"The Pig
here I paint the picture of the Pig. 
is a solid beast and all of a piece, seamless and no neck, it rushes forward like a plowshare. jolting on its four stubby hams, it's a mistake running that quest, and any smell that smell, applying the pump body, he eats. What if he has found the hole he must, he wallows with enormity. This is not the waggle of a duck that comes with water, this is not the joy of sociable dog is a joy deep, lonely, conscious, full. He sniffs, sips it, taste it, and no one knows if he drinks or eats it-all round, with a little thrill, he advances and penetrates the fat in the fresh mud, and he growls, he has into the recesses of his tripe, he winks. Amateur deep, although the unit still share its smell leaves nothing to lose, his tastes do not go to perfumes passengers flowers or fruit frivolous in all it looks for food: he loves her rich, powerful, mature and his instinct clip these two things, fundamental earth, filth.
Gourmand lecher! if I present this model, admit it: something is missing to your satisfaction. Neither does the body is sufficient unto itself, nor the doctrine he teaches us is futile. "Applies point to the truth the eye alone, but all without reserve that is yourself. "Happiness is our duty and our heritage. Some possession, perfect is given. - but as one that gives to Aeneas omens, the encounter of a sow always seems augury, a political emblem. His side is darker than the hills seen through the rain, and when she goes to bed, giving drink to the battalion which piglets running between the legs, it seems the very image of those mountains that milk the village clusters attached to their torrents, no less no less massive and deformed. I will not skip the pig's blood used to secure the gold. is a solid beast and all of a piece, seamless and no neck, it rushes forward like a plowshare. jolting on its four stubby hams, it's a mistake running that quest, and any smell that smell, applying the pump body, he eats. What if he has found the hole he must, he wallows with enormity. This is not the waggle of a duck that comes with water, this is not the joy of sociable dog is a joy deep, lonely, conscious, full. He sniffs, sips it, taste it, and no one knows if he drinks or eats it-all round, with a little thrill, he advances and penetrates the fat in the fresh mud, and he growls, he has into the recesses of his tripe, he winks. Amateur deep, although the unit still share its smell leaves nothing to lose, his tastes do not go to perfumes passengers flowers or fruit frivolous in all it looks for food: he loves her rich, powerful, mature and his instinct clip these two things, fundamental earth, filth. Paul Claudel, "The Pig" Knowledge
Eastern
. "
Text surprising, to pay in terms of our progress on the issue of life. Study scheduled class.
