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My father got on his horse and went to the field.
My mother stayed sitting and sewing.
My little brother slept.
A small boy alone under the mango trees,
I read the story of Robinson Crusoe,
the long story that never comes to an end.

At noon, white with light, a voice that had learned
lullabies long ago in the slave-quarters — and never forgot —
called us for coffee.
Coffee blacker than the black old woman
delicious coffee
good coffee.

My mother stayed sitting and sewing
watching me:
Shh — don’t wake the boy.
She stopped the cradle when a mosquito had lit
and gave a sigh … how deep!
Away off there my father went riding
through the farm’s endless wastes.

And I didn’t know that my story
was prettier than that of Robinson Crusoe.

— Carlos Drummund de Andrade, Infancy (translated by Elizabeth Bishop)

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Zoom mulheresnosquadrinhos:

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You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

— Anne Lamott (via mszivadavid)

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When there’s too much shit you need to get done at once



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Artist: The Best Of Bossa Nova
Song: Jobim, Antonio Carlos- Chega De Saudade
Album: The Best Of Bossa Nova
Plays: 35


Antonio Carlos Jobim- Chega De Saudade

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Zoom aseaofquotes:

Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade


Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade

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"Sometimes the jokes write themselves. #S17 #myNYPD”
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My darling, you are allowed to fail without being a failure. You are allowed to make mistakes without becoming one. More opportunities will present themselves, you will find hope again.
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Three o’clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can’t sleep, I am so happy.

— Anton Chekhov, About Love and Other Stories  
(via fyodors)

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Life is so damned hard, so damned hard… It just hurts people and hurts people, until finally it hurts them so that they can’t be hurt ever any more. That’s the last and worst thing it does.

— ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

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I bring you now these flowers
- Modest flowers of an October sun -
Flowers from old hedgerows, flowers from bramble bushes,
Verbenas and everlastings, jasmines and mignonettes;
Colors of the sky in the far-off twilights
And the transparency and limpidity of afternoons
When girls dreamed in the gazebos
In ancient gardens at the city’s edge.

The fruits that i place on the ground, your ground,
Wrapped in this philodendron leaf
(Daughters, too, of a sun you did not see)
Are wild guavas, plums from native hedges,
Surinam cherries, star-apples, queens’ hearts;
They are red, they are fragrant and yellow
As if they were… as if still blossoms…

The earths that i scatter
Over the earth of your empty body
Come from far away;
Sands from Sweet River and from Piety,
red grains from the shores of the sea,
Potters’ clays from the “Ruins of Palmyra” with their colors
Of rainbow shipwrecked on the hills of Olinda.

Thus, Maria, I bring you flowers, fruits, and earths…
And to keep them always fresh and pure,
Over them I pour waters,
Sweet and clear, mild and friendly:
Water from the Sluice of Apipucos,
Water from the Fount of the Rosary
- Relics of ancient rains -
Waters wept for me, for you, for all of us.

— Joaquim Cardozo, Elegy for Maria Alves (translated by Elizabeth Bishop)

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