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what time did you say?
May. 23rd, 2007 12:18 amAnd lo, a parcel that I had been waiting for turned up at work, as it had been redirected to do, and new manga from amazon.fr was mine.
And lo, I sorely wished that the front cover of Angyo Onshi volume 13 had a slightly more fully dressed heroine upon it.
Oh well. It could have been worse. I managed to transfer the volume of Requiem: Le Couvent Des Soeurs De Sang from unwrapped parcel to my bag before any of my coworkers got a decent look at it. (Are you still reading those,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
copperbird? They're still a very good read.)
Is there anything actually wrong with an early night? Let's rephrase that. Since when did I start considering this time of night to be "early"? For too long, probably.
I need to know what Szayel's release is. (Bleach reference, for the possibly confused or gutter-minded.) Hopefully tomorrow's chapter will have some details.
---
A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed, with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: 'Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here.' He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash.
Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories.
Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash - one really begins to hate him.
-- The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, translated by Ivan Morris
And lo, I sorely wished that the front cover of Angyo Onshi volume 13 had a slightly more fully dressed heroine upon it.
Oh well. It could have been worse. I managed to transfer the volume of Requiem: Le Couvent Des Soeurs De Sang from unwrapped parcel to my bag before any of my coworkers got a decent look at it. (Are you still reading those,
copperbird? They're still a very good read.)Is there anything actually wrong with an early night? Let's rephrase that. Since when did I start considering this time of night to be "early"? For too long, probably.
I need to know what Szayel's release is. (Bleach reference, for the possibly confused or gutter-minded.) Hopefully tomorrow's chapter will have some details.
---
A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed, with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: 'Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here.' He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash.
Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories.
Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash - one really begins to hate him.
-- The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, translated by Ivan Morris
