It highlights student perspectives through prose and poetry in six different languages and multi-media artwork. This magazine is created by a dedicated group of students who give a louder voice to these languages by selecting writing and artwork from their student body. Translation is an essential creative element of the magazine, and each foreign language piece faces and English version to broaden the understanding of the written works. The keys that open doors are the keys that close the doors, and the keys that are hooked in chains do have but drama sound. But the key that dies in my pocket reminds me that it is time to be a rational woman who lives in a house.
Santiago sold his herd in order to make the long journey to Egypt in a search for treasure at Giza. The crystal merchant encourages Santiago to follow his dreams and go to Egypt. On a caravan to Egypt from Morocco, Santiago meets the renowned Alchemist and learns a great deal about life from him. Santiago eventually reaches Egypt, however, Santiago and his friends are robbed. Santiago tries to explain to the robbers that he is searching for treasure in Giza and means no harm. The gang of robbers mock him, claiming that dreams are unrealistic, and recount a dream that they once had of treasure in Andalucia, under a tree by a church.
Santiago returns to Andalucia and finds the treasure under the tree where his journey began. Santiago then returns to Al-Fayoum, a town in Egypt, and marries a woman named Fatima whom he met during his first trip. I love the ambiguity required in the words of the night traveler travels with the birds on top of the slope of speech soaring above the roofs of villages. I am a woman, no more no less. I sing my own song, Not poorly, not skillfully — I only practiced melodies as a child. I willingly join singing teams whenever possible.
Do not let the government know — I sing my own song I sing, sing my own song, until the world returns to ancient loneliness. The crescent moon walked from the sea towards me, And asked me — Why do you sing your own song?
Who will stare at the stars in the night sky, Searching for comfort in the far distance? Who wouldn't want To live everyday like it is a poem?
Every word is like a star, Fluttering just like bees in your heart. Who wouldn't want To have a soft and comfortable night? A night warm and still like a lake, With fireflies and stars floating between the sleeping lotus. Who wouldn't like spring?
When the branches of the trees are full of singing birds Just like the night sky is full of stars, Sounds echo and float from far distances, And fat bundles of white lilacs float on the mist. If every corner of the earth is full of light, Who will still need the stars? Who will still burn with loneliness in the cold weather Searching for a little bit of hope among the stars. Who wants every year to be like a suffering poem?
Every poem is like a group of shivering stars That cover your heart in ice and snow. Who wants a frozen night? The sky is frozen like the hard land, And the skinny stars are blown from the sky by the wind. Who doesn't like to see the waving flags, Like a golden star coming forth from the fire? When the stars in the sky become tired, the golden star rises up, And shines on the place where the sun cannot reach. Haiti Jodanna Domond I see you every year, with your waters nice and clear, your lightly burnt sand, that envelops and warms my legs, as my fingers caress the verdant coconut.
The soft wind catches the drops, smearing them all over my face and dripping down my arms. I stand in your pool, with my gaze fixed upon my feet, seeing your endless basin kissing the sky. I turn towards your terrain, in awe of your vast blossoming mountains.
Mais, on n'a pas le pouvoir De nous montrer la porte: La porte de la connaissance. Pour cela, nous devons vivre. Mais, seulement si nous Vivons la vie au maximum. But, they do not have the power To show us the door: The door of knowledge. For that, we must live. We must experience adventures, We must study and learn, We must discover ourselves: We must live. Through our experiences, We gain access to the door And with our keys, We gain the opportunity to open it. The door reveals Marvelous ideas. But, only if we live life to the fullest. A Voyage Kelsey Donovon the plane, a shooting star in the night the butterfly who flies relentlessly a blanket of silence falls eyes look out the porthole like the little beads of a stuffed animal the window reveals a small world a world of small dolls who drive small cars and eat small meals the plane breaks through the clouds that disperse with the night a wave of sunshine submerges the butterfly in the sky sun rays enter the plane like arrows arrows that pierce the heart of the night the airplane, the large butterfly, seems to soar through the sky landing on a small island to rest its tired wings Ma respiration est profonde et forte.
Elle est douce et rapide. Je sens la musique dans mon corps.
Avec elegance, le mouvement me dirige. My breathing is deep and strong. I am focused, nervous, but concentrating. I wait for the sound of the music, ready to dance. The pianist plays the first phrase of music. It is soft and quick. I feel the music in my body. It moves me forward, guiding my legs above the stage. A smile on my face, I embody confidence. Together, the dancers create a moving image. With elegance, the movement leads me.
Like a mother and her daughter, it holds me. On the stage, I feel alive. And the only cat of the village Had half eaten it. And the bird stops singing, The cat stops purring, And licking its muzzle. And the village makes for the bird A wonderful funeral Which the cat is invited to. He walks behind the short straw coffin Where the dead bird is lying, Carried by a little girl Who cannot stop crying.
You would have had less grief, Just sadness and regret. Original, duradera Viviendo, respirando, buscando Verdad, Vida.
Espejo, Silencio Copiando, emparejando, esperando. Prestado, breve. Llamando, sentando, esperando. Mirror, Silence Copying, matching, waiting. Ecclesiastical approbation does not imply that the Church provides an infallible guarantee on the supernatural nature of the event. In , Eugenio Pacelli , who was consecrated as a bishop on 13 May — the day of the first apparition — was elected to the papacy as Pius XII. She repeated this request later that year on 2 December , stating that in the year , the Blessed Lady requested in another apparition that Russia be consecrated to her Immaculate Heart.
Mary was said to promise the conversion of Russia from its errors. See below  On 8 December , the Pontiff officially and solemnly declared this consecration in a ceremony in Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome. In an unusual gesture, he announced his own pilgrimage to the sanctuary on the fiftieth anniversary of the first apparition.