I can't believe that I'm writing this down
I can't believe I've got you in a song
I don't want to be a whining girl I'd rather not be in your world
segunda-feira, 31 de maio de 2010
Today I walked into the sunset – to mail some letters -... But some way or other I didn’t seem to like the redness much so after I mailed the letters I walked home – and kept walking - The Eastern sky was all grey blue – bunches of clouds – different kinds of clouds – sticking around everywhere and the whole thing – lit up – first in one place – then in another with flashes of lightning – sometimes just sheet lightning – and some times sheet lightning with a sharp bright zigzag flashing across it -. I walked out past the last house – past the last locust tree – and sat on the fence for a long time – looking – just looking at – the lightning – you see there was nothing but sky and flat prairie land – land that seems more like the ocean than anything else I know – There was a wonderful moon. Well I just sat there and had a great time by myself – Not even many night noises – just the wind -... I wondered what you were doing - It is absurd the way I love this country – Then when I came back – it was funny – roads just shoot across blocks anywhere – all the houses looked alike – and I almost got lost – I had to laugh at myself – I couldn’t tell which house was home - I am loving the plains more than ever it seems – and the SKY – Anita you have never seen the SKY – it is wonderful –
Georgia O'Keeffe, Canyon, Texas, letter to Anita Pollitzer, September 11, 1916
domingo, 30 de maio de 2010
quinta-feira, 27 de maio de 2010
quarta-feira, 26 de maio de 2010
terça-feira, 25 de maio de 2010
segunda-feira, 24 de maio de 2010
But there was nothing of an ascetic's expression in her bright full eyes, as she looked before her, not consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of her mood, the solemn glory of the afternoon with its long swathes of light betweeen the far-off rows of limes, whose shadows touched each other.
All people, young or old (that is, all people in those ante-reform times), would have thought her an interesting object if they had referred the glow in her eyes and cheeks to the newly-awakened ordinary images of young love.
Middlemarch, George Eliot
sexta-feira, 21 de maio de 2010
quinta-feira, 20 de maio de 2010
quarta-feira, 19 de maio de 2010
terça-feira, 18 de maio de 2010
segunda-feira, 17 de maio de 2010
domingo, 16 de maio de 2010
sábado, 15 de maio de 2010
sexta-feira, 14 de maio de 2010
quinta-feira, 13 de maio de 2010
Termina o dia. O melro, a mulher e as sombras repartem
entre si o que resta. Ela dança, a preparar a mesa,
como em redor de Vesta. O melro, a olhar o sol vago,
escolhe a folhagem densa para cumprir o destino.
Ociosas, as sombras perseguem gestos e as formas.
entre si o que resta. Ela dança, a preparar a mesa,
como em redor de Vesta. O melro, a olhar o sol vago,
escolhe a folhagem densa para cumprir o destino.
Ociosas, as sombras perseguem gestos e as formas.
Memorando de umas sombras, Fiama Hasse Pais Brandão
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