Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=487716" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>False Lights, Termites, Stones</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">we are <br>to them<br>always<br>the image<br>of departure</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and so it<br>seems to<br>be, as <br>always, <br>sadness that<br>they smell<br>on our skin<br>our hair</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they imagine<br>bags and all<br>the stuff that<br>must be<br>there</div><div style="margin:10px 0">they hear<br>the sound of <br>buses honking<br>and waiting</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>they like to<br>close the<br>doors of the<br>house<br>and see to<br>it that all<br>windows <br>are closed</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>what they always<br>see in us<br>is the look of<br>misery<br>of time wasted<br>of <br>dripping water<br>that <br>dries the moment<br>it meets<br>an arid<br>soil</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>i sigh to all <br>these<br>wrong notions<br>but i only<br>have silence<br>to offer<br>before their<br>altars</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>they are not gods<br>and i guess<br>tomorrow <br>early morning<br>i simply<br>have to destroy <br>them</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>these plasters of<br>Paris<br>these cranky<br>obsolete<br>stones<br>these false lights<br>termites and<br>pests of <br>my wooden world</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=487716" data-title="False Lights, Termites, Stones de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="we are 
to them
always
the image
of departure

and so it
seems to
be, as 
always, 
sadness that
they smell
on our skin
our hair

they imagine
bags and all
the stuff that
must be
there

they hear
the sound of 
buses honking
and waiting


they like ..."></div>
</div>
</div>