Seth Messenger : Virginie LLOYD's quotes

Virginie LLOYD said :

(Automatic translation)
Virginie LLOYD
(Quotes)
#37748
He would like to beat up life like a rabid boxer, but sport has never been his forte. So he thinks.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37749
In competitions, there is always a loser and a winner. Ok. But, in real life... What's the rule?

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37750
What is the meaning of life? I'm sure the cans of tomato sauce don't care. Probably focused on thinking about something else.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37751
Augustine knows this well: the boxes don't care to look you straight in the eye or turn your back. What they like is that they are opened and emptied. Augustine doesn't envy them. He would not like to have his brain opened and emptied. So he lines up these boxes, so we'll eat them and he doesn't.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37752
Her belly gurgles. They say the gut is the second brain. It's written in books and books don't lie. The belly has something to say and, miracle of nature, Joseph has just heard it.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37753
Carla is the bath supervisor. She's beautiful. When she speaks, her words are soft and swaying. When she walks, her buttocks swing too.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37754
The mystery swimmer is a water expert. Maybe he's from an aquatic planet and he's been forgotten by the bus on a day out on Earth. He spends his life underwater.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37755
When it arrives, the swimmer is already in the water. When he leaves, he stays there. Augustine never saw him whole. Maybe it's a half-fish, half-Toulouse creature, and the City Hall Sports Department hides it like a beast.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37756
Under water, Augustine thinks less. Under water, his sadness plunges into oblivion. Her hair dances with the transparency of the waves. And then, under the water, there are lots of tiles.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37757
A former tap-in caïd. Garbage bags. A neighbor who better go to sleep. And soon a kid like no other. Welcome to number 7 Lamartine Street.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37758
Wednesday. Augustine welcomes the third day as we receive a child who has just been born. Without a sound, quiet, eyes riveted on this fragile life, small and new. Sitting on the edge of his bedroom window, Augustine observes the sky.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37759
Wednesday. Augustine welcomes the third day as we receive a child who has just been born. Without a sound, quiet, eyes riveted on this fragile life, small and new. Sitting on the edge of his bedroom window, Augustine observes the sky. He slowly slides his fingers over the tile. The sky recognizes the caress. He and Augustine know the secret of the words you make with your hands.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37760
Augustine loves Wednesdays, they are wise as pictures. Away from the kids running in the parks, away from the basketballs bouncing off the concrete. Away from the nannies shouting "stop eating sand!" Away from the airy centers that aren't really. Far from others who do not understand this twelve-year-old, in love with loneliness. Augustine knows it, he's weird. Strange as a silk that scratches, a perfume that stings, a fruit without flavor. Augustine is different. He doesn't like to woo the world, he doesn't bend when the Kings show up. He doesn't laugh at all the buffoon's jokes and can guillotin you with simple words. Often he tells you stories of dragons you don't believe in. Often he dreams of throwing you at the stake because dragons really exist. Augustine is this child that we love in the neighborhood, but who is never invited to taste. Augustine is invisible, but the eyes judge him, ordain him and forge him. Augustine is this soldier stationed at the front, unarmed, without companions. The enemy wounds him and when he shouts, he is asked to shut up. He fights a battle without howling, without pain, without bombs, without trembling earth. A silent but deafening struggle. This kind of war that is not talked about in the history books. An inner struggle, which, for others, is only rumor.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37761
Girls are born in roses. The boys in the cabbages. Augustine and raspberries, in brambles. Augustine read in a book that these fruits did not come from a seed, but from a sucker, a rejection that originates on a root. He, too, has deep roots. So deep that he sometimes has trouble knowing where he comes from. Beneath the brambles, a kingdom may be hiding. A kingdom where the offspring would no longer suck, but dragons. A kingdom where the world would be inverted, where the roots would play with the stars and where one would sleep on the clouds.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37762
The sun rises and reveals the colors of the garden. With a shy and silent step, Victor treads the grass that he does not want to wake up.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37763
6:00 p.m.: In her apartment as worn as her bones, Madame Remoulotte takes a seat in her mismatched chair. She holds her cushion behind her back and grabs the remote control. Tonight, she'll go on a trip with her old TV. The sound very strong not to hear the silence of his life.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37764
In the lobby, Victor smells this fragrance, these little particles of happiness that sting his nose, eyes and heart. On these steps are placed two silent ass, thoughtful and impatient. Two spirits tortured, different, but bound by the same deep and secret desire: that of being adopted by life and by this fucking freedom.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


#37765
"Little rascal! But don't eat so fast! And you put it everywhere, Augustine, look at the crumbs! "But Mommy, let go a little bit! Crumbs are life! You've got to give it a shit all over the place.

Virginie LLOYD
(Dear happiness, I took the liberty to write to you. Hurry to answer...)


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