Look at that, - [best motivational books of all time .TXT] 📗
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- I said, some do, jeez! It’s human nature, after all, isn’t it?
Change it to, for a more realistic effect, “every once in a while”.
Enough already. Who are you, that writer, Tatsopoulos, who boasted of having gone to bed with half of Athens’ female population?
Simos Panopoulos - Look at that
208
Alexandratou, and she was not the only one, assumed that in this collection of his, Kalambakas reached the Alexandria Eschate59 of his writing talent. Not that from that point on he did not write – though, where would he find the time to do so when social media alone took up five hours in a row a day; when his gray matter was consumed on giving interviews ad nause-am, feuding in vivo on TV studios, reacting with pleas pro domo to malicious attacks ad hominem, a fortiori, and ad personam, ruminating in petto over the absence of critiques; when he was seen more and more in plac-es which in the beginning he would frequent less and less, surrounded by people with whom he previous-ly never socialized, answered questions he had never been asked with words he had never pronounced, and generally did things that he never used to do before, and all those that he used to do he could no longer do anymore, nor could he say all that he used to say and listen to all that he used to listen. Not that no matter what he wrote could not be published, and no matter what was published of his would not be read. On the contrary, he was both read and adored and for being
59 Alexandria Eschate, literally “Alexandria the Furthest”, was a city founded by Alexander the Great, at the south-west-ern end of the Fergana Valley in August 329 BCE. It was the most northerly outpost of the Greek Empire in Central Asia.
I’m worried that others might have come up with this whole Latin trick too so take it out.
Simos Panopoulos - Look at that
209
adored, whatever he wrote anew was published and would continue to be published uncritically and for life thanks to the indolence and inertia so typical of the readers. Who, lest, god forbid, they break a sweat to penetrate the world of a writer unknown to them, were willing to fork out the twelve something euros for the sequel from the one familiar to them, whose previous ones had successfully passed the test of last year’s vacation, had kept them
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