John galsworthy
Viva, Ame, Desfrute de bons momento, Faça tudo oque quiser fazer, mais nunca, nunca dependa de ninguem para viver e ser feliz.
Tenha fé em mim, eu estarei la quando todos forem embora, eu estarei la mesmo que você não queira, eu estarei la pra quando você precisar de mim, e mesmo que eu não esteja por perto, é só você olhar pra lua e ver que eu vou estar la olhando pra você tambem.
As pessoas cada vez mais pensão em si mesmas, não se importa mais com as outras pessoas, e essa ganancia esse orgulho que as pessoas sentem, vão acabar todas mortas, mortas com sua ganacia e seu orgulho, vão acabar todas mortas.
A vida é feita pra ser vida, independente do modo, maneira, mesmo com dificuldades, temos que viver.
A pior dor da nossa vida vem dos erros que nós recusamos a admitir, das coisas que fizemos e estão a tal ponto em desarmonia com quem somos que não suportamos olhá-las.
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
ONE road leads to London,
One road leads to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.
One road leads to the river,
And it goes singing slow;
My road leads to shipping,
Where the bronzed sailors go.
Leads me, lures me, calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth's road-dust
Is the right road for me.
A wet road heaving, shining,
And wild with seagull's cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
The salt spray in my eyes.
My road calls me, lures me
West, east, south, and north;
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth.
To add more miles to the tally
Of grey miles left behind,
In quest of that one beauty
God put me here to find.
SPANISH waters, Spanish waters, you are ringing in my ears,
Like a slow sweet piece of music from the grey forgotten years;
Telling tales, and beating tunes, and bringing weary thoughts to me
Of the sandy beach at Muertos, where I would that I could be.
There's a surf breaks on Los Muertos, and it never stops to roar,
And it's there we came to anchor, and it's there we went ashore,
Where the blue lagoon is silent amid snags of rotting trees,
Dropping like the clothes of corpses cast up by the seas.
We anchored at Los Muertos when the dipping sun was red,
We left her half-a-mile to sea, to west of Nigger Head;
And before the mist was on the Cay, before the day was done,
We were all ashore on Muertos with the gold that we had won.
We bore it through the marshes in a half-score battered chests,
Sinking, in the sucking quagmires to the sunburn on our breasts,
Heaving over tree-trunks, gasping, damning at the flies and heat,
Longing for a long drink, out of silver, in the ship’s cool lazareet.
The moon came white and ghostly as we laid the treasure down,
There was gear there’d make a beggarman as rich as Lima Town,
Copper charms and silver trinkets from the chests of Spanish crews,
Gold doubloons and double moidores, louis d’ors and portagues,
Clumsy yellow-metal earrings from the Indians of Brazil,
Uncut emeralds out of Rio, bezoar stones from Guayaquil;
Silver, in the crude and fashioned, pots of old Arica Bronze,
Jewels from the bones of Incas desecrated by the Dons.
We smoothed the place with mattocks, and we took and blazed the tree,
Which marks yon where the gear is hid that none will ever see,
And we laid aboard the ship again, and south away we steers,
Through the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.
I’m the last alive that knows it. All the rest have gone their ways
Killed, or died, or come to anchor in the old Mulatas Cays,
And I go singing, fiddling, old and starved and in despair,
And I know where all that gold is hid, if I were only there.
It’s not the way to end it all. I'm old, and nearly blind,,
And an old man's past's a strange thing, for it never leaves his mind.
And I see in dreams, awhiles, the beach, the sun’s disc dipping red,
And the tall ship, under topsails, swaying in past Nigger Head.
I’d be glad to step ashore there, Glad to take a pick and go
To the lone blazed coco-palm tree in the place no others know,
And lift the gold and silver that has mouldered there for years
By the loud surf of Los Muertos which is beating in my ears.
Hoje desvendei um enigma... descobri que não nasci na época errada, mas nasci na época certa para poder estar ao seu lado."
Amanhã é a coisa mais importante na vida. Vem a nós na meia-noite muito limpa. É perfeito quando ela chega e se coloca em nossas mãos. Ele espera que nós aprendamos alguma coisa de ontem.
Uma pessoa não acreditar em Deus não faz dela uma má pessoa.
Cada qual tem livre-arbítrio, e cabe a cada qual acreditar no que quiser!
O que é mais difícil de aceitar sobre a passagem do tempo é que as pessoas que antes eram importantes para nós acabam entre parênteses.
Não prive o seu verdadeiro eu
Para ser aquilo que se espera.
Observe atentamente ao seu redor.
Se permita!
E faça do seu corpo uma plataforma de domínio
onde sua mente seja o guia.
