Cores de Outono #78

Sunset is more colorful in Autumn

O pôr-do-sol é mais colorido no Outono

Cores de Outono #77

Contrast

Coisas bonitas #49

Morning light

Palavras lidas #477

Pity the Beautiful
by Dana Gioia

Pity the beautiful,
the dolls, and the dishes,
the babes with big daddies
granting their wishes.

Pity the pretty boys,
the hunks, and Apollos,
the golden lads whom
success always follows.

The hotties, the knock-outs,
the tens out of ten,
the drop-dead gorgeous,
the great leading men.

Pity the faded,
the bloated, the blowsy,
the paunchy Adonis
whose luck’s gone lousy.

Pity the gods,
no longer divine.
Pity the night
the stars lose their shine.

Cores de Outono #76

 Jardim colorido

Ditto #456

Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.

--Simone Weil

Cores de Outono #75

Heightened colors

Sem título #136

 

Caprichos #618

 Casa Fenoglio-Lafleur, Turin

(for some reason I missed September in September...)

Sem título #135

 Kitties know...

Caprichos #617

 Almoço de jantarinhos

Palavras lidas #476

BLT
by Barbara Crooker

Enjoy every sandwich.
—Warren Zevon, talking with David Letterman about his terminal
lung cancer shortly before his death.

Here’s how to make a great sandwich:
country white bread lightly toasted,
contoured with mayonnaise, leaf
lettuce spilling over the borders,
overlays of tomatoes, train tracks
of bacon leading straight
out of town. No need for road
maps, potato chips, or pickles.
Yes, winter is waiting, just over
the horizon. But right now, I’m
going to sit in the sun and listen
to birdsong. I’m going to eat
every crumb, every plottable
coordinate, now, while I can.

Cores de Outono #74

Vibrant

Caprichos #616

 Who would have thought that Leicester could surprise?

Retirado do contexto #281

 A cat on a donut

Ditto #455

First keep peace with yourself, then you can also bring peace to others.

--Saint Thomas Kempis (c. 1380-1471)

Sem título #134

Sweet gestures

Coisas que não mudam #556

On the day of Saint Francis, the patron saint of animals, a phrase of the saint:

"If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men"

Em dia de São Francisco, patrono dos animais, fica uma frase do santo:

"Homens que excluem as criaturas de Deus do abrigo da compaixão e da piedade, farão o mesmo com os seus semelhantes"

Foi neste dia #365 (1990)

Há 30 anos ao bater da meia noite concretizava-se a reunificação alemã quase um ano depois da queda do muro de Berlim em Novembro de 1989. Hoje, ainda há diferenças visíveis até em imagens de satélite.

Palavras lidas #475

Somebody’s Mother
by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go.”
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she’s poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away.”
“Somebody’s mother” bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”

Ditto #454

When you are courting a nice girl, an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder, a second seems like an hour. That’s relativity.

--Albert Einstein

Sem título #133

Parasite species...

Coisas bonitas #48

And how beautiful they are / E lindas que são

Foi neste dia #364 (1066)

954 years ago, William the Duke of Normandy (later known as William the Conqueror) landed in Southeast England starting the Norman Invasion. Apparently a standard question in the "Live in the UK" test for people applying to resident or citizen status is When was this country last invaded. The option to choose is 1066!

Há 954, William duque da Normandia (conhecido na história como o conquistador) chegou ao sudeste da Inglaterra começando a Invasão Normanda. Soube há pouco que uma das questões no teste "Viver no Reino Unido" para potenciais residentes ou cidadãos é Quando é que este país foi invadido pela última vez? A resposta a seleccionar é 1066!

Caprichos #615

 Salame!

Caprichos #614

And another / E outras

Cores de Outono #73

Ever changing colors!

Coisas bonitas #47

Bem marcado

Sem título #132

Caprichos #613

Thoughtful friends

Pormenores #162

The joys of a bee / Alegrias de uma abelha

Palavras lidas #474

From The Writer's Almanac today:

On this day in 1897, the world’s most famous, most reprinted newspaper editorial was published. Commonly known as the “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” column, the 416-word article replied to a letter from an eight-year-old New York City girl whose father deferred her question — “Is there a Santa Claus?” — by suggesting she ask the New York Sun. She did so, and on September 20 an editor at the paper handed it to reporter Francis Pharcellus Church with the request that he respond in the following day’s paper.

Church was a veteran newspaperman, having served as a war correspondent for The New York Times during the Civil War, and he was the son of the founder of the New York Chronicle. He dashed off his answer to little Virginia O’Hanlon anonymously, saying, “He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist and you know that they abound and give your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS.”

Virginia grew up at 115 W. 95th Street and she grew up to be a New York City schoolteacher, principal, and activist for children’s rights. As for Francis Church, the author of the editorial that has been translated into 20 languages in hundreds of other papers, books, movies, even postage stamps, because traditions holds that editorials are the “official” voice of the newspaper as a whole and not one singular opinion, he never received any recognition, let alone royalties, for his inspirational editorial. It was only after his death seven years later that Church was credited with its authorship.

Palavras lidas #473

Hug

by Ron Padgett

The older I get, the more I like hugging. When I was little, the people hugging me were much larger. In their grasp I was a rag doll. In adolescence, my body was too tense to relax for a hug. Later, after the loss of virginity—which was anything but a loss—the extreme proximity of the other person, the smell of hair, the warmth of the skin, the sound of breathing in the dark—these were mysterious and delectable. This hug had two primary components: the anticipation of sex and the pleasure of intimacy, which itself is a combination of trust and affection. It was this latter combination that came to characterize the hugging I have experienced only in recent years, a hugging that knows no distinctions of gender or age. When this kind of hug is mutual, for a moment the world is perfect the way it is, and the tears we shed for it are perfect too. I guess it is an embrace.

Ditto #453

There is one thing stronger than all the armies in the world: and that is an idea whose time has come.

--Victor Hugo

Cores de Outono #72

 Flores de Outono

Sem título #131

Summer in England is restricted to the little guy at the end...

Caprichos #612

 Dim sum at home... who would have thought!

Caprichos #611

Tesco's "perfectly imperfect" strawberries are

smaller, ripe and delicious... just perfect!

Cores de Outono #71

Another reminder that fall is already here

Outro lembrete que o outono já aqui está

Espantos #607

 Cat on a leash / Gato pela trela

Sem título #130

Everyone needs to hear this sometimes...

Palavras lidas #472

The Fairly Passionate Shepherd to His Love
by George Bilgere

Come live with me and be my unconditional love.
My feelings for you are unconditional.

The way I felt about those women in the past—
even Jill Davis—those feelings were conditional,
obviously. Otherwise, things would have worked out;
I’d still be with them, or at least one of them, right?

The condition with Jill was “let’s get married.”
I could overlook that for a while,
but in the long run it was a deal breaker.

Another woman—Kate—well, for about a year
it was unconditional. No strings attached.
Unconditional love like that is beautiful.

But it turned out there were a couple of conditions,
such as, “You need to get a job.” Like working
on my novel wasn’t “work.” And she did this thing,
this little clicking sound with her tongue
whenever I did something she didn’t approve of,
which was often. This became a condition.

But after a careful appraisal of my feelings for you
I can honestly say that at the present moment
I see no problematic or inhibiting conditions whatsoever.

All indicators point toward a positive outcome,
and therefore I am quite comfortable in advising you
to come live with me and be my unconditional love.

Ditto #452

The tragedy of growing old is not that one is old but that one is still young.

--Ruth Rendell

Pormenores #161

Bloomed out
 
but so beautiful!

Coisas bonitas #46

 Beautiful lilies / Lindos lírios (ou coroas imperiais)

Sem título #129

Oh weep you would!

Caprichos #610

Antes...

e depois.