"His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." (James Joyce, The Dead). O meu conto favorito, de sempre; o mais elegante, uma obra-prima de understatement.
"Guy looked at the boy intently. The boy said nothing more. He sat and waited, his eyes cast down shyly. Then Guy in deep and bitter reflection buried his face in his hands. What was the use? It was finished. Finished! He surrendered. He sat back in his chair and sighed deeply.
"Tell your mother to pack up her things and yours. She can come back."
"When?" asked the boy, impassively.
Hot tears trickled down Guy's funny, round spotty face.
"Tonight." (The Force of Circumstance, de W. Somerset Maugham).
"La raison est le plus parfait, le plus noble et le plus exquis de nos sens." (Montesquieu, L'Esprit des Lois, citado de A Propos de Montesquieu, de J. Starobinski, in Essai sur le Goût). Cf. post anterior...
«Rir torna-nos invencíveis. Não como quem vence sempre, mas como quem não desiste. »
Frida Kahlo.
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