a message to all of Eponine in the world: What makes us Eponine or, otherwise, what makes us not to Cosette? Why do we wander the streets alone at night, the lights are behind windows and invent strange dreams that are just shadows? Elsewhere, women themselves out in even the most secluded gardens (and with even such a bad Couturefeeling!) Found, loved and above altars. They are mothers of irritating child prodigies and have now always someone who eats the second portion of canned soup and never pay single supplement travel. But why suffer some most of us Eponinesyndrom crouching in the corner and eat us for the men who did not just want to see? "Do something, finally, the eyes, Marius!" Want to call us, but powerless, we turn to us, his hands buried in his pockets and content ourselves with the fact that we're still able to die in his arms. Unfortunately, to play the latest revolution no longer on the barricades, but the computers in the world. So, dear fellow-sufferers, let us at least his inbox stain with passion! If we must die unfulfilled longing to have the death at the barricades erected by them, then let's do it at least with dignity. Let's go! To the mail programs in the sms-buttons on the blog pages, it is time for you to write something about the soul and that with full conviction:
Marius, you idiot, you know not what you missed! Ha!
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