A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart.
I am alone, and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like mine.
Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts.
Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean.
A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth.
When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane.
Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then she continued her way. On her way she met a copy.
It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.