tu)

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L'univers fait un faible bruit
Est-ce bien lui à mon oreille?
Pourquoi si faible si c'est lui
Alors qu'il n'a pas son pareil
Pour être lui, même la nuit
Que deviendra ce faible bruit
À ses seules forces réduit
Sans une oreille qui le pense,
Sans une main qui le conduise
Où le bruit est encore le bruit.
Où le silence à son silence
Très secrètement se fiance.
Jules SUPERVIELLE.

Ana Melendo - prof.

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LES VOYAGES EN TRAIN par Grand Corps Malade

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LES VOYAGES EN TRAIN par Grand Corps Malade

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J'crois qu'les histoires d'amour, c'est comme les voyages en train
Et quand j'vois tous ces voyageurs, parfois, j'aimerais en être un
Pourquoi tu crois qu'tant d'gens attendent sur le quai d'la gare?
Pourquoi tu crois qu'on flippe autant d'arriver en retard?

Les trains démarrent souvent au moment où on s'y attend le moins
Et l'histoire d'amour t'emporte sous l'œil impuissant des témoins
Les témoins c'est tes potes, qui t'disent au revoir sur le quai
Et regardent le train s'éloigner avec un sourire inquiet

Toi aussi, tu leur fais signe, et t'imagines leurs commentaires
Certains pensent que tu t'plantes et qu't'as pas les pieds sur terre
Chacun y va d'son pronostic sur la durée du voyage
Pour la plupart, le train va dérailler dès l'premier orage

Le grand amour change forcément ton comportement
Dès l'premier jour, faut bien choisir ton compartiment
Siège couloir ou contre la vitre, il faut trouver la bonne place
Tu choisis quoi? Une love story d'première ou d'seconde classe?

Dans les premiers kilomètres, tu n'as d'yeux qu'pour son visage
Tu calcules pas derrière la fenêtre le défilé des paysages
Tu t'sens vivant, tu t'sens léger, et tu n'vois pas passer l'heure
T'es tellement bien qu't'as presque envie d'embrasser le contrôleur

Mais la magie ne dure qu'un temps, et ton histoire bat d'l'aile
Toi tu dis qu'tu n'y es pour rien et qu'c'est sa faute à elle
Le ronronnement du train te saoule et chaque virage t'écœure
Faut qu'tu t'lèves, que tu marches, tu vas t'dégourdir le cœur

Et le train ralentit, c'est déjà la fin d'ton histoire
En plus t'es comme un con, tes potes sont restés à l'autre gare
Tu dis au revoir à celle que t'appelleras désormais ton ex
Dans son agenda, sur ton nom, elle va passer un coup d'Tipp-ex

C'est vrai qu'les histoires d'amour, c'est comme les voyages en train
Et quand j'vois tous ces voyageurs, parfois, j'aimerais en être un
Pourquoi tu crois qu'tant d'gens attendent sur le quai d'la gare?
Pourquoi tu crois qu'on flippe autant d'arriver en retard?

Pour beaucoup, la vie s'résume à essayer d'monter dans l'train
À connaître ce qu'est l'amour et s'découvrir plein d'entrain
Pour beaucoup, l'objectif est d'arriver à la bonne heure
Pour réussir son voyage et avoir accès au bonheur

Il est facile de prendre un train, encore faut-il prendre le bon
Moi j'suis monté dans deux-trois rames, mais c'était pas l'bon wagon
Car les trains sont capricieux et certains sont inaccessibles
Et je n'crois pas tout l'temps qu'avec la SNCF c'est possible

Il y a ceux pour qui les trains sont toujours en grève
Et leurs histoires d'amour n'existent que dans leurs rêves
Et y'a ceux qui foncent dans l'premier train sans faire attention
Et forcément ils descendront déçus à la prochaine station

Y a celles qui flippent de s'engager parce qu'elles sont trop émotives
Pour elles, c'est trop risqué d's'accrocher à la locomotive
Et y'a les aventuriers qu'enchaînent voyage sur voyage
Dès qu'une histoire est terminée, ils attaquent une autre page

Moi après mon seul vrai voyage, j'ai souffert pendant des mois
On s'est quittés d'un commun accord, mais elle était plus d'accord que moi
Depuis j'traîne sur le quai, j'regarde les trains au départ
Y a des portes qui s'ouvrent, mais dans une gare j'me sens à part

Il paraît qu'les voyages en train finissent mal en général
Si pour toi c'est l'cas, accroche-toi et garde le moral
Car une chose est certaine, y'aura toujours un terminus
Maintenant tu es prévenu, la prochaine fois tu prendras l'bus
Marta M. Français B2.1

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Les Voyages en train - Grand Corps Malade

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Время сменить маршрут (Hora de cambiar de ruta) Enlace al poema recitado por la autora, la poetisa Aj Astájova, al final del texto.

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Время сменить маршрут (Hora de cambiar de ruta) Enlace al poema recitado por la autora, la poetisa Aj Astájova, al final del texto.

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"Если пусто в душе –
значит, время сменить маршрут.
запиши в голове разборчиво,
без чернил:
если любят тебя
— обязательно подождут,
если счастье придет
— значит, ты его заслужил.

сколько ни было б лет
— душою будь молодым
и не думай, когда
и где будет твой финал.
не любя́щих тебя
— спокойно отдай другим.
отраженье ищи в душе,
а не у зеркал.

если дом опустел
— не бойся покинуть дом.
если город не тот
— решайся и двигай прочь!
если ленишься ты
— все дастся с трудом,
и никто и ничем
не сможет тебе помочь.

если враг у тебя
— врагу пожелай добра.
к каждой мелочи в жизни
всегда будь открыт и рад.
если просят уйти
— то, значит, тебе пора,
и не смей никогда
с укором смотреть назад.

и не бойся искать
— такие свое найдут!
и не бойся терять
на это ни лет, ни сил!

если любят тебя
— обязательно подождут,
если счастье придет –
то, значит, ты заслужил."

Aj Astájova, 2018.

Irene S. 5º de Ruso.

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Ах Астахова - Время сменить маршрут (Калининград)

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“Et Dans ces grands livres-là, il y a des parties qui n’ont eu le temps que d’être esquissées, et qui ne seront sans doute jamais finies, á cause de l’ampleur du plan de l’architecte. Combien de grandes cathédrales restent inachevées!“

(Marcel Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu, III, 1033)

José Antonio J. A2 Francés (L,X et V 9-11)

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Combien de fois, mon amour, je vous ai aimé sans vous voir et peut-être sans vous souvenir, sans reconnaître votre regard, sans vous regarder, centauresse, dans des régions contraires, dans un midi brûlant: vous n'étiez que l'arôme des céréales que j'aime. Peut-être que je vous ai vu, je vous supposais en passant un verre en Angol, à la lumière de la lune de juin, ou vous étiez la taille de cette guitare que je jouais dans l'obscurité et qui sonnait comme la mer excessive. Je t'aimais sans que je le sache, et je cherchais ta mémoire. Je suis entré dans les maisons vides avec une lampe de poche pour voler ton portrait. Mais je savais déjà ce que c'était. Soudain, pendant que tu étais avec moi, je t'ai touché et ma vie s'est arrêtée: devant mes yeux tu étais, me régnant, et tu régnais. En tant que feu de joie dans les bois, le feu est votre royaume.

Pablo Neruda.

Nieves N. A2 Francés (L,X et V 11-13)

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Dreams the rich man of riches
and fears.
The fears that his riches breed;
the poor man dreams of his need.
And all his sorrows and tears;
dreams he that prospers with years.
Dreams he that feigns and foregoes.
Dreams he that rails on his foes.
And in all the  world,I see
man dreams whatever he be,
and his own dream no man knows.
And I too dream and behond,
I dream Iam bound with chains,
and I dreamed that these present pains
Were fortunate  ways of old.
What is life?A tale that is told;
What is life?A frenzy extreme,
a shadow of things that seem;
and the greatest good is but small.
That all life is a dream to all,
And that dreams themselves
are a dream.
MªJulia R. ING2M330B

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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Sonnet XVIII

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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Sonnet XVIII

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by Shakespeare
sung by Bryan Ferry

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Manuel Castaño Teacher

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The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

-- by Charles Bukowski

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The laughing heart (Tom Waits reads a Charles Bukowski poem)

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Maria Angeles M.
ITALIANO B1 Mattina

Compagna Lei sa che può contar su di me non fino a due né fino a dieci ma contare su di me.

Se qualche volta sentirà che la guardo negli occhi e una vena d’amore riconosce nei miei, non spiani i suoi fucili

non pensi, che delirio! malgrado la vena o forse perché existe Lei può contare su di me.

Se altre volte mi trova schivo senza una ragione non pensi, che noia! lo stesso può contare su di me.

Ma facciamo un patto, io vorrei contare su di Lei.  È così bello sapere che Lei existe uno si sente vivo e quando dico

questo voglio dire contare anche se fino a due anche se fino a cinque, non perché Lei accorra premurosa in mio aiuto

ma per sapere con certeza che Lei sa che può contare su di me.



FACCIAMO UN PATTO (Mario Benedett

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So Good-luck came, and on my roofe did light,
Like noyse-lesse Snow; or as the dew of night:
Not all at once, but gently, as the tree
Are, by the Sun-beams, tickel'd by degrees.
Jose Antonio M
ING2M330B

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The Mask Of Anarchy - Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Valentín Pinilla Teacher

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The Mask of Anarchy by Percy Shelley (I-XXVI) [Audiobook]

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Read by Jeremy Irons

Have you forgotten yet?…
For the world’s events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked a while at the crossing of city ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heavens of life; and you’re a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same—and War’s a bloody game…
Have you forgotten yet?…
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz—
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench—
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, ‘Is it all going to happen again?’

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack—
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads—those ashen-gray
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet?…
Look up, and swear by the slain of the war that you’ll never forget!

March 1919

Marta M - teacher

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Aftermath by Siegfried Sassoon read by Jeremy Irons

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“Every night I empty my heart, but by morning it's full again.
Slow droplets of you seep in through the night's soft caress.
At dawn, I overflow with thoughts of us
An aching pleasure that gives me no respite.
Love cannot be contained, the neat packaging of desire
Splits asunder, spilling crimson through my days.
Long, languishing days that are now bruised tender with yearning,
Spent searching for a fingerprint, a scent, a breath you left behind.”

Fernanda G. - teacher

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Original en Español
B. Moreno Inglés A1

Y volveré a soñar,
y mi sueño me lo ceñire a la cintura y bailaremos un vals
Y volveré a pasar,
por aquellos árboles que sin saberlo, sus manzanitas verdes me sonreían al pasar
Y volveré a mojarme
con las benditas gotas que caen del cielo y con la inmensidad del mar
Y volveré a embriagarme
con el suave olor de la mañana que da paso a la tarde y que con risas escondidas a la noche hace suspirar
Y volveré a encontrarte oh precioso mundo mío
y más aún hermoso será tu despertar

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Beatriz Moreno. Inglés A1
And I will dream again,
and my dream will be tied around my waist and we will dance a waltz
And I will pass again, by those trees that without knowing it, their little green apples were smiling at me as they passed
And I will get wet again
with the blessed drops that fall from the sky and with the immensity of the sea
And I will get drunk again
with the soft smell of the morning that gives way to the afternoon and that with hidden laughter at night makes sigh
And I will find you again oh my precious world
and even more beautiful will be your awakening

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(ME GUSTA CUANDO CALLAS)
By Pablo Neruda
Read by Glenn Close

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your ayes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy
I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its still ness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, one smile is enough
And I'm happy
Happy that it's not true.

Manuel Castaño Teacher.

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Pablo Neruda - I Like For You To Be Still - Glenn Close reads

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Read by  Michael Caine

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;
If you can think- -and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on! '

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings- -nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And- -which is more- -you'll be a Man, my son!

Manuel Castaño Teacher

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"If" by Rudyard Kipling - Narrated by Michael Caine

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To celebrate this special book day, I'd like to share with you a text I wrote during these days of confinement. I posted it in the blog Remembering in London and you can read it here.
Marta M - teacher

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Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 

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Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 

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By William Shakespeare
Sent by Blanca L - teacher
Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Listen to it (read by David Tennant):

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Sonnet 18 by David Tenant (Wiliam Shakespeare)