January 2012
Lenine, em “PACIÊNCIA”
“If someone here told me to write a book on morality, it would have a hundred...”
– Albert Camus - Notebooks (via thejuvenilia)
Lena Horne, in “NOBODY KNOWS THE TROUBLES...
SOLTANDO PIPA, TOMANDO SOPA
SOLTANDO PIPA, TOMANDO SOPA ___________________________________ Gente, estou vendo muito bate-boca por causa da PIPA / SOPA, mas esses ajustes são naturais no processo evolutivo das tecnologias e das interações sociais, e depois de um tempo tudo se assenta naturalmente, com as inevitáveis baixas em ambos os lados. O problema é que todo mundo quer se passar por “antenado” e vem com...
“Nenhuma lágrima é digna da tua força
por que tua partida acena com ares de...”
– Poema “Lágrimas Petrificadas”, de Marcelo Sousa.
“Books aren’t made in the way that babies are: they are made like pyramids....”
– Gustave Flaubert (via planb-becomeapirate)
tranquilheart:
Hurt | Johnny Cash
I hurt...
“Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories...”
– Neil Gaiman, Smoke and Mirrors (via halfstrippedtrees)
December 2011
Californian With an M.B.A. Follows His Heart to... →
An American with a nickname that translates as “Sir Whiteboy” chases fame in Rio de Janeiro’s gritty periphery as a singer and a composer of Brazilian funk.
“Hello Darkness My Old Friend” by...
James Brown | Santa Claus Go Straight To The...
November 2011
“We remember the time around scars.”
– Michael Ondaatje, from “The Time Around Scars” (via mythologyofblue)
Jorge Benjor | Chove Chuva
Chimarruts | ‘Versos Simples’
“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us...”
– Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment (via halfstrippedtrees)
October 2011
Simon & Garfunkel | “Hello Darkness My...
Eartha Kitt | “Ne Me Quitte Pas”
S.O.A.D. | “Chop Suey”
George Harrison | My Sweet Lord
[Lembranças reais e imaginárias de um herói e... →
“Não soube compreender coisa alguma! Devia tê-la julgado pelos atos, não pelas...”
– O Pequeno Príncipe (via pequenos-retalhos)
Existentialist Shakespeare
fuckyeahexistentialism:
Macbeth, V.v.24-28
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
6 tags
September 2011
5 tags
The Art of Drowning: L'adieu →
art-of-drowning:
nous sommes revenus à notre origine. Ce fut le lieu de l’évidence, mais déchirée. Les fenêtres mêlaient trop de lumières, Les escaliers gravissaient trop d’étoiles Qui sont des arches qui s’effondrent, des gravats, Le feu semblait brûler dans un autre monde.
Et maintenant des oiseaux volent de…
