A Parafina Falsificada

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domingo, 28 de setembro de 2008

Estou com ela!

Eu quero que os meus amigos se casem e me convidem, não para que sejam felizes para sempre, mas para eu poder passar o dia numa Quinta chamada "Buffet de Sonho" a comer gambas e queijos à borla...

Já para não falar do bar aberto!

parafina falsificada

postou isto às 00:17

Marcadores: à amizade, é melhor rir agora que amanhã posso ter cieiro

1 comentário:

inês disse...: Diz que plagiar é crime :P

É incrível, as coisas que temos em comum!! :)

looool xD; 28/9/08 12:32 p.m.

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Never was anything so joyous as the spring of 1814 Louis XVIII. was king, and the war was over. All except the old soldiers were content; and only when the nobles, who had fled at the Revolution, returned, and it was said that they were going to bring back all their old ideas, did M. Goulden express any dissatisfaction. There were great religious processions everywhere and expiatory services, and talk of rebuilding all the convents, and setting up the nobles again in their castles. But these things did not trouble me, because I was married to Catherine, and knew nothing about politics. The treatment of the old soldiers enraged me. On the day of the religious procession at Phalsbourg, half a dozen old veterans, restored prisoners, were set upon in our town by that rascal Pinacle and the people of Baraques, and knocked about. Pinacle did this to curry favour with Louis XVIII., and M. Goulden warned us that if ruffians like Pinacle got the upper hand it would open people's eyes. Sure enough, Pinacle received the cross of honour in the autumn when the Duc de Berry came to review the troops at Phalsbourg, and even Aunt Grédel, who was fond of abusing Napoleon and the Jacobins, and applauding the king and the clergy, thought this a shameful thing. It really was scandalous the way titles and honours were given to worthless people who shouted for the king. Worse than this was the way Napoleon's old officers were treated. Men who had fought and bled for France for twenty years were now well-nigh starving, driven out of the army to make room for the king's favourites. We read all this in the "Gazette," and Zébédé, who had come back alive and in time for my wedding, and was still in the army, would often come in and tell us of the growing indignation of the soldiers. The whole of that winter the indignation was spreading in the town at the sight of so many brave officers, the heroes of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Wagram, wandering forlornly about, starving on half-pay, and deprived of their posts. How well I remember one day in January, 1815, two of these officers, pale and gaunt, coming into the workshop to sell a watch. M. Goulden examined the watch with great care and said, "Do not be offended, gentlemen; I, too, served France under the Republic, and I know it must cut to the heart to be forced to sell something which recalls sacred memories." "It was given me by Prince Eugène," said one of the officers, Commandant Margarot, a hussar. "It is worth more than 1,000 francs," said M. Goulden, "and I cannot afford to buy it. But I will advance you 200 francs, and the watch shall remain here if you like, and shall be yours whenever you come to reclaim it." The old hussar broke down at this, and though his comrade, Colonel Falconette, tried to restrain him, he poured forth thanks and bitter words against the government. From that time it always seemed to me that things would end badly, and that the nobles had gone too far. The old commandant had said that the government behaved like Cossacks to the army, and this was horrible. M. Goulden read the "Gazette" aloud to us every day, and both Catherine and I were pleased to find there were men in Paris maintaining the very things we thought ourselves. All this time the clergy were going on with their processions, and sermons were being preached about the rebellion of 1790, the restitution of property to the landowners, and the re-establishment of convents, and the need for missionaries for the conversion of France. From such ideas what good could come? It is no wonder that when a report came early in March that Napoleon had landed at Cannes and was marching on Paris we were all very agitated at Phalsbourg. "It is plain," said M. Goulden, "that the emperor will reach Paris. The soldiers are for him; so are the peasantry, whose property is threatened; and so are the middle classes, provided he will make treaties of peace." II.--"Vive l'Empereur!" For some days, though all knew Napoleon had set foot in France, no one dared talk of it aloud. Only the looks of the half-pay officers betrayed their anxiety. If they had possessed horses and arms I am sure they would have set out to meet their emperor. On March 8, Zébédé entered our house and said abruptly, "The two first batallions are starting." "They are going to stop him?" said M. Goulden. "Yes, they'll stop him, that is very likely," Zébédé answered, winking. At the foot of the stairs he drew me aside and whispered, "Look inside my cap, Joseph; all the soldiers have got it, too." Sure enough it was the old tricolour cockade, which had been removed on the return of Louis XVIII. At last the papers had to admit that Buonaparte had escaped from Elba. What a scene it was in the café the night the papers arrived! M. Goulden and I were hardly seated before the place was filled with people, and it was so close the windows had to be opened. Commandant Margarot mounted on a table with other officers all around him, and began to read the "Gazette" aloud. It took a long time, the reading, and the people laughed and jeered at the passages that said the troops were faithful to the king, that Buonaparte was surrounded and would soon be taken, and that the illustrious Ney and the other marshals had hastened to place their swords at the service of the king. The commandant read on firmly in that distinct voice of his until he came to the order calling upon the French to seize Buonaparte and give him up dead or alive. Then his whole face changed and his eyes glittered. He took the "Gazette" up and tore it into little pieces, and, drawing himself up, his long arms stretched out, cried, "Vive l'Empereur!" with all his might. Immediately all the half-pay officers took up the cry, and "Vive l'Empereur!" was repeated again by the very soldiers posted outside the town hall when they heard the shout. The commandant was carried shoulder high round the café, and everyone was now calling out, "Vive l'Empereur!" I saw the tears in the eyes of the commandant, tears at hearing the name he loved best acclaimed once more. As for me, I felt as if cold water was being forced down my back. "It's all over," I said to myself. "It's no good talking about peace." But M. Goulden was more hopeful, and after we got home spoke cheerfully of the blessings of liberty and a good constitution. Aunt Grédel did not take this view. She came to see us the morning after the scene in the café, when all the town was discussing the great news, and began at once, "So it seems the villain has run away from his island?" Both M. Goulden and I were anxious to avoid a dispute, for Aunt Grédel was really angry, and she couldn't leave the subject. M. Goulden admitted that he preferred Napoleon to the Bourbons, with their nobles and missionary priests, because the emperor was bound to respect the national property, whereas the later would have destroyed all that the Revolution had accomplished. "Still, I am now, and always shall be till death, for the Republic and the rights of man," M. Goulden concluded. The old gentleman took his hat and went out to escape further argument, and Aunt Grédel turned to me and told me that M. Goulden was an old fool and always had been, and that I should have to go to Switzerland now, unless Buonaparte was taken before he reached Paris. In the evening, however, when Aunt Grédel had gone, and we three were together, Catherine said quietly, "M. Goulden is right; he knows more about these things than my mother does, and we will always listen to his advice." I thought to myself, "Yes, that's all very well; but it will be a horrible thing to have to put on one's knapsack again and be off. I would rather be in Switzerland than in Leipzig." Each day now brought news of Napoleon's advance, from Grenoble to Lyons, from Lyons to Macon and Auxerre. There was no opposition anywhere to his progress, and the only question that troubled M. Goulden's mind was the attitude of Ney to the emperor. Could Ney, an old soldier of the Revolution, though he had kissed the hand of Louis XVIII., betray the country to please the king? The uneasiness disappeared when we learnt that Ney had followed the example of the army, the citizens, and of all who did not wish to go back to the customs and laws of twenty-five years earlier. On March 21, just as it was getting dark, we knew that something decisive must have happened at Paris. The drums were calling to arms in the market-place, and a great crowd soon assembled. The soldiers fell into their ranks, Commandant Gémeau, who had only just recovered from his wounds, drew his sword, and gave the order to form square. M. Goulden and I got on a bench to listen; we knew that the fate of France depended on the message we were to hear. "Present arms!" called out the commandant in the same clear voice which had bidden us at Lützen and Leipzig, "Close up your ranks!" Then came the news we had been waiting for. "Soldiers, his Majesty Louis XVIII. left Paris on March 20, and the Emperor Napoleon entered the capital the same day." For a second there was a dead silence, and then the commandant spoke of the banner of France, the banner of Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena, stained with our blood; and the old sergeant drew out the tattered tricolour flag from its case. "I know no other flag!" cried the commandant, raising his sword. "Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur!" What a shout there was of "Vive l'Empereur! Vive la France!" at this. The people and the soldiers embraced one another, and that night and for the next five or six days there was, if anything, even more rejoicing than there had been on the return of Louis XVIII. We still hoped for the continuance of peace, but who could say how long the peace would last? Phalsbourg was ordered to put itself into a state of defence, a large workshop was set up at the arsenal for the repairing of arms, and engineers and artillerymen came over from Metz to make earthworks in the fortifications. It seemed to me that a large number of men would be required for all the guns and forts, and that my watchmaking days would soon be exchanged for active service. I began to think that, after all, religious processions were better than being sent to fight against people one knew nothing about. III.--On the Road to Waterloo Aunt Grédel had not been to see us for a month, and it was a great comfort to Catherine and me when one Sunday M. Goulden proposed that we should all three pay her a visit at Quatre Vents. As soon as she saw us, Aunt Grédel rushed to kiss her daughter, and called out, "You are a good man, M. Goulden, better a thousand times than I am. How glad I am to see you! It doesn't matter about being a Jacobin or anything else; the main thing is to have a good heart." It was not until the afternoon that M. Goulden explained that he had known for some days that I should be called up to rejoin my old regiment, and that he had arranged with the commandant of artillery that I should be received at the arsenal as a workman. What relief this was to us, for I could not bear the thought of separation from Catherine. So from that day I went to work at the arsenal, and Aunt Grédel came to see us again as she had been accustomed to do. It can be guessed with what spirit I worked at the arsenal, and how pleased I was when the commandant expressed satisfaction at my work. But I was not allowed to stop at Phalsbourg. On May 23 the commandant told me that I must go to Metz with the 3rd battalion, to which I belonged. He assured me, however, that I should be kept at Metz in the workshops, and we all did our best to believe that I was fortunate in my destination. M. Goulden, however, warned me before I left that France was threatened by her enemies, that the allies would make no peace with the emperor, but were determined to set Louis XVIII. once more on the throne, and that now the question was not of invading other countries, but of defending our own. Catherine was asleep when the morning came for my departure, and I was glad to escape the pain of saying "good-bye." At the barracks, Zébédé, who was now a sergeant, led me into the soldiers' room, and I put on my uniform. Then the battalion defiled through the gates, the soldiers at the outworks presented arms, and we were on the way to Waterloo. It was useless to think of stopping in Metz. We arrived in that city of Jews and soldiers after five days' march, and were at once, after our night's rest, supplied with ammunition. I saw that my only chance of staying at the workshops of Metz would be after the campaign was over, for we were on the march the very next morning. Zébédé was not always with me now, and my closest comrade was Jean Buche, the son of a sledge-maker at Harberg, who had never eaten anything better than potatoes before he became a conscript. Buche turned in his feet in walking, but he never seemed to know the meaning of being tired, and in his own fashion was a wonderful pedestrian. From Metz we marched through Thionville, Châtelet, Etain, Dannevoux, Yong, Vivier, and Cul-de-Sard. All our troops were pouring into Belgium--cavalry, infantry, and artillery--and though there were no signs of the enemy, it was reported that we were to attack the English. I thought as well English as Prussians, Austrians, or Russians, since we were to kill each other. On the night of June 14 we bivouacked outside the village of Roly, and General Pécheux read a proclamation by the emperor, reminding us that this was the anniversary of Marengo, that the powers were in coalition against France, and that the hour had come for France to conquer or perish. It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm at this message from the emperor; our courage was stronger, and the conscripts were even more anxious than the veterans for the fighting to begin. We were up at daybreak next day and on the march, eager to get a sight of the Prussians, who had been repulsed from Charleroi by the emperor, we were told. At the village of Châtelet we halted, and heard the noise of firing away across the River Sambre, in the direction of Gilly. An old bald peasant told us that evening that the Prussians had men in the villages of Fleurus and Lambusart, that the English and Belgians were on the great Brussels road, and that the causeway through Quatre Bras and Ligny enabled the Prussians and English to communicate freely with each other. He also told us that the Prussians said insulting things of the French army, and were generally hated by the people. When I heard of the way the Prussians boasted, my blood boiled, and I said to myself, "There shall be no more compassion. Either they or we must be utterly destroyed." I can recall with what splendour the sun rose next morning above a cornfield--it was the morning of the battle of Ligny. Zébédé and one or two comrades whom I had known in 1813 came and chattered while we lit our fires. We could see the Prussians before us, posting themselves behind hedges and walls, and preparing to defend the villages, and all the time we were kept roasting in the corn, waiting for the signal to attack. The emperor arrived, and held a short conference with the superior officers, and I saw him at close quarters before he rode off again to the village of Fleurus, already vacated by the Prussians. And still we waited, though we knew the attack on St. Amand had begun. At last came our turn to advance on Ligny. "Forward! Forward!" cried the officers. "Vive l'Empereur!" we shouted. The Prussian bullets whizzed like hail upon us, and then we could see or hear nothing till we were in the village. No quarter was given that day; we fought in houses and gardens, in barns and lanes, with muskets and bayonets. Those who fell were lost. At one time fifteen of us were in possession of a barn, and the Prussians, for a time outnumbering us, drove us up a ladder. They fired up at our floor, and finally, when it seemed we were lost, and were all to be massacred we heard the shout of "Vive l'Empereur!" and the Prussians fled. Out of that fifteen only six were left alive, but Zébédé and Buche were among the survivors. The battle still raged in the village streets, dead and dying were everywhere. Towards nightfall it was plain we were the victors; Ligny and St. Amand were in our hands, and the Prussians had moved away. On the plateau behind Ligny, where our cavalry had been at work, the slaughter had been terrible. The dozen or so remaining of our company rested for a few hours that night in the ruins of a farmhouse, and next day came the roll-call of our battalion, and the sending off of the wounded. More than 360 of our men, including Commandant Gémeau and Captain Vidal, were disabled, and we were busy all day over the wounded. It was wet and muddy that evening, and we were hungry and dispirited when we reached Quatre Bras, about eight o'clock. We were not allowed to halt here, but marched on to a village called Jemappes, and at midnight we settled down in a furrow to wait for morning. The red coats of the English were visible before us when we awoke next morning; behind their lines was the village of Mont St. Jean, and they had also the farmhouses of La Haie-Sainte and Hougomont. At six o'clock I looked at their position, with Zébédé, Captain Florentin, and Buche, and it seemed to me it was a difficult task before us. It was Sunday, and I could hear the bells of villages, recalling Phalsbourg. But in a very little while we heard no more bells, for at half-past eight our battalion was on its way to the high road in front, and the battle of Waterloo had begun. IV.--The Hour of Disaster I have often heard veterans describe the order of battle given by the emperor. But all I remember of that terrible day is that we marched out with the bands playing, that we got to close quarters with the English, were repulsed, and were assisted by regiments of cuirassiers, that we carried La Haie-Sainte with terrible slaughter at Ney's command. Hougomont we could not carry. When we thought we were winning, the news was spread that Blücher, with 60,000 men, was advancing on our flank, and that unless Grouchy, with his 30,000, arrived in time to reinforce us the day might be lost. All the world knows now that Grouchy did not arrive, that we threw ourselves again and again upon the English squares, and that at last, when regiment after regiment had tried in vain to break the enemy's line, the Old Guard were called up by the emperor. It was the last chance of retrieving the day, the grand stroke--and it failed. The four battalions of the Guards, reduced from 3,000 to 1,200 men, were assailed by so fierce a fire that they were compelled to retire. They retired slowly, defending themselves with muskets and bayonets, but with their retirement, and the approach of night, the battle ended for us in the confusion of a rout. It was like a flood. We were surrounded on all sides when Blücher arrived. The Old Guard formed a square for the emperor and his officers, and the rest of us simply straggled away, back to France. The most awful thing of all was the beating of the drum of the Old Guard in that hour of disaster. It was like a fire-bell, the last appeal of a burning nation. Buche was by my side in the retreat. Several times the Prussians attacked us. We heard that the emperor had departed for Paris, and we struggled on, only hoping to escape with our lives. At Charleroi the inhabitants shut the city gates in our face, and Buche shared in the general rage, and proposed to destroy the town. But I thought we had had enough massacres, and that it was not right we should be killing our own countrymen, and I persuaded Buche to come on with me. In a few days we felt ourselves safe from pursuing Prussians, and at the village of Bouvigny I wrote a letter to Catherine, telling her I was safe. In this village some officers of our regiment, the 6th of the Line, found us, and we had to rejoin. Presently we saw all that was left of Grouchy's army corps in retreat, and a day or two later we heard of the emperor's abdication. On July 1, we reached Paris, and outside the city, near the village of Issy, we once more fell in with the Prussians; for two days we fought them with fury, and then some generals announced that peace had been made. We believed that this truce was to give the enemy time to leave the country, and that otherwise France would rise, as it rose in '92, and drive them out. Unhappily, we soon learnt that the Prussians and English were to occupy Paris, and that the remains of the French army were to be kept beyond the Loire. We all felt that we had been betrayed, and the old officers, pale with anger, wept in their misery. Paris in the hands of the Prussians! Besides, were we to go to the other side of the Loire at the command of Blücher? Desertions began that very day, and I said to Buche, "Let us return to Phalsbourg and Harberg, and take up our work, and live like honest men." About fifty of us from Alsace-Lorraine were in the battalion, and we set off together on the road to Strasbourg. On July 8 we heard that Louis XVIII. was to come back, and already the white banner of the Bourbons was being displayed in the villages. In some places there were rascals who called us Buonapartists, and gendarmes who took us to the town hall and made us shout "Vive le Roi!" Buche and some of the old soldiers hated this; but what did it matter who was king, and what these fools wanted us to shout? Our little company got smaller and smaller as men halted in their own villages, and when, on July 16, we reached Phalsbourg, Buche and I were alone. Buche went on to break the news of my return, but I could not wait, and ran after him. I heard people saying, "There's Joseph, Bertha," and in a moment I was in the house, and in Catherine's arms. Then I embraced M. Goulden, and an hour later Aunt Grédel arrived. Jean Buche would not stay and dine with us, but hurried home to Harberg. I have often seen him since; and Zébédé, too, who remained in the army. Many insulting things were said about us by the Pinacles, but I had happiness in my family circle, especially when Catherine presented me with a little Joseph. I am an old man now, but M. Goulden always said the principles of freedom and liberty would triumph, and I have lived long enough to see his words come true.
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Mundo Cá Dentro

Qui sera, sera... Whatever will be, will be
Há 12 anos
Baunilha e Chocolate

Há 12 anos
Mau Feitio

Mudamos de casa mas queremos os mesmos amigos :D
Há 12 anos
Singularidades De Um Rapaz Moreno

Resolução de Ano Novo
Há 12 anos
Blog do Ateu

Cruise Line Programs For Your Boat trip Vacation
Há 12 anos
Devaneios e coisas que tal

A prova de que os homens só ouvem o que querem
Há 12 anos
Um Contentamento Descontente

A Key To Happiness And in addition Loving Life
Há 12 anos
El tango!

Paragem de digestão
Há 12 anos
PurpleLook

Ao teu segundo Dia(na)...
Há 12 anos
O amor é um lugar estranho

Até um dia destes!
Há 12 anos
Passeai, Flores!...

isto de quem vê o TLC
Há 12 anos
My dance floor

Há alguma coisa melhor que final de sexta-feira?
Há 12 anos
Por Um Fio

Há 12 anos
Estórias

Reusegram Embaixadores
Há 12 anos
Tertulia com Sotaque

Há 12 anos
mind this gap

Há 12 anos
I'm a Lady!

Eu não achei normal.
Há 12 anos
A Melhor Amiga Da Barbie

NOVO LINK PARA O BLOG
Há 12 anos
Crónicas da Miudice

Pelos caminhos do coração
Há 12 anos
Confissões de Uma Mente Depravada

Até Sempre, bem hajam, obrigado por serem quem são...
Há 12 anos
as7vidas

Finisterra
Há 12 anos
BLACK & WHITE

2 anos
Há 13 anos
cada rua um ballet

Há 13 anos
Avada Kedavra

Crowns or Veneers: What is the Difference?
Há 13 anos
Be Happy ♥ Love Life

Olá chuva
Há 13 anos
Não é um blog.é O blog.

Acontecimento insólito nº 1:
Há 13 anos
Sorrisos, Sonhos e Chocolate

Go to online dating sites to meet more friends
Há 13 anos
Clicks life

Do meu ponto de vista
Há 13 anos
Calha Assim

O último do último - informações
Há 13 anos
Piolho Sintético Contra-ataca

Era uma vez
Há 13 anos
O meu outro lado meio aluado

Lugar comum
Há 13 anos
Uma familia como tantas outras

Homens ao Jamor
Há 13 anos
A Dupla Personalidade

dp.433.aluga-se carrinho de compras, estado semi-novo, roda direita manca. trata o próprio.
Há 13 anos
Desencontro de Palavras

Há 13 anos
Jack na FFUL

Já tens o que precisas para a escolha de horários?
Há 14 anos
Blog das Mães "Desnaturadas"

Fada dos dentes
Há 14 anos
Laranja ó Chocolate!

5 anos
Há 14 anos
love is a losing game

será?
Há 14 anos
Irracional

Um miminho calha sempre bem
Há 14 anos
O Blog do Alfredo

o início do fim
Há 14 anos
O Da Joana

E agora?
Há 14 anos
amour. imagination. rêve.

I can't get no satisfaction.
Há 14 anos
O porquê do roxo

É sexta feira e eu pareço uma velha
Há 14 anos
Causa ou Fatalidade...

EcoTretas: Tretas do nuclear
Há 14 anos
Vendo a minha mãe

O poder mágico do XXX
Há 14 anos
Corpo Dormente

Novo update
Há 14 anos
Muttering Away

Is it too wrong?
Há 14 anos
Deuxieme

Premiere__ Fevereiro de 2011
Há 15 anos
nandisssimamente

Ainda gostas de mim?
Há 15 anos
Verdades D'Arnaldo

Há 15 anos
Olhaaaaaaaaaaaa... Diiiiiiiiiiizzzz..

2008.01.20
Há 15 anos
FFULiões

Love pills
Há 15 anos
Emigrada em Lx

Gelado
Há 15 anos
Dias de Criswell

Wax On, F*ck Off with Ralph Macchio
Há 15 anos
Admirável Demência

Para a semana vamos.
Há 15 anos
o meu blog é mais parvo que o teu

simples
Há 15 anos
Posso ver claramente que o meu cérebro se evaporou

Então?!
Há 15 anos
M de mim

Fechar a loja
Há 16 anos
Universidade Gourmet

Há 16 anos
Será um Croissant com Chocolate um Bolo?

Olha o chapéu a 5, é só 5, é prá chuva...
Há 16 anos
♥ » Sweet dreams are made of this...

Meu querido miau
Há 16 anos
Hello Stranger *

Há 16 anos
coisas assim assim

E pronto, fartei-me
Há 16 anos
Jane is nice like sugar and spice!

Solte o coelho que há em si!
Há 16 anos
LamBlog (ainda mais funesto!)

A nova telenovela do "prime-time"
Há 17 anos
Minhocas na Maçã

Até já.
Há 17 anos
Tá tudo Xinado

XIII Sarau Académico
Há 17 anos
Conversas de Sexta-feira

E mais não digo...
Há 18 anos
Jorge da Farmácia

A saúde dos portugueses
Há 19 anos
ateaoscem
Girls just wanna have Fun!
Mulher à beira de um ataque de nervos...
A vida de Virila (crónica FFULiana)
I couldn't help but wonder...
I'm not lost... just undiscovered
CurlyGirl
Lagostim TV
Dreadasister
"I am" I said
d'Amélie
Mini Feijão
A Pipoca Mais Doce
La estou eu a divagar...
Bolhas de Sabão Eternas
Olívia Palito no País das Maravilhas
Sitting Waiting Wishing
Got a Secret...Can you keep it?
Da Poptarts
Hot chocolate with cookies
Podes fugir mas não te podes esconder
O Pé de Pupita
Caramelo nos Dentes
Planeta F.F.U.L.
O Arrumadinho
Acessórios, Ponto & Vírgula
O novo diário de Kazoo
the sun only comes out when it feels like coming out
Palavras de
Os meus olhos azuis
A Amora Preta
Celebrity Baby Blog
O Casulo da Borboleta
Blog do Zézito
inside me
Hum... Er... Coiso!
Bambis
o eremita
How To Walk Through The Fire
OH NO THEY DIDN'T! the celebrities are disposable. the content is priceless
Coffee in teacups
come as you are
A Sleepless Heart
Há Vida em Markl
Nô's Adventures In Wonderland
Baton Vermelho
Tuudo Bem ! ! !
brilhantinas
Diário de uma (Fanática) Escritora de Fanfiction
dias em rosa
Não sejas urso
Chorar e Rir
desliga o despertador
paddy
Três de Trinta

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:: as melhores receitas de sobremesas de leonor de sousa bastos | flagrante delícia ::

Receita de Cheesecake Frio de Chocolate Branco e Figos.
Há 5 anos
Até aos cem

Dicas de Marketing para o Instagram
Há 7 anos
Guess So, Guess Not...

E eu que queria escrever tanta coisa...
Há 8 anos
Amanhecer em Paris.

A sério, eu vendo tudo o que tenho em troca!
Há 9 anos
les bons vivants

novidades e sugestões - O Apartamento
Há 10 anos
Farfalla

The Walk (2015)
Há 10 anos
Já (não) te sinto em mim

novidades deste ano que já começou há uns meses largos.
Há 11 anos
Love is a fast song

Vou dançar para outras freguesias*
Há 12 anos
Abre a boca e fecha os olhos!
Yoda faz cenas
Laranja, Laranjinha
Virtual Insanity

Tema Simples. Imagens de temas por Ollustrator. Com tecnologia do Blogger.