Elle sentait rudement bon marché.
Ce n'est pas ma faute, si, en écrivant, mon stylo se transforme en scalpel.
Je n'ai pas peur des mots, ce sont les mots qui ont peur de moi.
On ne se demande rien, de peur d'entendre ses propres réponses.
Ne me secouez pas. Je suis plein de larmes.
Ma vie est difficile parce que j'ai horreur du mensonge.
Ce n'est pas ma faute, si, en écrivant, mon stylo se transforme en scalpel.
© 2026 My French LLC
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