tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8034129416802918052024-03-07T21:39:21.467+02:00Moinou... Mi... Rodo... My blogAlexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-55881902083992759152009-08-10T13:36:00.003+03:002009-08-10T13:44:18.151+03:00A la recherche de la maison perdue...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/11/64/57/5336457.f1bf0217.560.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 205px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/11/64/57/5336457.f1bf0217.560.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />J'ai réussit, je suis étudiante en première année de Master - Etudes Théâtrales à la Sorbonne... mais si je n'arrive pas à trouver une maison, à quoi bon ?<br /><br />Tout conseil est précieux en ce moment... donc n'hésitez pas !Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-15293984886893702232009-06-17T12:58:00.001+03:002009-06-17T13:00:22.461+03:00Chocolat à mort !<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.montrealbaroque.com/images/topBanner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 106px;" src="http://www.montrealbaroque.com/images/topBanner.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div> <i>Chocolat à mort !<br />Death by chocolate !<br />Du 25 au 28 juin<br />From 25 to 28 June<br /><br />En 2009, Montréal Baroque célèbre le 350e anniversaire de la naissance d’Henry Purcell. Compositeur très populaire, Purcell est décédé jeune, à 36 ans, de causes mystérieuses. Une rumeur voudrait qu’il ait succombé à une surdose d’une nouvelle boisson apparue en Europe à l’époque : le chocolat. L’idée d’apparier les plaisirs du chocolat et de la merveilleuse musique de Purcell nous a complètement séduits, d’où le thème de notre Festival et ses plaisirs chocolatés!<br /><br />This year's Festival celebrates the 350th anniversary of Henry Purcell's birth. His premature death at the age of 36, was suspected to be the tragic result of an overdose of chocolate, the new drug that had recently ravaged the unsuspecting population of the Fairest Isle!<br />Montreal Baroque invites you to a marathon of Purcell's music and the opportunity to follow in the master's footsteps by overdosing on chocolate, if you wish!<br /><br /><span></span><a href="http://www.montrealbaroque.com/" target="_blank">http://www.montrealbaroque.com</a></i> </div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-70678086480323121632008-09-01T13:42:00.002+03:002008-09-01T13:47:17.072+03:00Alexandra<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/2733147"><img src="http://u1.ipernity.com/7/31/47/2733147.e9eb15b0.500.jpg" alt="Alexa I" border="0" height="500" width="334" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/2754470"><img src="http://u1.ipernity.com/7/44/70/2754470.d13a0799.500.jpg" alt="Alexa V" border="0" height="500" width="335" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/2735354"><img src="http://u1.ipernity.com/7/53/54/2735354.3c2154e5.500.jpg" alt="Alexa II" border="0" height="500" width="334" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/2742178"><img src="http://u1.ipernity.com/7/21/78/2742178.c5789087.500.jpg" alt="Alexa IV" border="0" height="500" width="334" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/2741889"><img src="http://u1.ipernity.com/7/18/89/2741889.89398ee4.500.jpg" alt="Alexa III" border="0" height="500" width="334" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="width: 220px; height: 55px; text-align: center;"><object height="55" width="220"><param name="movie" value="http://www.deezer.com/embedded/small-widget-v2.swf?idSong=873312&colorBackground=0x555552&textColor1=0xFFFFFF&colorVolume=0x39D1FD&autoplay=0"><embed src="http://www.deezer.com/embedded/small-widget-v2.swf?idSong=873312&colorBackground=0x525252&textColor1=0xFFFFFF&colorVolume=0x39D1FD&autoplay=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="55" width="220"></embed></object><br /><span style="font-size:78%;color:#000000;">Discover <a href="http://www.deezer.com/en/leonard-cohen.html">Leonard Cohen</a>!</span></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-10691508430086863112007-12-25T23:16:00.000+02:002007-12-25T23:20:12.075+02:00Joyeux Noël<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-XtIn3eLUOcY0ejOYRT9Yc9UoaUQwZHjGAWU-qeTIKEnMiivmGs-6vHa57uiwEfDxDEkjg41-BCAPypmJCKMjYnlo3xnf4AfWR3w8rpblHJA2jKoMnJsk_N1RsrcVaw1RqRB9NQTDhw/s1600-h/craciun3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-XtIn3eLUOcY0ejOYRT9Yc9UoaUQwZHjGAWU-qeTIKEnMiivmGs-6vHa57uiwEfDxDEkjg41-BCAPypmJCKMjYnlo3xnf4AfWR3w8rpblHJA2jKoMnJsk_N1RsrcVaw1RqRB9NQTDhw/s320/craciun3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5148022834066069250" border="0" /></a> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Des fêtes de conte… Mes pensées vers vous !</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-2088627484999730132007-10-25T22:22:00.000+03:002007-10-25T22:26:01.606+03:00Ghosts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL4i2_qbCqDJFtgk13pyXgeZhHlPu7HrPKVQplvpppiBuHYsGQ_ZLxcAP564rYEIOr38zA3jvaggts0xcq0-Aq0Six_o1e6bSDKh71K533l4tj__wkDScRIZlToRoczCnwAYe4aGqGKI/s1600-h/sable2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL4i2_qbCqDJFtgk13pyXgeZhHlPu7HrPKVQplvpppiBuHYsGQ_ZLxcAP564rYEIOr38zA3jvaggts0xcq0-Aq0Six_o1e6bSDKh71K533l4tj__wkDScRIZlToRoczCnwAYe4aGqGKI/s320/sable2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125357743626168754" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="" lang="FR">Quelques instants… des sourires… une impression qu’on garde pour toujours. Le temps passe, les détails s’oublient, et un après-midi on retrouve un parfum… des lettres, deux graines de sable… peut-être un jour j’arriverai à écrire sur tout cela… le jour quand la douleur cessera .<o:p></o:p></span><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="border: 1px solid rgb(238, 238, 238); padding: 5px; width: 200px;"><br /><center><br /><p><br /><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/891136">Marcas de Ayer - Adriana Mezzadri</a><br /></p><br /><object height="20" width="200"><br /><param name="movie" value="http://u1.ipernity.com/r/1/1A/AF/831258.02116a641.p.mp3"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://u1.ipernity.com/r/1/1A/AF/831258.02116a641.p.mp3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="20" width="200"></embed></object><br /></center><br /></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-4253900272912499832007-10-09T21:32:00.001+03:002007-10-09T21:35:53.261+03:00Florence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/A0/82/623264.54c4ea4f1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 190px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/A0/82/623264.54c4ea4f1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="" lang="FR">A mon retour de l’Italie, je me suis dit qu’il me fallait du temps pour mettre de l’ordre dans mes pensées. J’avais la tête pleine d’images, de couleurs… Mais aujourd’hui j’ai pensé à Florence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="" lang="FR">J’avais déjà vu plein de photos sur la ville, mais la première rencontre m’a frappée. Les bâtiments se dressaient hautes et fières (sans doute à cause des rues étroites), les places assez grandes me semblaient toujours petites… mon système de dimensions était déréglé. J’avançais dans les ruelles et j’avais l’étrange sensation de ne pas me sentir seule… même s’il n’y avait pas de monde et que je marchais en silence, cette solitude ne me blessait pas. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="" lang="FR">Ce que j’ai aimé le plus à Florence c’est la lumière. Dans la cour de la<span style=""> </span><i style="">Villa Camerata</i> les pierres brillaient… grises sous un ciel gris, mais elles brillaient! Les yeux jaunes de ce chat noir sur le rebord de la fenêtre, les fleurs de lotus et les murs ocrés… tout semblait différent. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="" lang="FR">Florence est la ville qui m’a laissé des souvenirs très variés… l’homme avec la pipe… le vélo abandonné au coin de la rue… Piotr et ses doigts magiques… les accords du <i style="">Concerto d’Aranjuez</i> qui se réverbéraient dans les Galeries Uffizi… la silhouette du <i style="">Baptisterio</i> au bout d’une ruelle éclairée… ce sont les images de <i style="">ma</i> Florence. Il y a un parfum très subtile qui accompagne mes souvenirs… des fleurs de laurierrose, du pin, et cette odeur presque imperceptible d’une source d’eau. Si je pouvais créer ce parfum, je l’appellerais <b style=""><i style="">plénitude</i></b>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="" lang="FR"><a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/album/28579"><span style="font-size:78%;">Album photo </span></a> <span style=""></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-56353618457661801882007-09-12T20:03:00.000+03:002007-09-12T20:11:55.622+03:00Mots<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvc5_8VsY4fQUK1v3kbSwm3zVax3m1Fsl-aAwn6PeMiS70iEk2qe1svM_2BGbD1_dMLh6L4kETYgH9WWfAVNxGO4hrIYsPcP6kfVIlFgYRdeP_KG-i4yq2FEutSKsXqQ7_BIBFGJ2fG0/s1600-h/lazy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvc5_8VsY4fQUK1v3kbSwm3zVax3m1Fsl-aAwn6PeMiS70iEk2qe1svM_2BGbD1_dMLh6L4kETYgH9WWfAVNxGO4hrIYsPcP6kfVIlFgYRdeP_KG-i4yq2FEutSKsXqQ7_BIBFGJ2fG0/s320/lazy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109364691030336002" border="0" /></a> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="font-style: italic;">J’aurais voulu déjeuner seule,tourner un pot de moutarde entre mes mains, être vague, vague, complètement vague...</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal">Françoise Sagan - Un certain sourire<br /><span style="" lang="FR">Ch. 2<o:p></o:p></span></p> <embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowScriptAccess="always" width="180" height="23" bgcolor="#363636" id="radioblog_player_0" FlashVars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=.8yck5WdvN3Lu8yZvxmYu8WakFmcvInZuUWZyZmLrtWa09mc1Vmb/Katie%2520Melua%2520-%2520Piece%2520by%2520piece.rbs&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#363636;border:#BBBBBB;button:#FFCC33;player_text:#FF9933;playlist_text:#999999;"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-72857797190330921542007-09-10T21:59:00.000+03:002007-09-10T22:05:28.261+03:00Capri<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TSICzEPEFABrmos5F9XmWzrj7x3hSqj98Jvl6Ez83NSV3pVwWigfwoDhpSg3PJfZRsiPFRDCh9SYMCMQ-uX72LJlagqOx6A7HzsHOdHAUEX96HWe5iko3_MniiXRvJFDqbR-hyPGe-s/s1600-h/DSC06054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3TSICzEPEFABrmos5F9XmWzrj7x3hSqj98Jvl6Ez83NSV3pVwWigfwoDhpSg3PJfZRsiPFRDCh9SYMCMQ-uX72LJlagqOx6A7HzsHOdHAUEX96HWe5iko3_MniiXRvJFDqbR-hyPGe-s/s320/DSC06054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108652349995819490" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So canterò di te, verde Anacapri:</i><br /><i>dirò di quel silenzio che ti chiude</i><br /><i>come una veste, canteró la pace</i><br /><i>che in te fluisce, come fosse un sangue</i><br /><i>dolce e benigno, senza turbamento. </i><br /><i>Diró della ginestra che incorona</i><br /><i>La montagna, dell`elce e del carrubo</i><br /><i>che hanno si grata l`ombra nel meriggio,</i><br /><i>diró del fico d`india, che le palme</i><br /><i>aperte offre alle stimmate del sole.</i><br /><br /><i>Ma ora è tardi: già declina il giorno</i><br /><i>e l`ombre fanno azzurra la montagna.</i><br /><i>Senti quel lieve pigolio d`uccelli,</i><br /><i>quello sfrascare basso ira i cespugli?</i><br /><i>S`è fatto tardi ormai: bisogna andare.</i><br /><i>Ecco già su Tiberio un pò di luna,</i><br /><i>una virgola appena; è luna nuova.</i><br /><i>Un`altra volta ... Or io discenderò</i><br /><i>per quella via tra la montagna e il mare</i><br /><i>E una lucciola avrò per compagnia.</i><br /><br /><i> </i>Alma Siracusa Vuotto<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2RZX1emsE3OIgH6T_sYKKDuyon51wyUCu3YwMJpQCWv6WcIqqr1Y5OwNMWdEm5DSqMSuK9vJTwxss6zZLE-odxLU6Ht9GpFHbb77BYJg8yXMSwC1F0jaPctt160ctxVe4N1icgNHT0E/s1600-h/DSC06114.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2RZX1emsE3OIgH6T_sYKKDuyon51wyUCu3YwMJpQCWv6WcIqqr1Y5OwNMWdEm5DSqMSuK9vJTwxss6zZLE-odxLU6Ht9GpFHbb77BYJg8yXMSwC1F0jaPctt160ctxVe4N1icgNHT0E/s320/DSC06114.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108652989945946658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2n1iQYJ4GjA9uayRk5uwq_EA5XsYGj1pg1nKTv9eIGN-72uejs9SbT0y6GDb_xJgaymRG_XtYlU7UC1q5CoYo_9-1iQIrSUEzZLtJm6Oe_p_ucitNX16gTcKBU6CBqgHcEQ_xiXpNmg8/s1600-h/DSC05980.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2n1iQYJ4GjA9uayRk5uwq_EA5XsYGj1pg1nKTv9eIGN-72uejs9SbT0y6GDb_xJgaymRG_XtYlU7UC1q5CoYo_9-1iQIrSUEzZLtJm6Oe_p_ucitNX16gTcKBU6CBqgHcEQ_xiXpNmg8/s320/DSC05980.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108652916931502610" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq97D6Y6UKdYpXbPmEBAJcwQexp11bcY_KlE_Y5wyKBwTUIvtps0vv-vZl2jd8ewdZzKhY9iYpAJe9479pxYOhqQZTJ2RJHZhg0IoyC_FFe1buEsfKyjLhyphenhyphen9TzCUnxc_owGCTl72pRFSE/s1600-h/DSC06045.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq97D6Y6UKdYpXbPmEBAJcwQexp11bcY_KlE_Y5wyKBwTUIvtps0vv-vZl2jd8ewdZzKhY9iYpAJe9479pxYOhqQZTJ2RJHZhg0IoyC_FFe1buEsfKyjLhyphenhyphen9TzCUnxc_owGCTl72pRFSE/s320/DSC06045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108652839622091266" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46RF7Qceuf4a7jT-sBssJaCGaXIPPNYjYHeU_IVLr0-7kKHOR9W_VYwgQgKQRqwIZ54QzCB7MjBa1Exu3oPJFRXmxxxBj3_B70RGLWNGr-RPRRVwFRqD3fjeH3UG-RJ1npU2k2cqFvOE/s1600-h/DSC05986.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46RF7Qceuf4a7jT-sBssJaCGaXIPPNYjYHeU_IVLr0-7kKHOR9W_VYwgQgKQRqwIZ54QzCB7MjBa1Exu3oPJFRXmxxxBj3_B70RGLWNGr-RPRRVwFRqD3fjeH3UG-RJ1npU2k2cqFvOE/s320/DSC05986.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108652745132810738" border="0" /></a>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-52540539171956227252007-09-06T18:34:00.000+03:002007-09-06T19:40:20.458+03:00Le lit défait<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPNNfpfOjGiaJ-D6fFyChgYeU_SoeZlO5RWhI497Q1_PRb7IVFwwlOr00pPJcVR1HUq0ogpfsS6e3yT-Spmo8IRgzYNZ2TjBsCwCngCSzzsv1IXXG11mSsCz1epvLztUMKsT6NK_V1jE/s1600-h/merlot4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPNNfpfOjGiaJ-D6fFyChgYeU_SoeZlO5RWhI497Q1_PRb7IVFwwlOr00pPJcVR1HUq0ogpfsS6e3yT-Spmo8IRgzYNZ2TjBsCwCngCSzzsv1IXXG11mSsCz1epvLztUMKsT6NK_V1jE/s320/merlot4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107115219855286738" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="FR">C’est drôle... c’est drôle comme en lisant les romans de Françoise Sagan je retrouve en moi des émotions si différentes, états d’esprit contradictoires presque, mais qui ne manquent pas de logique. <i style="">Le lit défait</i> a été une lecture à la limite... parfois, c’était difficile de ne pas haïr Béatrice même si je la comprenais parfaitement. J’adore les phrases de F. Sagan qui renversent les règles, qui écrasent de (sa) manière comique les conventions : <o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;" align="center"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="">-<span style=""> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Ecoute, dit Béatrice, grimpe d’abord dans ce hamac, bois ton café chaud et respire doucement. Pas à fond, surtout, il ne faut jamais respirer à fond. Ni faire de la gymnastique tous les jours, ni éviter les graisses,ni se démaquiller soigneusement,ça vous tue en dix jours. Ou en dix ans, ce qui est pire.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br /><span style="" lang="FR">Ch.9<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p>J’ai beaucoup aimé les fluctuations des humeurs de Béatrice, ce caractère apparemment puissant, qui s’avérait vulnérable parfois... Mais surtout, j’ai aimé la présence marquante du destin dans le roman... cette typologie de l’actrice fameuse, de l’écrivain de succes, et de leur vie qui semble se conduire d’après une configuration qu’aucun d’entre eux ne semble vouloir changer. Ils ne désirent pas arrêter de souffrir, même trompé, Edouard garde en soi toutes les « pourquoi-s » et retourne paisiblement à côté d’elle, sans demander plus rien. Et s’il faut dire la vérité, le personnage d’Edouard ne m’a pas semblé très captivant. Deux protagonistes à la recherche du bonheur, qui arrivent </span><span style="" lang="FR"></span><span style="" lang="FR">à de tristes conclusions...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">On ne se rappelle jamais quand quelqu’un ne vous aime plus, sa voix, avant, disant « Je t’aime », on se rappelle sa voix disant « Il fait froid ce soir » ou « Ton chandail est trop long ». On ne se rappelle pas un visage boulversé par le plaisir, on se rappelle un visage distrait, hésitant, sous la pluie. Comme si la mémoire était, tout autant que l’intelligence, délibérément insoumise aux mouvements du coeur.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br /><span style="" lang="FR">Ch.10<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">C’est un livre que j’ai beaucoup aimé, pour ses contrastes, pour l’atmosphère un peu lourde mais recherchée, pour cette histoire d’amour boulversé que seule Françoise Sagan sait m’offrir. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-57668227980607920832007-09-03T21:37:00.001+03:002007-09-06T19:40:43.820+03:00The line of a woman's hip<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFBpvms9vxSHRPDEJy2p2r59VuignhS5KJXwMsCdOE1ZxXwmfOL1VGjTZ-YcsxrsTz8cuh31U-YIjK9luA9H7nSR3_UgpqB3nVwMFeXtyDhpvyzwxwuTqw5zVtsIQfYWreKZq52X1uQ4/s1600-h/hip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFBpvms9vxSHRPDEJy2p2r59VuignhS5KJXwMsCdOE1ZxXwmfOL1VGjTZ-YcsxrsTz8cuh31U-YIjK9luA9H7nSR3_UgpqB3nVwMFeXtyDhpvyzwxwuTqw5zVtsIQfYWreKZq52X1uQ4/s320/hip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106049028583793090" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Elle commence bien haut, là où le regard ne l’aperçoit pas. L’esprit la devine, inconsciemment, et la vue commence à descendre... odeur de peau tiède, satinée...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p>Une goutte de rosée valse vers le creux des reins et la retrouve... lisse, doucement courbée, avec cet éclat diffus qui trace son contour... l’élégance lui donne un air fier, redouble sa beauté... la beauté d’une hanche de femme.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="font-size:85%;">(cela fait partie de mes automnes depuis que j’ai vu <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0174480/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Automne à New York</span></a>... les mots sont venus après la photo, comme un mélange entre mes dernières lectures et l’envie de recommencer, de retrouver mon automne à moi... les débuts, je les aime !) <span style=""> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-40158223546054650012007-08-31T15:13:00.000+03:002007-09-07T18:37:03.360+03:00Extraits<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wvJttTAb5616OlVon1D9SZ8uvLrZZ_g2peBwscv8QgauWN4rQf7h6BqTloLVvXtD4YAvna9jtkz-rBuRyD7NiPJSYd2tpvjbzBLk6zOZHb3RWaoOI2-POWSg4y-dhg7SYmBRDLnB5qg/s1600-h/DSC05796.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wvJttTAb5616OlVon1D9SZ8uvLrZZ_g2peBwscv8QgauWN4rQf7h6BqTloLVvXtD4YAvna9jtkz-rBuRyD7NiPJSYd2tpvjbzBLk6zOZHb3RWaoOI2-POWSg4y-dhg7SYmBRDLnB5qg/s320/DSC05796.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5104837061827305906" border="0" /></a> <p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Nos pas s’accordaient comme nos corps la nuit; il me tenait la main; nous étions minces, plaisants, comme des images.</span></p><p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"> </p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Françoise Sagan – <b style=""><i style="">Un certain sourire</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowscriptaccess="always" bgcolor="#606060" id="radioblog_player_0" flashvars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=.8yck5WdvN3Ln9Gbi5ybpRWYy9ybpRWYy9icm5SZlJnZuUGbpVmZ/Valse%2520op64%2520chopin-L%2520F-Kahn.rbs&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#606060;border:#BBBBBB;button:#999999;player_text:#999999;playlist_text:#999999;" height="23" width="180"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-14948435054361195972007-08-28T13:47:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:45:55.975+03:00Firenze<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Florence : la ville où la tranquilité est faite manifeste.<br /><br /></span> [Katherine Cecil Thurston]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DE/87/559070.b53a152e1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DE/87/559070.b53a152e1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/D4/97/563156.5a1152031.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/D4/97/563156.5a1152031.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/09/88/559113.d28674b51.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/09/88/559113.d28674b51.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/F1/97/563185.b8448bee1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/F1/97/563185.b8448bee1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />L'album complet <a href="http://www.ipernity.com/doc/rodocrozit/album/28579">ICI</a><br /></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-22422294687206219082007-08-18T13:34:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:51:26.673+03:00Italiano<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyx81KFbIsVWBf9WUaHajzIYEFLjmHXIWuu5hOAhMX20fKFAi0wyiuv9MluHBJIE3vNq4nf-nzWIu3HJ0CwkeiFW8weuVeoa-M-T16a9Mcdl4DkvQuFK-F6KhhNI2f-vg0f25eXrmQa8/s1600-h/retro+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyx81KFbIsVWBf9WUaHajzIYEFLjmHXIWuu5hOAhMX20fKFAi0wyiuv9MluHBJIE3vNq4nf-nzWIu3HJ0CwkeiFW8weuVeoa-M-T16a9Mcdl4DkvQuFK-F6KhhNI2f-vg0f25eXrmQa8/s320/retro+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099987343670452642" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i style=""><span style="" lang="ES">Roma, Roma, Napoli, amore mio....</span></i><span style="" lang="ES"><o:p></o:p></span><br /><span style="" lang="ES"><o:p></o:p></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Demain nuit… c’est l’Italie !!! Je me prépare pour les 3000 photos que j’ai envie de prendre... Je reviens dans une semaine. <b style="">Ciao !</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="" lang="FR"><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-46406282140164048722007-08-14T22:53:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:47:55.609+03:00Feuilles de l’âme<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfpQ5iUrNbuGnJFRnHhW9C10gfwLOQ6zOfNMcWcysSGummRtfo0HnVttlzvSbVL4gWNUq4k3fMU9oyknvwrpwb8i9WtzwyQYZS0k6d5wpi1GjHMchfyD-2qw2_h36k3VVVm_VKd-lgiQ/s1600-h/moi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfpQ5iUrNbuGnJFRnHhW9C10gfwLOQ6zOfNMcWcysSGummRtfo0HnVttlzvSbVL4gWNUq4k3fMU9oyknvwrpwb8i9WtzwyQYZS0k6d5wpi1GjHMchfyD-2qw2_h36k3VVVm_VKd-lgiQ/s320/moi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098647020656459426" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="FR">Il m’arrive souvent ces jours de vivre des instants et de penser “<i style="">il faut que je n’oublie pas ça quand je serai bien loin</i>”. La pluie sur ma terrasse, la glace que je mangeais sur mon tronc d’arbre, le silence de mes nuits. Je redécouvre <i style="">mes</i> plaisirs... je ferme les yeux et j’inspire cette odeur de chevrefeuille qui me dit “<i style="">tu es chez toi, tu es contente</i>”. <o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p>Le crépuscule... le parfum des freesias... le tango... le Merlot... c’est MOI !<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowScriptAccess="always" width="180" height="23" bgcolor="#ECECEC" id="radioblog_player_0" FlashVars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=..wLzRmb192cvc2bsJmLvlGZhJ3LyZmLlVmcm5SZu9meuIXZu5Wa/11-john_powell-assassins_tango.mp3.rbs&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#ECECEC;border:#BBBBBB;button:#999999;player_text:#999999;playlist_text:#999999;"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-53325967576152535692007-08-14T19:43:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:47:55.609+03:00Memories<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The rain...the sound of rain! Pure magic and dreams come true. I've never experienced a more fantastic moment that the one of hearing the rain. Every single drop pouring on the leaves, nourishing the earth and filling it with energy. Incredible amounts of energy falling upon us! And hearing the vibration of the nature under a fall of cold water... Water in the sky, water on earth, water on leaves, droplets like diamonds sticked on lilies...Droplets on my body, coming from my hair and falling on my cheeks, on my fingertips and on my breast... My clothes sticked to my body...my mind running far away... Thinking, searching, finding something or someone...Searching the rain and never finding it, although it's all around me it's never in me...never in my soul! I wonder if i'll ever get there ?! Let it rain on my kingdom, let it rain on my body, let it rain on my heart...<br /><br />22nd of december 2004<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXolhf1-LgHRSwwFPWlL45rNpFm8eSeuKvsTyrkpd88qrkk8JbziXS2ifP0up0vl42Bgrnt3mVcKnfqy7msD6TJBmqravOwsL2uq9DHOtJ0AxTaJynBcp5m92tSgA4seKzS-TMjYhOyQ/s1600-h/carpe_diem.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXolhf1-LgHRSwwFPWlL45rNpFm8eSeuKvsTyrkpd88qrkk8JbziXS2ifP0up0vl42Bgrnt3mVcKnfqy7msD6TJBmqravOwsL2uq9DHOtJ0AxTaJynBcp5m92tSgA4seKzS-TMjYhOyQ/s320/carpe_diem.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098598122453794450" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-11914234714280495592007-08-07T16:06:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:07.862+03:00Fadette<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://anjelica.podemus.net/Image/la%20petite%20fadette.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 268px;" src="http://anjelica.podemus.net/Image/la%20petite%20fadette.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Quand j’ai commencé <i style="">La Petite Fadette</i>, le mot qui me venait à la bouche était <b style="">naïve. </b>Peut-être parce’que je venais de lire un livre tout à fait différent, plein d’intrigues et de « préjugés »… Et j’avais l’impression de lire un conte… la campagne, les frères, les taquineries d’enfants… Eh bien, je suis arrivée à la fin, pour découvrir un livre plus subtile que je ne le croyais, un livre où Cendrillon s’avère pour une fine connaisseure de l’esprit humain :<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Je sais qu'on a beaucoup trop dit autour de vous que cette amitié bessonnière était une loi de nature qui devait vous faire mourir si on la contrariait, et vous avez cru obéir à votre sort en portant cette amitié à l'excès ; mais Dieu n'est pas si injuste que de nous marquer pour un mauvais sort dans le ventre de nos mères. Il n'est pas si méchant que de nous donner des idées que nous ne pourrions jamais surmonter, et vous lui faites injure, comme un superstitieux que vous êtes, en croyant qu'il y a dans le sang de votre corps plus de force et de mauvaise destinée qu'il n'y a dans votre esprit de résistance et de raison. Jamais, à moins que vous ne soyez fou, je ne croirai que vous ne pourriez pas combattre votre jalousie, si vous le vouliez. Mais vous ne le voulez pas, parce qu'on a trop caressé le vice de votre âme, et que vous estimez moins votre devoir que votre fantaisie .</span></i><br /><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p>Chapitre XXXVIII<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p>J’ai toujours du mal à écrire sur les livres qui n’éveillent pas en moi la passion... et je peux dire que ce n’est pas un livre qui restera parmi mes favoris. Mais, au moins, c’est un livre qui m’a surpris.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowScriptAccess="always" width="180" height="23" bgcolor="#CCCC00" id="radioblog_player_0" FlashVars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=vMHZuV3bz9yZvxmYu8WakFmcvInZuUmbpp3bj5WYyZmL3d3d/Extrait_Crevlalune%2520-%2520A%2520la%2520Campagne.rbs&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#CCCC00;border:#B3B3B3;button:#999999;player_text:#FFFFCC;playlist_text:#999999;"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-78557404741109077772007-08-04T18:57:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:07.862+03:00Miss Bennet<div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"> I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that he can spare from me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jane Austen</span><span><span> - <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 60<br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/76/C1/442742.e5689aee1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/76/C1/442742.e5689aee1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="font-family: arial;">Eh oui…j’ai fini le livre dans un temps récord, car je dois l’avouer, j’avais peur d’un anglais trop prétentieux. C’est le livre parfait pour un après-midi gris, quand la pluie tombe lourde sur la mansarde... C’est le livre qui te donne envie de boire un Earl Grey juste pour entrer dans l’atmosphère... Et c’est le livre que tu lis avec la même ferveur, en sachant dès le début quelle sera la fin.</span> <o:p></o:p></span> </div></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-14856666065220101072007-07-31T15:49:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:07.862+03:00Jane Austen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/35/A5/435509.a2a60fb41.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/35/A5/435509.a2a60fb41.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired him.</span> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="reading">"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!--so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"</p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="reading">"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."</p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jane Austen - <span style="font-style: italic;">Pride and Prejudice</span>, Chapter IV<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/B8/A4/435384.104f6d001.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/B8/A4/435384.104f6d001.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/B3/A4/435379.900133581.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/B3/A4/435379.900133581.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-897711679208552452007-07-29T16:54:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:41.355+03:00Cafe<center><div style="background: url('http://mingle2.com/img/bb/outcomes/bg_coffee_quiz.jpg') no-repeat; width: 265px; height: 211px;"><a style="display: block; text-align: center; padding-top: 167px; height: 35px; font-size: 16px; font-family: Arial; text-decoration: none; color: #fff;" href="http://mingle2.com/bb/view/how-addicted-to-coffee-are-you">I am 73% Addicted to Coffee</a></div><br /></center><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">J’avais un soupçon… mais 73% !!! Et voilà, plus de secrets. J’adore le café, et comme je lui dédie tout cet article, je veux remercier tous les cultivateurs de <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Colombia</span> ou de <span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Brazil</span> qui gardent leur traditions et nous offrent les arômes les plus fines de leur culture. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/1F/82/426527.9ce168461.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/1F/82/426527.9ce168461.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Partagez-vous la même passion que moi ?<o:p></o:p></span></p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-88983598154342920192007-07-26T23:58:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:45:55.976+03:00Soirée<span style="" lang="FR">Un verre de limonade... du maïs cuit au charbon (juste un peu de beurre, sel et de l’ail pour l’arôme)... des tartines avec du pesto frais... Le soir est venu à Benediuk.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWjXLL_QQA2idCJqKX-OQ6NFE2bmQAeXNfGBQn0f2gff0xA0qUP62NOqCU4-sGhPc0LXr2oa7NiNedpur5rwze9IPBp_7DQ7MAmAoHjnDUO3LjVsIDWv972kIYEY2t7_42UYroeEgCQc/s1600-h/mozaic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWjXLL_QQA2idCJqKX-OQ6NFE2bmQAeXNfGBQn0f2gff0xA0qUP62NOqCU4-sGhPc0LXr2oa7NiNedpur5rwze9IPBp_7DQ7MAmAoHjnDUO3LjVsIDWv972kIYEY2t7_42UYroeEgCQc/s320/mozaic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091613363169197666" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="FR">La salade d’aubergines est un délice de l’été...<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1qdzLuSGqmxkSP_VVA1qMZ4_oly1NZHR9FeRRbvMnXE0mMcm-SWAq5AhB5dr8puO2AuIT6uWOB0DvZbuXDQQQI3ClevfzvQVCwkMclBrr4tPpSrkdKJxq06K1OVegf5NEkUIT5iz3d4/s1600-h/aubergines.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 77px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1qdzLuSGqmxkSP_VVA1qMZ4_oly1NZHR9FeRRbvMnXE0mMcm-SWAq5AhB5dr8puO2AuIT6uWOB0DvZbuXDQQQI3ClevfzvQVCwkMclBrr4tPpSrkdKJxq06K1OVegf5NEkUIT5iz3d4/s320/aubergines.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091613500608151154" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="FR">On finit le travail dans la vigne, on dit <i style="">bonne nuit</i> aux fleurs et la journée finit... Il n’y a que la lumière de la lanterne pour guider nos rêves.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtpVA32wJSXGRHVBqAbJMuSTQKchYUbcircldI3SG8C6kV8VyTEN5M5-bmNeiB1bztHbdwcgK9Rss-TmftW8Yl-24L0ygIk2HQ6-wSyvkfHT8QE_5Ed43Tf6uBaFH6MNrLjzd1uCgfcQ/s1600-h/roaba.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtpVA32wJSXGRHVBqAbJMuSTQKchYUbcircldI3SG8C6kV8VyTEN5M5-bmNeiB1bztHbdwcgK9Rss-TmftW8Yl-24L0ygIk2HQ6-wSyvkfHT8QE_5Ed43Tf6uBaFH6MNrLjzd1uCgfcQ/s320/roaba.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5091613788370960002" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153); font-weight: bold;">Bonne nuit !</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> </div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-67303947564640839552007-07-25T20:59:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:41.355+03:00Zurich 2006<span style="" lang="FR">Ces jours j’ai redécouvert mes photos de Zurich… un matin avant le lever du soleil, quand les cygnes trempaient leurs pattes noires dans l’eau glacée... un mois de septembre à Zurich...<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DE/19/399838.da21ca661.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DE/19/399838.da21ca661.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E0/19/399840.942eb39a1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E0/19/399840.942eb39a1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">These days I’ve been rediscovering my <st1:city st="on">Zurich</st1:city> photos... one morning before sunrise, when the swans were soaking their black paws in the frozen water… a September in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Zurich</st1:place></st1:city>…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E3/19/399843.e5e36f2d1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 368px; height: 207px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E3/19/399843.e5e36f2d1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/84/276423320_42f0e1ad71.jpg?v=0"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/84/276423320_42f0e1ad71.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DF/19/399839.8cfc96a71.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/DF/19/399839.8cfc96a71.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E1/19/399841.eea014ab1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E1/19/399841.eea014ab1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E4/19/399844.295ee7e41.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E4/19/399844.295ee7e41.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E5/19/399845.a75ad6ef1.l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 378px; height: 224px;" src="http://u1.ipernity.com/u/2/E5/19/399845.a75ad6ef1.l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-25378214164146739802007-07-16T23:36:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:47:55.609+03:00Parfum de paresse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_3pW9ZVTnehuwHH5_T9deR4xL4BQwF93rOWuwtnDy10nKTRsI7BdVFicPyO13eFrO3ibC2Mva-LafZ90NawEmA001UN3mRX5-vymc7lxe1IUDof-FUPRSlthIxHOuA1bN94CsnjtBt4/s1600-h/roses+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_3pW9ZVTnehuwHH5_T9deR4xL4BQwF93rOWuwtnDy10nKTRsI7BdVFicPyO13eFrO3ibC2Mva-LafZ90NawEmA001UN3mRX5-vymc7lxe1IUDof-FUPRSlthIxHOuA1bN94CsnjtBt4/s320/roses+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087901188602313538" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Un matin paresseux… l’odeur des draps blancs de maman me réveille avant que j’ouvre les yeux. La lumière semble un peu grise et mes mains brillent sur l’oreiller... j’ai toujours pensé que le parfum des roses est rose, et que le matin est mon moment de paresse . . .</span> <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowscriptaccess="always" bgcolor="#ECECEC" id="radioblog_player_0" flashvars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=.8yck5WdvN3Lt92YuU2YuFmcmlmLlxGblh2YvJXYs5SZpFWb/Damien%2520Rice%2520-%2520The%2520Blowers%2520Daughter%2520-%2520Closer.swf&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#ECECEC;border:#BBBBBB;button:#999999;player_text:#FF6699;playlist_text:#999999;" height="23" width="180"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-67153574999559193492007-07-15T15:18:00.001+03:002007-09-06T18:47:55.609+03:00L’esthétique de la simplicité<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.evene.fr/arts/actualite/hommage-mort-interview-constantin-brancusi-855.php"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 149px;" src="http://image.evene.fr/img/article/g855.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Brancusi nous a quittés il y a 50 ans dans l’atmosphère survoltée de son atelier parisien. Atypique, son oeuvre a révolutionné le monde de l’art et plus particulièrement celui de la sculpture.</span></div><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: right;"><i>Thomas Yadan pour <a href="http://www.evene.fr/arts/actualite/hommage-mort-interview-constantin-brancusi-855.php">Evene.fr</a> - Juin 2007<br /></i><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR">Il y a deux ans j’étais à Hobitza pour la deuxième fois... et l’énergie qui flotte autour de cette maison simple de paysans est difficile à oublier... Brancusi est le symbole du visionaire, son chemin dans la vie est une vraie inspiration.</span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span><span class="txtc40b14"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Les choses ne sont pas difficiles à faire, ce qui est difficile c'est de nous mettre en état de les faire.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span class="txtc40b14"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Constantin Brancusi<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="txtc40b14"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></i><span style="" lang="FR">Je vous invite à decouvrir un peu plus sur cette personalité fascinante en suivant <a href="http://www.evene.fr/arts/actualite/hommage-mort-interview-constantin-brancusi-855.php">l’article sur Evene.fr</a> </span></span><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61nSluklART5sABX_XGe3m0Ez8qGND6bpRVL4aYY_vJ0JUvr5JMqPKiZsC5rySyoyO1zf7ub9zZhpbCDOYkmGp_on4U6qcW64L51dd0mSb_3_s95KfikUvpgbODjn1Z_fYUU2seErBic/s1600-h/infinity.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61nSluklART5sABX_XGe3m0Ez8qGND6bpRVL4aYY_vJ0JUvr5JMqPKiZsC5rySyoyO1zf7ub9zZhpbCDOYkmGp_on4U6qcW64L51dd0mSb_3_s95KfikUvpgbODjn1Z_fYUU2seErBic/s320/infinity.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087414216620358434" border="0" /></a></div></div>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-15444688185344425532007-07-11T20:09:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:51:26.673+03:007 things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9e4s5qfvGvBvqDRhkXmj-Ml0ChUbVUa6yGUkmBkT1CYMZXLpYTiiJmAuVyEpyvmaDaBRdOvoe3XCfh0BNg3V4eCb8kF55Oc_sjePgzceSEMcqtzulGlwa0_WmqC03oJ89nkASJ6-rc4/s1600-h/rodo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_9e4s5qfvGvBvqDRhkXmj-Ml0ChUbVUa6yGUkmBkT1CYMZXLpYTiiJmAuVyEpyvmaDaBRdOvoe3XCfh0BNg3V4eCb8kF55Oc_sjePgzceSEMcqtzulGlwa0_WmqC03oJ89nkASJ6-rc4/s320/rodo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085994456330123906" border="0" /></a><br />I have to answer <a href="http://smarandapopescu.blogspot.com/">Sma</a>’s invitation and write 7 things about me... <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="">I love my red lipstick</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">There is no better scent than White Musk</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">My biggest goal right now is to buy an appartment in Montmartre, <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Paris</st1:city></st1:place></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">I find that photography is the best way for me to express my creativity</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">Don’t know what I would do without : books, Adobe Photoshop, coffee, Merlot wine</li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">I sometimes get competitive when it comes to <a href="http://seelview.blogspot.com/">my boyfriend</a> or <a href="http://smarandapopescu.blogspot.com/">my best friend</a></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="">I could live only with olives and cheese</li></ol> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That wasn’t as easy as I thought… and still I’m not satisfied (there goes the perfectionist) but the rest you will have to find out by reading me…</p>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-803412941680291805.post-64239423087215693482007-07-10T01:04:00.000+03:002007-09-06T18:50:07.863+03:00Nuages<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTFke31Et5rnPz3-JPYyWuuX2Nj6jetm4U4OKy4v5xzfpleEiC4LCRZbV9mLzBgsfehw9YObHzK9JQCTN5AnVGOIsDwDKbk-vC_FicBHhrSVHV2zKjdRPUwsksBdZnCsu4R0RuOz-400/s1600-h/jane_eyre.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTFke31Et5rnPz3-JPYyWuuX2Nj6jetm4U4OKy4v5xzfpleEiC4LCRZbV9mLzBgsfehw9YObHzK9JQCTN5AnVGOIsDwDKbk-vC_FicBHhrSVHV2zKjdRPUwsksBdZnCsu4R0RuOz-400/s320/jane_eyre.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085322100674771554" border="0" /></a> <span class="txtC40 B14"><span class="txtC40 B14"><br />Dieu</span> est un <span class="txtC40 B14">fumeur</span> de <span class="txtC40 B14">havanes.</span> Je <span class="txtC40 B14">vois</span> ses <span class="txtC40 B14">nuages</span> <span class="txtC40 B14">gris.</span> Je <span class="txtC40 B14">sais</span> qu'il <span class="txtC40 B14">fume</span> <span class="txtC40 B14">même</span> la <span class="txtC40 B14">nuit</span>.</span><br /><span class="txtC40 B14"></span><br /><span class="txtC40 B14">Serge Gainsbourg</span><br /><span class="txtC40 B14"></span></div><br /><br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://stat.radioblogclub.com/radio.blog/skins/mini/player.swf" allowScriptAccess="always" width="180" height="23" bgcolor="#666699" id="radioblog_player_0" FlashVars="id=0&filepath=http://www.radioblogclub.com/listen?u=vMHZuV3bz9yZvxmYu8WakFmcvInZuUWZyZmL0QDcqJ3Y/Serge%2520Gainsbourg%2520-%2520Dieu%2520fumeur%2520de%2520havanes%2520%2528C.%2520Deneuve%2529.mp3.rbs&cover=1&crossfader=1&replay=1&colors=body:#666699;border:#BBBBBB;button:#CCCCCC;player_text:#99CCCC;playlist_text:#999999;"></embed>Alexandra Popescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03231712062853958870noreply@blogger.com2