I had a really nice birthday. Day at the MFA with Degas' nudes, dinner with my family at Bergamot. The week since has been mixed, but I read Sean O'Brien's The Drowned Book (2007) and Irmgard Keun's The Artificial Silk Girl (Die kunstseidene Mädchen, 1932) and I've got three-quarters of Edward Petherbridge's Slim Chances and Unscheduled Appearances (2011) to go; I am not without really well-written diversions.
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- 1: Is this your name or a doctor's eye chart?
- 2: And they won't thank you, they don't make awards for that
- 3: No one who can stand staying landlocked for longer than a month at most
- 4: But the soft and lovely silvers are now falling on my shoulder
- 5: What does it do when we're asleep?
- 6: Now where did you get that from, John le Carré?
- 7: Put your circuits in the sea
- 8: Sure as the morning light when frigid love and fallen doves take flight
- 9: And in the end they might even thank me with a garden in my name
- 10: I'd marry her this minute if she only would agree
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