Olha para ti, que te quer?

The Telephone

'When I was just as far as I could walk
From here today,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head again a flower
I heard you talk.
Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say--
You spoke from that flower on the window sill-
Do you remember what it was you said?'

'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.'

'Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned on my head
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word--
What was it? Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say--
Someone said "Come" -- I heard it as I bowed.'

'I may have thought as much, but not aloud.'

"Well, so I came.'

Somente pela Arte Podemos Sair de Nós Mesmos

"Somente pela arte podemos sair de nós mesmos, saber o que um outro vê desse universo que não é o mesmo que o nosso e cujas paisagens permaneceriam tão desconhecidas para nós quanto as que podem existir na lua. Graças à arte, em vez de ver um único mundo, o nosso, vemo-lo multiplicar-se, e quantos artistas originais existiem tantos mundos teremos à nossa disposição, mais diferentes uns dos outros do que aqueles que rolam no infinito e, muitos séculos após se ter extinguido o foco do qual emanavam, chamasse ele Rembrandt ou Ver Meer, ainda nos enviam o seu raio especial."

Marcel Proust, in 'O Tempo Reencontrado'

The Dream

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love, if I weep it will not matter,
And if you laugh I shall not care;
Foolish am I to think about it,
But it is good to feel you there.

Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,
White and awful the moonlight reached
Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!

Swung in the wind,
and no wind blowing!
I was afraid, and turned to you,
Put out my hand to you for comfort,
And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,
Under my hand the moonlight lay!

Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
But if I weep it will not matter,
Ah, it is good to feel you there!

From our window

Há pessoas que, não sendo grande espingarda, mas tendo no bolso a munição especial do dito "conhecimento social", irradiam uma capacidade de atrair e de enredar as pessoas tal…que acabam por mandar grandes tiros.

Ao alto.

Mas...não.
Não gosto de armas de fogo.

Cátia

E uma flor que dá pelo nome de Sofia?

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet XLIII)

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.

Edna St. Vincent Millay