Photo: Manon. Antonio García Barbeito, abc sevilla edition.
So, so, slowly, like a canopy leaves, and slower, as the wine ages, and more slowly as aging time. So, so, that on average last longer than a chore, your coat take longer than doing stretch, that rose in your coat paint peeling given time as it takes a veronica yours. So, so, as we have seen, long ago, in other hands - or anything so we did not see before? -, As well as if you were taught to read the bull ... A chair? A throne! Even sitting on a stone would keep the bullfighting on the type. A throne for you, boy, the Throne.
Orphans of that grace we were, not knowing what to think to try to settle for something that looked like him as our dreams. And you came . And you came and you see, it became clear in the ring one Morante and after. What is that, God? What does it feel like a bullfighter in the blood, head, hands, to see a dream come to a point and make miracle that no one imagined? No, you are not heir to anyone, not your hands have picked scepters of others, or in you ways to borrow models or copied. You are you and only you. When someone comes to bullfighting as well, we're not going to see but for the first time seeing the light of another appearance. A chair? What chair? Is there decent chairs which give room to your art bullfighter? A throne! who comes and knows commands without saying, knows it's the biggest no more need to sign the ownership of art in the face of the bull, and bloodless, well, bull and matador whole, there, five years assaults testing, here, a cloak that out of the oven, freshly made, the inspiration of the veronica. Let him who wants to answer: if that's what they call an average, What will be, God, a whole?
So, so, slowly, eternity, suspended in a low-flying, second hand of a tired God made calico. So, so ... A throne! Was there again that bullfighting cape? Who cares! A bullfighting was born and each time it is made. A bullfight is always unique and . Not even needed to be more prepared than ever, even walk on a roll, or put the fate of your hand: to know and say when it considers the genius-perhaps unknowingly-time. And it is done. Inimitable, therefore, that not even genius could do the same again. A chair? Any seat would be poor. A throne! And Morante. And after. And forever. And never
So, so, slowly, like a canopy leaves, and slower, as the wine ages, and more slowly as aging time. So, so, that on average last longer than a chore, your coat take longer than doing stretch, that rose in your coat paint peeling given time as it takes a veronica yours. So, so, as we have seen, long ago, in other hands - or anything so we did not see before? -, As well as if you were taught to read the bull ... A chair? A throne! Even sitting on a stone would keep the bullfighting on the type. A throne for you, boy, the Throne.
Orphans of that grace we were, not knowing what to think to try to settle for something that looked like him as our dreams. And you came . And you came and you see, it became clear in the ring one Morante and after. What is that, God? What does it feel like a bullfighter in the blood, head, hands, to see a dream come to a point and make miracle that no one imagined? No, you are not heir to anyone, not your hands have picked scepters of others, or in you ways to borrow models or copied. You are you and only you. When someone comes to bullfighting as well, we're not going to see but for the first time seeing the light of another appearance. A chair? What chair? Is there decent chairs which give room to your art bullfighter? A throne! who comes and knows commands without saying, knows it's the biggest no more need to sign the ownership of art in the face of the bull, and bloodless, well, bull and matador whole, there, five years assaults testing, here, a cloak that out of the oven, freshly made, the inspiration of the veronica. Let him who wants to answer: if that's what they call an average, What will be, God, a whole?
So, so, slowly, eternity, suspended in a low-flying, second hand of a tired God made calico. So, so ... A throne! Was there again that bullfighting cape? Who cares! A bullfighting was born and each time it is made. A bullfight is always unique and . Not even needed to be more prepared than ever, even walk on a roll, or put the fate of your hand: to know and say when it considers the genius-perhaps unknowingly-time. And it is done. Inimitable, therefore, that not even genius could do the same again. A chair? Any seat would be poor. A throne! And Morante. And after. And forever. And never
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