Stendhal said that "The 'Love is like a fever. Born and off without the will you have a small part "but no reason about a basic parameter that missing from this analogy: the frequency. And in fact the fever takes a lot more often than not we fall in love, and it is not all that great pleasure as the bottom is falling in love. Basically love and fever have in common only the fact that intense levels can both lead to delirium. In short, with its maximum Stendhal has only given a little 'blue ink on tissue paper Baci Perugina, the ones that when they realized that they sell only on Valentine's Day, do their best to deny what they have always been (love ) inventing slogans like "a kiss, tell me what you want?", "a kiss just a kiss" and that soon will arrive at the drift of "A kiss can make it there by yourself" and "A kiss? Fuck. "
Love and fever are different, stop. And I love love (live originality!) Hate and fever. I hate to stay in bed to watch TV, I hate having to get up and change channel (and as the tv sucks I have to do constantly trying to divide among the various channels my continuing disappointment from rod-like grumpy old man who lacks only the bucket for sputazzi bed board) because I broke the remote control for a long time but since the tv it sucks (I had already written?) and not look at it, I had never been placed before the problem of changing channels. Studying? In bed I can not (outside instead ...). On one side use your elbows, put his back I do not have enough strength to hold his arms outstretched. Now all seen their dvd and nothing fancy going out to hire new ones. And so let him eat. Not for appetite, but for greed. Or why those who lovingly behind you, like you care when you were a child. With abundant breakfast (to cover the taste of Bisolvon lictus, that if you drink it alone irritates the larynx), lunch of risotto with white correct pounds of butter and cheese (which you call into strength!), Biscuits crumble on the pillow five in the afternoon (otherwise the paracetamol you pit your stomach!), and light dinners are made of slices of meat rich in spices (the iron puts you under, and then you have to eat otherwise the hole will Aulin your heart out). Well after five days of fever, your digestive system will have already applied for licenses to the brain to start his own and open a chain of pharmacies and food products. We stuffed with a sadistic pleasure when you have fever, almost that the more stuff you ingurgiti is best when it is not clear that the virus is from outside who came. And so comes from thinking you're in the middle of a huge criminal plan because of alliances between parents / girlfriends / wives apprehensive and flu bacteria, the latter with simple executors and the first principals far more ruthless. Cunning criminal masterminds who exploit the opportunity of your captivity between the sheets to enter the room without knocking, rummaging through your drawers looking for that medicine can not find and we do not know why he should be in the midst of your designs and themes of the first primary, only to exploit the futile quest to affirm with sadistic contempt that you are no longer a good boy and nice guy once, and that your disorder is unbearable, "which have to change." Violated both inside and in their living spaces, the fever ends up being a full-blown seizure, in which the show as docile as possible is the fastest way (some exceptions) for any solution. You, you face sickly and disturbed (to do that try to follow one after the other: Italy on the two men and women, friends and heritage) around you and hope that we soon tired of having a Cicciobello by scramble. Recalling that Stendhal when composing sentences for the home made chocolate umbra and signed with his real name Henri Bayle, said "The love is like a fever. Born and off only by virtue of the will of someone else who claims to love you "
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