Bob Briggs went in for Government,
And helps to run the State;
Some day they say he'll represent
His party in debate:
But with punk politics his job,
I do not envy Bob.
Jim Jones went in for writing books,
Best sellers were his aim;
He's ten years younger than he looks,
And licks the heels of Fame:
Though shop-girls make a fuss of him
I do not envy Jim.
Joe Giles went in for grabbing gold,
And grovelled in the dirt;
He, too, looks prematurely old,
His gastric ulcers hurt:
Although he has a heap of dough.
I do not envy Joe.
I've neither fame nor power nor wealth,
I fish and hunt for food;
But I have heaps of rugged health,
And life seems mighty good.
So when my class-mates come to spend
A week-end in my shack,
With lake and wood at journey's end
--They envy Jack.
- Robert Service
(and anything's righter
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one
one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
around we go who)
one's everyanything so
so world is a leaf is a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
around again fly)
forever was never till now
now i love you and you love me
(and books are shutter
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we
we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one
- e.e. cummings
Deus poderos, senher si a vos platz
Al meu companh siatz fizels aju da
Qu'eu non lo vi, pos la noitz fon venguda
Et ades sera l'alba!
Bel companho, si dormetz o veillatz?
Non dormatz plus, suau vos ressidatz
Qu'en orien vei l'estela creguda
Qu'amenal jorn, qu'eu l'ai ben coneguda
Et ades sera l'alba!
Bel dos companh, tan sui en ric sojorn
Qu'eu no volgra mais fos alba ni jorn
Car la gensor que anc nasques de maire
Tenc e abras, per qu'eu non prezi gaire
Lo fol gilos ni l'alba
- Giraut de Bornelh
(versões ouvidas: Els Trobadors / Mediaeval Babes / René Clemencic Consort)
My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby , you fool!
Before today my body was useless.
Now it's tearing at its square corners.
It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot
and see -- Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.
Zing! A resurrection!
Once it was a boat, quite wooden
and with no business, no salt water under it
and in need of some paint. It was no more
than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her.
She's been elected.
My nerves are turned on. I hear them like
musical instruments. Where there was silence
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped
- Anne Sexton
alba (plural albas)
alba f. (plural albes)
alba (stem alb-*)
- An alb; a long white gown worn in various Christian ceremonies by the priest or the parishioners, esp. in a confirmation by the people who are being confirmed.
alba f. (plural albe)
 Derived terms
 See also
- nominative feminine singular of albus
- nominative neuter plural of albus
- accusative neuter plural of albus
- vocative feminine singular of albus
- vocative neuter plural of albus
- ablative feminine singular of albus
 Old High German
From a Pre-Indo-European *alb-, ‘mountain’
alba m. (plural albas)
 Derived terms
- definite feminine singular nominative form of alb.
- definite feminine singular accusative form of alb.
alba f. (plural albas)
- feminine singular of albo
Friedrich Nietzsche, in 'Humano, Demasiado Humano'
Prova: assalto camuflado que ao fim de 8 segundos (sim, estou a escrever enquanto o provo) se desfaz em folhas de chá, tabaco e demais evergreens. Na garganta demarca terra batida com rochas metamórficas e maresia suave, escondida.
Final: não muito longo, intenso de madeira (nogueira) velha a evanescer com sensação de traineiras acostadas no molhe.
Prova realizada sem água. Amanhã, com três gotas, e depois com um dedo inteiro. Prevê-se um espírito que abra para tons verdes e submersos.
Depois da prova já temos jantar marcado :)
Foamfollower's question caught him wandering. "Are you a storyteller, Thomas Covenant?"
Absently, he replied, "I was, once."
"And you gave it up? Ah, that is as sad a tale in three words as any you might have told me. But a life without a tale is like a sea without salt. How do you live?"
Covenant folded his arms across the gunwales and rested his chin on them. As the boat moved, Andelain opened constantly in front of him like a bud; but he ignored it, concentrated instead on the plaint of water past the prow. Unconsciously, he clenched his fist over his ring. "I live."
Há-de haver sessão de fotos.
Vieram memórias que hão-de subsistir muito além desta inevitável senescência.