A lofty passage. With a writer, for
the moment. We were on the Lido, and
because the language of the body falls,
in order to approach the censorship,

the fatty substance and the time fulfills
a king, a certain psychic function, to
assume a more neglected one repressed,
the silence of enthusiasm. Like

the snail in his possession. We alone
profess devotion to the flower. Like
the state. The value of the body, would
explain the real perception of alarm.


The figure of the egg in an adult.
Behold, because the language is sometimes
bestowed upon the knee, before the dream,
in order to continue to descend.

In all. Suppose the two procedures for
the most ignoble of the Upper Nile,
the story of the world. The thoughts become
prolonged. The dreamer is a matter of

escape? Moreover, there remains the same
effect. The dead. The blood. The larva of
the world, in all. The dream. In saying yes.
According to the true sublime, repose.


Behind the ego is, according to
the little one, the smaller circle of
the contradictions, expectations, is
a worm. The mother lays her eggs in both.

The nymph. The lilies. That the most diverse
conditions of existence. We were forced
upon the word. The head, a friend, between
the symbolism of the wish. In both

again the movement is progressive. And,
the hand, in that condition. Often they
evince. The moment of the summer heats
arrive. In all the edge a parallel.


A more explicit knowledge of alarm.
In its formation. To assist the act,
the conversation of the world, the word
repressed. The dream. The figures, which remain

unrealized. The living. I observe
in April, they betray the knowledge of
the dream, the bottom of the bees, a worm.
In dream formation. Many other dreams

in its expression, as a mould. The word.
Her grub, the current of grandeur. The word.
The first in one organic whole, a king,
a worm. The tiny creature is decayed.


The feelings they engender; then the child
in this. The mother threatened him again,
before the dream remain unsolved. Sometimes,
again, against the circle. I collect

the grubs. The first. A beetle, said the dry
descriptions of the cage in which the child.
The scene in which the whole abdomen. They
contain the dead. In this. The use, between

the night, in two, a narrow well, a stage
in april, they afford the bees, a part
in our treatment of the way, the way
in which the child within. A shock, repose.


Texts chosen by the end-user and statistically analysed by Gnoetry0.2:
Mississippi Sheiks, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Blind Willie McTell, Blues Lyrics
Sigmund Freud, Dream Psychology
Longinus, On the Sublime
Jean Henri Fabre, The Glow-Worm and Other Beetles