|
Post by andi on Dec 17, 2006 21:17:07 GMT 10
True, the photos are really beautiful. Thankfully I don't need a language to view them as I'm helpless with french, unfortunately.
|
|
|
Post by andi on Mar 6, 2007 4:04:06 GMT 10
You're right Rose, seems like we've never started a DG thread!! I so enjoyed the photies, thanks for sharing!
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 11, 2006 1:59:43 GMT 10
Very good Rose bet you've already ordered one, eh? ;D #hug#
|
|
|
Post by andi on Jan 6, 2006 22:17:39 GMT 10
I read the german versions a few years back, it was great fun and very true
|
|
|
Post by andi on Jan 5, 2006 23:52:15 GMT 10
Why Men Lie and Women Cry
Allan and Barbara Pease
Why Men Lie and Women Cry reminds us why Allan and Barbara Pease have been so successful in teaching us to understand ourselves. They combine a blockbuster style of entertainment with jillions of facts about human nature, the battle of the sexes and what really makes us tick. Why Men Lie and Women Cry goes further into the territory covered by their first coauthored bestseller Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps. Both books are written in a punchy, funny style with quick pace, quick wit and quick page-turning power.
This is popular psychology with the emphasis on popular. Inside the front cover we're given a photograph of the husband and wife coauthor team, and they beam out to us as all happy, suntanned, beautifully groomed self-help authors ought to. If you are cynical about human nature, believe people don't really change and suspect self-help is a shallow con game, then don't buy this book. But if you believe we can learn to understand one another better, can build better relationships and work towards a happier and more abundant life, then Why Men Lie and Women Cry can provide practical help in a fun-filled, chock-full of facts informative way.
Authors of the international bestsellers WHY MEN DON'T LISTEN AND WOMEN CAN'T READ MAPS and BODY LANGUAGE teach strategies for happier, more fulfilled relationships.
|
|
|
Post by andi on Jan 5, 2006 23:51:34 GMT 10
Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps: How We're Different and What to Do About It
Allan and Barbara Pease
"Let's look at the thoughts, attitudes, and emotions, as they're experienced, in their very different ways, by men and women". This is one of Allan Pease's chirpy gear-changes in this provocatively titled book. Then he begins to ruminate: men and women live in the same world, but they experience it as if they came from two different worlds. Boys like things, girls like people. Every boy wants to be in a gang, and wants a gun; every girl has her best friend, with whom she shares her secrets. Men want status and power, women want love. It's amazing, he concludes, that they can ever live together. Well, yes, and that living together is a pretty fraught business, though he doesn't seem keen to go too deeply into that: this psychology, with its frequent allusions to research and its jokey little dramatisations, is upbeat feelgood stuff, which is why it's made him such a fortune on three continents. "Listen to this!" he'll say, then on comes an Aussie squabble, the woman berating a husband whose grunts proclaim the fact that he's not listening. But to sell four million copies of a book about body language--in 33 different languages--means Pease and his wife Barbara must be getting something right. There are many scientifically-documented facts about the difference between the sexes, and Pease is selling them with a smile to an ever-growing public. You may be a contented member of that public, or you may find your hackles rising. It takes all sorts!
The classic international bestselling book. Allan and Barbara Pease spotlight the differences in the way men and women think.
|
|
|
Post by andi on Jan 3, 2006 5:22:34 GMT 10
Sounds like a really funny and interesting story!
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 15, 2006 21:03:01 GMT 10
Gathering Song of Donald the Black
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Pitbroch of Donuil Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war-array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr’d, The bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges: Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded: Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come; See how they gather! Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset!
- Sir Walter Scott -
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 15, 2006 20:46:48 GMT 10
The Tree of Liberty
Heard ye o' the tree o' France, I watna what's the name o't; Around the tree the patriots dance, Weel Europe kens the fame o't. It stands where ance the Bastile stood, A prison built by kings, man, When Superstition's hellish brood Kept France in leading-strings, man.
Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, Its virtues a' can tell, man; It raises man aboon the brute, It maks him ken himsel, man. Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, He's greater than a lord, man, And wi' the beggar shares a mite 0' a' he can afford, man
This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, To comfort us 'twas sent, man: To gie the sweetest blush o' health, And mak us a' content, man It clears the een, it cheers the heart, Maks high and low gude friends, man; And he wha acts the traitor's part, It to perdition sends, man.
My blessings aye attend the chiel, Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man, And staw a branch, spite o' the deil, Frae yont tho western waves, man. Fair Virtue watered it wi' care, And now she sees wi' pride, man, How weel it buds and blossoms there, Its branches spreading wide, man.
But vicious folk aye hate to see The works o' Virtue thrive, man; The courtly vermin's banned the tree, And grat to see it thrive, man; King Loui' thought to cut it down, When it was unco sma', man For this the watchman cracked his crown, Cut aff his head and a', man.
A wicked crew syne, on a time, Did tak a solemn aith, man, It ne'er should flourish to its prime, I wat they pledged their faith, man. Awa they gaed wi' mock parade Like beagles hunting game, man, But soon grew weary o' the trade, And wished they'd been at hame, man.
For Freedom, standing by the tree, Her sons did loudly ca', man; She sang a sang o' liberty, Which pleased them ane and a', man By her inspired, the new-born race Soon drew the avenging steel, man; The hirelings ran--her foes gied chase, And banged the despot weel, man
Let Britain boast her hardy oak, Her poplar and her pine, man, Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, And o'er her neighbours shine, man But seek the forest round and round, And soon 'twill be agreed, man, That sic a tree can not be found 'Twixt London and the Tweed, man.
Without this tree, alake this life Is but a vale o' wo, man; A scene o' sorrow mixed wi' strife, Nae real joys we know, man. We labour soon, we labour late, To feed the titled knave, man; And a' the comfort we're to get, Is that ayont the grave, man.
Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, The warld would live in peace, man; The sword would help to mak a plough, The din o' war wad cease, man. Like brethren in a common cause, We'd on each other smile, man; And equal rights and equal laws Wad gladden every isle, man.
Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat Sic halesome dainty cheer, man; I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet, To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. Syne let us pray, auld England may Sure plant this far-famed tree, man; And blithe we'll sing, and hail the day That gave us liberty, man.
- Robert Burns -
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 15, 2006 20:45:06 GMT 10
Address to A Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o need, While thro your pores the dews distil Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight, An cut you up wi ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; The auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi perfect sconner, Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit: Thro bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll make it whissle; An legs an arms, an heads will sned, Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies: But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer, Gie her a Haggis!
- Robert Burns -
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 15, 2006 20:31:16 GMT 10
The John Maclean March
Hey Mac did ye see him as he cam in by Gorgie, Awa ower the Lammerlaw and north o’ the Tay? Yon man is comin’ and the hale toon is turnin’ oot, We’re aa’ sair he’ll win back tae Glasga the day. The jiners and hauders-on are marchin’ fae Clydebank, Come noo an’ hear him, he’ll be ower thrang tae bide. Turn oot Jock and Jimmie, leave yer cranes an’ yer muckle gantries Great John Maclean’s comin’ back tae the Clyde. Argyle Street and London Road’s the route that we’re mairchin’ The lads frae the Broomielaw are oot tae a man. Hey, Neil, whaur’s yer hoderums, ye big Hielan teuchter?. Get yer pipes, mate, and march at the heid o’the clan! Hallo Pat Malone, I knew ye’d be here, son The red and green, my lads, we’ll wear side by side, The Gorbals is his the day and Glasgae belangs tae him, Noo great John Maclean’s comin’ hame tae the Clyde. It’s forward tae Glasga Green we’ll mairch in guid order, Will grips his banner weel, that boy isna blate, Aye there man, that’s Johnny noo, that’s him, aye, the bonnie fechter Lenin’s his fere, Mac, and Leibnecht’s his mate. Tak tent when he’s speakin’ for they’ll mind whit wis said here In Glasgae our city and the hale world besides. Tha’s richt, lads, the scarlet’s bonnie, here’s tae ye Hielan’ Shonie! Oor John Maclean has come hame to the Clyde. An weel when it’s ower, I’ll awa hame tae Springburn, Come hame tae yer tea noo, John, we’ll soon hae ye fed! It’s hard wark the speakin’, an I’m sair ye’ll be tired the nicht, I’ll sleep on the flair, Mac, and gie John the bed. The hale city’s quiet noo, It kens that he’s restin’ Hame wi’ his Glasga freens, the fame and their pride. The red will be worn, my lads, and Scotland will rise again, Noo great John Maclean has come hame tae the Clyde.
Hamish Henderson
|
|
|
Post by andi on Nov 15, 2006 20:29:04 GMT 10
The Little White Rose
The rose of all the world is not for me I want for my part only the little white rose of Scotland That smells sharp and sweet and breaks the heart
Hugh MacDiarmid
|
|