Romook, ectoplasme bloguique

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jeudi 14 septembre 2006

Chine, je reviens!

Juste un léger message à caractère informatif pour les lecteurs que ma vie intéresse. Je retourne en Chine pour environ trois semaine dès demain après - midi.

Ce blog ne devrait pas être déserté, néanmoins, il est possible que j'ai des problèmes pour accéder à la gestion de celui-ci. Dans cette hypothèse extrême, et seulement dans ce cas, je me verrai dans l'obligation de retourner sur le blog sous MSN pendant cette période.

Dans tous les cas, je ne vous abandonne pas, mais aucun billet n'est à attendre avant dimanche...

Désolé pour la gêne occasionnée. Les services techniques travaillent actuellement au maintien en ligne d'un blog de qualité.

Romook, de retour à China Honta ?


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

By Rudyard Kipling