quinta-feira, 10 de junho de 2010

A felicidade e os seus três assassinos

Sobre a felicidade e os três factores que a matam:

"There are three happiness killers - doing work you do not love and are not passionate about, surrounding yourself with people who you do not really like (someone who just fills time), and living somewhere that does not let you be you. Just stop it. Life is far too short".



Entrevista de Richard Florida para The Happiness Project: “Cycling, Writing, Walking — and Living in the Right City.”

E sobre a escrita:

"I never thought writing could bring so much pleasure. Yes, the old adage about all you have to do is sit down and the keyboard and "open vein" captures some of the initial pain and hesitation. But once you get into in, get into what the psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls flow, it becomes quite enjoyable - that total focus, the sense of being inside your own ideas, and of course it's always much, much better when you see the finished product".

Quem tem razão? Vaidade ou humildade?

Anónimo

OU


"The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice. He has supreme vanity. No matter how much he admires the old writer, he wants to beat him".



William Faulkner

???


quarta-feira, 9 de junho de 2010

Um livro que tenho que ler: "A menina que roubava livros"

A menina que roubava livros (no original, The Book Thief) é do australiano Markus Zusak e foi publicado em 2006.

Adorei a entrevista do escritor:






"Liesel Meminger is only nine years old when she is taken to live with the Hubermanns, a foster family, on Himmel Street in Molching, Germany, in the late 1930s. She arrives with few possessions, but among them is The Grave Digger’s Handbook, a book that she stole from her brother’s burial place. During the years that Liesel lives with the Hubermanns, Hitler becomes more powerful, life on Himmel Street becomes more fearful, and Liesel becomes a full fledged book thief. She rescues books from Nazi book-burnings and steals from the library of the mayor. Liesel is illiterate when she steals her first book, but Hans Hubermann uses her prized books to teach her to read. This is a story of courage, friendship, love, survival, death, and grief. This is Liesel’s life on Himmel Street, told from Death’s point of view".







Uma história sobre a capacidade dos livros para alimentar a nossa alma, especialmente perante um mundo adverso?

Prémio Literário Manuel António Pina: a 1ª edição privilegia a poesia.

Cliquem para aumentar.

Saiba mais AQUI.

Tantas, tantas mas tantas canções de amor à mistura

"Elephant Love Medley" do filme Moulin Rouge (2001). Nicole Kidman e Ewan McGregor cantam.

terça-feira, 8 de junho de 2010

Mulher, gato, livros e amigos


Frederick the Literate, de Charles Wysocki


O gato



"Na minha casa desejo ter
Uma mulher que imponha a sua razão
Um gato passeando por entre os livros
E porque sem eles não posso viver
...Amigos seja qual for a estação"


Guillaume Appolinaire

O tango de Roxanne

"El Tango De Roxanne"  do belíssimo filme Moulin Rouge. Rouco e sensual.

segunda-feira, 7 de junho de 2010

Proposta de formação profissional para bibliotecários em tempos de crise


HOLT, Leslie Edmonds ; HOLT, Glen - Public Library Services for the Poor: Doing All We Can. Chicago: ALA, 2010. ISBN: 978-0-8389-1050-4

Fonte: O bibliotecário anarquista

domingo, 6 de junho de 2010

Quando começar a escrever?

Lisa G.


"I start very slowly, and don’t actually begin to write the book until I can’t stand not to write it. This method derives from my sense that one can start a book too soon, but almost never too late. I think it is also true that if you wait until you know enough to start, you never will. What I do instead of writing is to live with the book for a couple of months, often longer than that".



Steven Polansky



via Word Painting

O palpite de Adriana Calcanhoto

sábado, 5 de junho de 2010

Ela só quer, só pensa em namorar...

Mais uma de Marisa Monte.

Se alguém por mim perguntar...

...vou por aí a procurar...estou por aqui a procurar...

Marisa Monte canta esta canção linda, linda!




Deixe-me ir preciso andar

Vou por aí a procurar
Rir para não chorar


Deixe-me ir preciso andar
Vou por aí a procurar
Rir para não chorar


Quero assistir ao sol nascer
Ver as águas dos rios correr
Ouvir os passaros cantar
Eu quero nascer, quero viver




Deixe-me ir preciso andar
Vou por aí a procurar
Rir para não chorar




Se alguém por mim perguntar
Diga que eu só vou voltar
Quando eu me encontrar


Quero assistir ao sol nascer
Ver as águas dos rios correr
Ouvir os pássaros cantar


Eu quero nascer, quero viver
Deixe-me ir preciso andar
Vou por aí a procurar
Rir para não chorar


Se alguém por mim perguntar
Diga que eu só vou voltar
Quando eu me encontrar


Depois que eu me encontrar ...

sexta-feira, 4 de junho de 2010

"The Day the Music Died"

Don McLean - Miss American Pie: esta música é de 1971, ainda eu não tinha nascido. :)

Vincent

O tributo de Don McLean a Vincent Van Gogh: Starry Starry Night. Lindo!!!




Starry, starry night

Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land




Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now




Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflecting Vincent's eyes of China blue
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand




Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now




For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as
beautiful as you




Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
A silver thorn on a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow




Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will

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