domingo, 28 de agosto de 2011

A verdadeira medida de um leitor / Measuring our reading


The Haloes, Louis Welden Hawkins, c. 1894

And maybe the measure of our reading should therefore be, not the number of books we’ve read, but the state in which they leave us. What does it matter how cultivated and up-to-date we are, or how many thousands of books we’ve read? What matters is how we feel, how we see, what we do after reading; whether the street and the clouds and the existence of others mean anything to us; whether reading makes us, physically, more alive.


Gabriel Zaid, So Many Books

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sábado, 27 de agosto de 2011

quinta-feira, 25 de agosto de 2011

"Gostava dela porque era ela, porque era eu."

"...pra explicar o amor entre duas pessoas: gostava dela porque era ela, porque era eu."


http://www.youtube.com/v/_JEsCzTinac?version=3">name="allowFullScreen" value="true">http://www.youtube.com/v/_JEsCzTinac?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390">

Lindo de tão simples. Complicado de tão simples. :)
Chico Buarque é sempre fascinante!

quarta-feira, 24 de agosto de 2011

O nosso destino.../ One’s destination....





One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing.
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Henry Miller

O nosso destino nunca é um lugar mas uma nova visão da realidade.

terça-feira, 23 de agosto de 2011

Vamos treinar as nossas mentes para a felicidade / Happiness work out


O que é a felicidade? Como podemos atingi-la? Mathieu Ricard, bioquímico de formação e monge budista por opção, diz-nos que podemos treinar as nossas mentes em hábitos de bem-estar de forma a gerar um verdadeiro estado de bem-estar e realização. TED

Assista ao vídeo AQUI.

sexta-feira, 19 de agosto de 2011

Para reflectir...


Cameron Gray

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any. 

Alice Walker







quinta-feira, 18 de agosto de 2011

Ouvem os livros a falar uns com os outros? / Books speak among themselves


Until then I had thought each book spoke of the things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by a human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyors.” 


Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

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