PALAVRAS EMPRESTADAS 67

jdkldj
"Que nome te darei, austera imagem,
Que avisto já n'um angulo da estrada,
Quando me desmaiava a alma prostrada
Do cansaço e do tédio da viagem?
jdlkd
Em teus olhos vê a turba uma voragem,
Cobre o rosto e recua apavorada...
Mas eu confio em ti, sombra velada,
E cuido perceber tua linguagem...
dlkçld
Mais claros vejo, a cada passo, escritos,
Filha da noite, os lemas do Ideal,
Nos teus olhos profundos sempre fitos...
kdjlkd
Dormirei no teu seio inalterável,
Na comunhão da paz universal,
Morte libertadora e inviolável!"
Antero de Quental – Elogio da Morte – Soneto V
kfdçlf
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage 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 grieved 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."
Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
fldkjf
"To understand the living, you have to commune with the dead. But don't commune so much with the dead that you forget the living."
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil - Clint Eastwood
kfdçlf
"Every Friday buries a Thursday,if you come to look at it."
Ulisses - James Joyce
çlfkçldf
"- I am the ressurection and the life. That touches a man's inmost heart.
- It does, Mr Bloom said.
Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day. One fine day it gets burned up and there you are. Lots of them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth, Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure."
Ulisses - James Joyce