Как Вам удалось запомнить такой длинный текст ..?)))

Издеваесся? Я тока две первые буквы успел запомнить. И то теперь сомневаюсь...

так ви ж на стуле лепестрическом держали ( а ви точно учительница????)))

Выйду на улицу, солнца нема,
Девки молодые свели меня с ума.
Выйду на улицу, гляну на село,
Девки гуляют, и мне весело.
Выйду на улицу, гляну на село,
Девки гуляют, и мне весело.

Шла Шура по шоссе... ☺

Это моё полное имя..

короткий текст: " волк меняет шерсть, а не характер" (и не шутите с волками)) ( народная мудрость)

вот где надо спросить.. про тексты и репортажи.)

.

To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep -

No more, and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep -

To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause; there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin; who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards [of us all],

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action. - Soft you now,

The fair Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins rememb'red.

сам сочинил

эээээ, бэээээ, мэээээээ, а шо?