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Poetry by Betty No, the angels did not run out Of paint when coloring my skin Rectification is paramount Since all my life I have been Unique in my way, yet no misfit. For my worth extends far beyond What you’ve known, what you’ve seen. And in my oneness, I belong To the big picture of humanity. Rich and heterogeneous. You might call my angels clumsy But to me, they were generous To wrap me in a pattern That only God could duplicate. Singular piece of a big puzzle, The space

In Thanks for the Memories by Cecilia Ahern, the novel follows the life of Joyce Conway after a divorce and a life-changing blood transfusion.

Did the salesman's death teach us anything?

Désillusion et découverte de soi. La mue des amours est une quête en soi.

The only self-help book that is allowed to tell me what to do.

A work of poetry about the wind and what it takes with it.

Poetry by Betty and Thomy Il passe sans attendre personne Rapprochant les uns, Eloignant les autres; Ses raisons sont sans doute bonnes... Guérissant certaines blessures En apportant des réponses, Son fil est une drôle de mesure Quelquefois porteur de chance. Parfait en lui-même Il s’auto-complète, Nous comble de nos pertes; Nul n’en reste indemne. Il nous rappelle toujours combien Étant limité, il nous est compté. Une loi stricte que nul n’enfreint, Cycle incessant au coeur

At the rise of fame, Gwynplaine shamelessly chose his dignity.

Starting the year on a positive note, My Wish for You is that you bloom.

An ode to the moon in the most romantic language

An ode to this beautiful vessel of flesh. Have you hugged yourself today?

Not quite like the mormons, somehow more entertaining.

A scandal that almost wrecked a happy (happy?) family. But what did we really expect from Marc-Antoine?

Women give life, women teach, women guide, women live, women love.

What if? What if... your neighbour had it worse?

I'd like to see it as a murder for some Louboutins, but the purists would probably stone me.