I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents.
I am alone, and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way.Ī wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.įar far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather.
It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.
His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.
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