.... << kan vi tydelig se at fugleskremselet som herr Pandolofo laget, fugleskremselet som han akter å etterlate Kildedalen til, ikke eksisterer lenger. Hver eneste del av ham er blitt spredt for alle vinder. Det er ingenting igjen. Denne herremannen i vitneboksen, som er så stolt av den venstre hånden sin som holder regnet unna, og høyrehånden som peker så godt, er ikke annet enn en bløffmaker og en svindler.>> ....
<< Mester,>> hvisket Jakob, << dette kommer til å koste oss penger, og vi har ingen. Dessuten er han en gammel bløffmaker...>>
Da jeg leste den første boka om Doktor Proktor, Bulle og Lise tenkte jeg at dette blir morsomt å lese til siste bok. Første og siste boka leste jeg, de to andre hørte på lydbok. Jo Nesbø leverer i hver eneste Doktor Proktor-bok og det er en sann fryd. God humor For meg og samboeren min. !! Synn at det var slutt, men disse var brae barnebøker, angrer ikke på at jeg begynnte på første bok! :)
Tony og de andre sang:
Toes, my Toes, you're not excactly England's rose
But the match hasn't started yet, and who knows
We may not lose this time, let's see how it goes
So don't give up, cheer up, my mighty Toes!
Oversatt blir det omtrent sånn:
Tær, mine tær, du er ikke akkurat Englands rose
En kampen har ikke startet ennå, og hvem vet?
Kanskje vi ikke taper denne gangen, la oss se hvordan det går
Så ikke gi opp, opp med humøret, mine mektige tær!
Doktor Proktor og det store gullrøveriet handler om verdens sikreste bank, verdens rikeste mann, verdens dyreste fotballspiller, verdens undergang - nei vent, det var forrige bok. Denne gangen er det mye verre. Så ille at du sannsynligvis aldri, ALDRI vil kunne spise permesanost igjen.
Eleanor was right, she didn’t look nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.
olivia reminds me of a bird sometimes, how her feathers get all ruffled when she's mad. and when she's fragile like this, she's a little lost bird looking for it's nest.
so i give her my wing to hide under.
She kissed me all over my face. She kissed my eyes that came down too far. She kissed my cheeks that looked punched in. She kissed my tortoise mouth.
She said soft words that I know were meant to help me, but words can't change my face.
"Like a lamb to the slaughter": Something that you say about someone who goes somewhere calmly, not knowing that something unpleasant is going to happen to them.
I Googled it last night. That's what I was thinking when Mrs. Petosa called my name and suddenly it was my turn to talk.
I came to Italy pinched and thin. I did not know yet what I deserved. I still maybe don't fully know what I deserve. But I do know what I have collected myself of late - through the enjoyment of harmless pleasure - into somebody much more intact.
But is it such a bad thing to live like this for just a little while? Just for a few months of one's life, is it so awful to travel through time with no greater ambition than to find the next lovely meal? Or to learn how to speak a language for no higher purpose than that it pleases your ear to hear it? Or to nap in a garden, in a patch of sunlight, in the middle of the day, right next to your favorite fountain? And then to do it again the next day?
Så jeg prøvesmakte:
- kanadisk donut med lønnesirup
- belgisk sjokolade
-kinesisk kirsebærblomst
- og bayersk pølsedonut
De var gode, alle sammen!
DONUTOPPTELLING:
0 0 0 0
But I can't look away and he can't seem to either. Time has slowed so much that I wonder if when we stop staring at each other we will be old and our whole lives will be over with just a few measly kisses between us.
The first thing I notice is the sky, so full of blue and the kind of brilliant white clouds that make you estatic to have eyes. Nothing can go wrong under this sky.