fairy tales. children’s tales. love of all things Disney. made childhood better. millions of tales throughout the world in every country, region, religion, community. tales bring lessons to life and make the imagination better.
Tales from the dark side… oooh scary. Veggie tales… mind numbing.
Homophones… tales/tails. Prehensile tails… did we come from apes? Sometimes my husband makes me believe we did.
I’ve heard many tales before, but THIS one took the cake. I’m seriously thinking about having her committed to the asylum one day. Woman is completely insane, I swear. Ugh, now I have to find some way to cleanse that load of BS from my mind.
Tales. Tails. Slugs, snakes and puppy dog tales. this is what makes a man. Their tails and tales run the world. How ’bout making room for a girl. though without a tail they have their tales.
Tales of fear,
tales of love,
tales of adventure,
tails on pussycats,
or rather cattails,
all whimsical odd things,
but in then don’t listen to them.
Because remember
they’re just tall tales.
It’s not always lying when you tell tales. If you really look at what someone is saying they may not be telling you truth, but they may be telling you what they wished had happened and that tells you a lot about a person. Look at lies enough and you start to see the shape of where the truth should be.
There once was a fairy that couldnt fly, so she sat all alone in her tree stump house without any friends. One day she met another fairy walking along the road and found he could not fly either so they fell in love and lived happily ever after
Oh the tales i could tell you! The one that could move your soul. Tales filled with tragedy, misery and woe. Ones dazzling, spectacular, deceitful to the minds eye. But listen up, none of those are the tale of I.
I think of Furries. I wonder if I know anyone who is secretly a furry. Seems like something you would keep a secret. I should create a character who is secretly a furry. I could watch a documentary on them to research. My brother-in–law and I love documentaries.
They told tales of long ago. Tales that took you away to far away places. When you heard these tales you almost always wished you were inside them to live their wonderful adventures.
Tales from long long ago the wispers of long forgotten deeds or valour and heroism some greater then others some of evil but all apart of us our elders pass them down but a bored youth do not take notice of their old tales they have new interests that do not involve them
This is the tale of a man. This man I have only seen once or twice in my entire life, but I knew he was special. He didn’t seem so, with his long trench coat and his bright blue eyes, but if you looked carefully, you could see the shadows of his wings on the pavement.
Emma Swan was tired of tales. Fairytales, to be specific. Ever since her son had shown up on her doorstep, her life had revolved around the stories– the stories of her parents, her friends, and even herself. For a girl that could never rely on the false hope that fairytales offered, it was more than a little nauseating. And now that she had broken the curse, keeping all the pieces of the broken endings together had taken up most of her energy. Most, but not all. The Sheriff had just enough left in her by the end of the day to find herself tangled in the sheets of the one person she never should have gotten this far with. Regina Mills was the one person Emma should not find solace in, yet was the only one that could give it to her. Every night as she snuck out of Mary Margaret’s apartment, as she kissed Henry on his forehead, as she ignored the persistent warning that this was a horrible situation, she promised herself it would be the last time. But it never was. And she knew that if it kept up much longer, it would begin to turn into something else. Something more. Something involving feelings, which frightened Emma to her very core. She made people think that she was closed off and let herself love very rarely, but the truth was that she loved too much. She knew if she let her burgeoning feelings for Regina present themselves, even in the sweaty post-coital bliss that was found under Regina’s sheets, neither of them would be able to handle it. They would lash out, things would end, and there would no longer be anything anchoring Emma to reality, to sanity. And the worst part of all was that either way, Emma would not be getting a happy ending. Then again, she never thought she was meant to.
Ducktales is such a good Nintendo game. I recently listened to a Nintendo music compilation, and the ducktales was a catchy, well-done composition. I played the crap out of that game. Transylvania, the himilyasa. I still think that the 2-D nature of old-school Nintendo creates games that are unsurpassed to this day.
ink used to run down the palms of my hands as I tried to keep up with how the words flowed in my head. tales were woven out of damsels in distress looking for their prince, and there I was, trying to immortalize impossible scenes. and maybe it was no surprise that the tales soon vanished into thin air.
She wrapped her shawl tigher around her shoulders against the wind. It was freezing out, but it was worth it, in the end, she knew. Her feet plodded on in the direction of the old inn, knowing that Old Man Jensen would be there, telling his tales. And no doubt, Howard, the ruffian, would join in with his conspiracy theories. It would be wonderful to listen to. Something to do besides freeze.
She wanted to eat ice cream so badly. The thought of the pint of almond encrusted, chocolate flavored mush in the fridge drove her crazy, like a shark driven by a frenzy of bloodlust. Yet she could not keep her eyes off the brightly lit computer screen that displayed her favorite cartoon.
The tales were told to those that would listen. They were of a time very long ago, when the world was different. When people were different as well. They served to give guidance to anyone who sought it. There was lots to learn in those tales, and they were as relevant today as they were all those years ago.
there are lots of interesting tales.Some are very long and boring others are complete lies. Some tales we tell are unkind. I think being a tale teller can be both dangerous and great, don’t you?
These are the tales she learned in school. Even though there were subjects she didn’t like, or ones she was rubbish at, she knew she’d have to fiddle them away for later. And now it was a case of life and death.
Tales are stories told by small children to keep themselves entertained. these often become complex and imaginative games and scenarios of magical worlds inside the minds of our most innocent soul
a ilittle girl slept soundly each niight, thorugh the fights of her parents, through the breaking of glasses, thoruhg the hatred she had from everyone, by a special book that told tales and started with once upon a time and ended, they all lived happily ever after … h
Tales of three little pigs, or three bears, or rocket ships sailing to distant planets are what my boy wants now, seemingly past the sweet tunes and lullabies that soothed him in the past. Digging deep into the reaches of memory to find the stories that lull him to sleep and peaceful dreams.
fairy tales. children’s tales. love of all things Disney. made childhood better. millions of tales throughout the world in every country, region, religion, community. tales bring lessons to life and make the imagination better.
Tales from the dark side… oooh scary. Veggie tales… mind numbing.
Homophones… tales/tails. Prehensile tails… did we come from apes? Sometimes my husband makes me believe we did.
story
biography
adventurues story
bed time story
auto biography
chapter book
unfortunate
I’ve heard many tales before, but THIS one took the cake. I’m seriously thinking about having her committed to the asylum one day. Woman is completely insane, I swear. Ugh, now I have to find some way to cleanse that load of BS from my mind.
The tales are all fairy. The tales are not true. Who but I wish they where and they were here with me now.
Tales. Tails. Slugs, snakes and puppy dog tales. this is what makes a man. Their tails and tales run the world. How ’bout making room for a girl. though without a tail they have their tales.
Tales of fear,
tales of love,
tales of adventure,
tails on pussycats,
or rather cattails,
all whimsical odd things,
but in then don’t listen to them.
Because remember
they’re just tall tales.
It’s not always lying when you tell tales. If you really look at what someone is saying they may not be telling you truth, but they may be telling you what they wished had happened and that tells you a lot about a person. Look at lies enough and you start to see the shape of where the truth should be.
There once was a fairy that couldnt fly, so she sat all alone in her tree stump house without any friends. One day she met another fairy walking along the road and found he could not fly either so they fell in love and lived happily ever after
Story, animals, old stories, myths, fake, story time, fairytales
i think about all the stories my uncle used to tell me when i was little and the stories he told me before he died
Fairy tales. Grimm brothers. Rapunzel. Sleeping beauty. Snow White. Sherek. Fairies. Witches. Witch craft. Glitter. Death. Princesses. Crowns. Kings and queens. 3 little pigs.
Oh the tales i could tell you! The one that could move your soul. Tales filled with tragedy, misery and woe. Ones dazzling, spectacular, deceitful to the minds eye. But listen up, none of those are the tale of I.
I think of Furries. I wonder if I know anyone who is secretly a furry. Seems like something you would keep a secret. I should create a character who is secretly a furry. I could watch a documentary on them to research. My brother-in–law and I love documentaries.
A little story you call a “tale” could also be seen as a lie.
They told tales of long ago. Tales that took you away to far away places. When you heard these tales you almost always wished you were inside them to live their wonderful adventures.
Heads, tales. Dragon tales. Tall tales, fairy tales. Berry melts, hairy gels <<<<<epic fails.
Tales on tales, males have tails, bails with no tails. Tales tales tales.
I don’t really know what to write..
Tales from long long ago the wispers of long forgotten deeds or valour and heroism some greater then others some of evil but all apart of us our elders pass them down but a bored youth do not take notice of their old tales they have new interests that do not involve them
This is the tale of a man. This man I have only seen once or twice in my entire life, but I knew he was special. He didn’t seem so, with his long trench coat and his bright blue eyes, but if you looked carefully, you could see the shadows of his wings on the pavement.
Stories from a long long time ago.
Emma Swan was tired of tales. Fairytales, to be specific. Ever since her son had shown up on her doorstep, her life had revolved around the stories– the stories of her parents, her friends, and even herself. For a girl that could never rely on the false hope that fairytales offered, it was more than a little nauseating. And now that she had broken the curse, keeping all the pieces of the broken endings together had taken up most of her energy. Most, but not all. The Sheriff had just enough left in her by the end of the day to find herself tangled in the sheets of the one person she never should have gotten this far with. Regina Mills was the one person Emma should not find solace in, yet was the only one that could give it to her. Every night as she snuck out of Mary Margaret’s apartment, as she kissed Henry on his forehead, as she ignored the persistent warning that this was a horrible situation, she promised herself it would be the last time. But it never was. And she knew that if it kept up much longer, it would begin to turn into something else. Something more. Something involving feelings, which frightened Emma to her very core. She made people think that she was closed off and let herself love very rarely, but the truth was that she loved too much. She knew if she let her burgeoning feelings for Regina present themselves, even in the sweaty post-coital bliss that was found under Regina’s sheets, neither of them would be able to handle it. They would lash out, things would end, and there would no longer be anything anchoring Emma to reality, to sanity. And the worst part of all was that either way, Emma would not be getting a happy ending. Then again, she never thought she was meant to.
Grandfather smiled into the smoldering embers. Aubrey leaned against his rough overalls and listened to the tales of his youth.
I like tales, because, it’s a fantasy source. This is a refuge asylum for my mind, where I can get my energy. I enjoy tales.
all that is needed conveya truth.
Ducktales is such a good Nintendo game. I recently listened to a Nintendo music compilation, and the ducktales was a catchy, well-done composition. I played the crap out of that game. Transylvania, the himilyasa. I still think that the 2-D nature of old-school Nintendo creates games that are unsurpassed to this day.
ink used to run down the palms of my hands as I tried to keep up with how the words flowed in my head. tales were woven out of damsels in distress looking for their prince, and there I was, trying to immortalize impossible scenes. and maybe it was no surprise that the tales soon vanished into thin air.
By the time they were done telling their tales my ears had become deaf. My brain had felt as if it had melted and had flooded through my ears.
She wrapped her shawl tigher around her shoulders against the wind. It was freezing out, but it was worth it, in the end, she knew. Her feet plodded on in the direction of the old inn, knowing that Old Man Jensen would be there, telling his tales. And no doubt, Howard, the ruffian, would join in with his conspiracy theories. It would be wonderful to listen to. Something to do besides freeze.
Tales Of Mere Existence:
She wanted to eat ice cream so badly. The thought of the pint of almond encrusted, chocolate flavored mush in the fridge drove her crazy, like a shark driven by a frenzy of bloodlust. Yet she could not keep her eyes off the brightly lit computer screen that displayed her favorite cartoon.
ιστοριες ομορφεσ απο γιαγια και παπου που εχουν να σου πουν κατι για τη ζωη σε ταξιδευουν και σε χαλαρωνουν
The tales were told to those that would listen. They were of a time very long ago, when the world was different. When people were different as well. They served to give guidance to anyone who sought it. There was lots to learn in those tales, and they were as relevant today as they were all those years ago.
there are lots of interesting tales.Some are very long and boring others are complete lies. Some tales we tell are unkind. I think being a tale teller can be both dangerous and great, don’t you?
These are the tales she learned in school. Even though there were subjects she didn’t like, or ones she was rubbish at, she knew she’d have to fiddle them away for later. And now it was a case of life and death.
From my childhood I have always had a fascination towards the tales of Akbar and Birbal.
On carnival days, we told tales before leaving. Uncle Henry had the best, about what it was like when he was a boy. When his brother was still alive.
We dressed well, we dressed warmly, and set off across the foothills, straining to hear the carnival music in the trees. We were so close.
It wasn’t until we arrived that we found out all the tales were true, even the one about Uncle Henry’s brother. Most especially that one.
Tales are stories told by small children to keep themselves entertained. these often become complex and imaginative games and scenarios of magical worlds inside the minds of our most innocent soul
fairy tales. huh? what do you mean, “tales”? are tales the lies people tell to small kids to give them nightmares? are they the truth?
a ilittle girl slept soundly each niight, thorugh the fights of her parents, through the breaking of glasses, thoruhg the hatred she had from everyone, by a special book that told tales and started with once upon a time and ended, they all lived happily ever after … h
Tales of three little pigs, or three bears, or rocket ships sailing to distant planets are what my boy wants now, seemingly past the sweet tunes and lullabies that soothed him in the past. Digging deep into the reaches of memory to find the stories that lull him to sleep and peaceful dreams.