Sem título #378

I know people like this!

Sem título #377

If you don't need to get out, stay in :-)

Palavras lidas #642

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Sem título #376

Time travel expectations...

Coisas que não mudam #719

Quick visits / Visitas breves

Palavras lidas #641

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Ditto #634

Nothing is more properly a man's own than the fruit of his study, and the protection and security of literary property would greatly tend to encourage genius and to promote useful discoveries.

--Copyright petition to the Continental Congress in 1783

Coisas que não mudam #718

Happy Halloween!

Sem título #375

The comfort of plushies!

Cores de Outono #126

Manhã sem sol, mas com bastante cor!

Parece que estou a ouvir #509

Xico

Luísa Sobral

Já passaram dois anos e tal
E do Xico nem sinal
Há quem diga que emigrou
Há quem diga que encontrou
Uma brasileira que não está nada mal

E a Dolores todos os dias o espera
Com a sopa ao lume e o prato do costume
Finge não ouvir a vizinhança
E pede a Deus um pouco mais de esperança

Ó Xico, Ó Xico onde te foste meter?
Ó Xico, Ó Xico não me faças mais sofrer

Desde pequena Dolores sonha em encontrar
Um português com olhos cor de mar
Ninguém entendia o porquê da maluqueira
Que tinha pelo outro lado da fronteira

Conheceu o Xico em Almerimar
E logo ali decidiram casar
Dolores levou o essencial
A velha caixa de costura e o avental

Ó Xico, Ó Xico onde te foste meter?
Ó Xico, Ó Xico não me faças mais sofrer

Viveram dez anos sem igual
Ninguém previa tal final
Agora diz Dolores com lamento
"De Espanha nem bom vento nem bom casamento"

Ó Xico, Ó Xico onde te foste meter?
Ó Xico, mi chico não me faças mais
No me hagas más não me faças mais sofrer

Cores de Outono #125

Uma semana e

um sol de diferença

Cores de Outono #124

Cores mais fortes sob o sol de Outono

Sem título #373

That silent worker... the liver :-)

Cores de Outono #123

Um chão de folhas