Thaïs

a gente sempre acha que é
Fernando Pessoa

Ana Cristina Cesar, Poética. p. 243. (via anaccesar)

Sblargh


Vou me apegar muito a você
vou ser infeliz
vou lhe chatear

Roberto Schwarz, Jura IN 26 poetas hoje. p. 87. (via arecordfullofsournotes)

amare-habeo:

Tamara de Lempicka (Polish, 1898 – 1980) - Hortensias Bouquet and Lemon, 1922

amare-habeo:

Tamara de Lempicka (Polish, 1898 – 1980) - Hortensias Bouquet and Lemon, 1922



(Source: jeffbuckleyforever, via jeffbuckleyforever)


Ampulheta

À triste enfermeira

que anseia fogueira

sequer há madeira.

Tampouco geleira,

o mar é de areia

e a triste enfermeira se esgueira.


amare-habeo:

Léopold Survage (1879-1968) -  Colorful Rythme,1913

amare-habeo:

Léopold Survage (1879-1968) -  Colorful Rythme,1913




tendertrapband:

Amelia is listening to Magnapop - Slowly, Slowly

posted by katrina


funeral-wreaths:

Lady Ottoline Morrell, Virginia Woolf, June 1924

funeral-wreaths:

Lady Ottoline Morrell, Virginia Woolf, June 1924


A Coney Island of the Mind (21), Lawrence Ferlinghetti

poetry365:

She loved to look at flowers
smell fruit
And the leaves had the look of loving

But halfass drunken sailors
staggered thru her sleep
scattering semen
over the virgin landscape

At a certain age
her heart put about
searching the lost shores

And heard the green birds singing
from the other side of silence


Manfred Symphony by Tchaikovsky


amare-habeo:

František Kupka (Czech, 1871 – 1957) - Untitled, 1930
Watercolour over pencil on paper

amare-habeo:

František Kupka (Czech, 1871 – 1957) - Untitled, 1930

Watercolour over pencil on paper


Feche os olhos para todos os perigos & não tenha medo de morrer… é tudo imaginário & vazio & ótimo

Feche os olhos para todos os perigos & não tenha medo de morrer… é tudo imaginário & vazio & ótimo

(Source: japhyr)



(Source: namelesshere)


Heartless brute! she thought, but his indifference pleased her. He asked nothing of her either. She stretched her hand for a cigarette. And what would Martin say, she wondered, as she took the enamel box that turned from green to blue, as she opened it. Hideous? Vulgar? Possibly—but what did it matter what people said? Criticism seemed light as smoke this morning. What did it matter what he said, what they said, what anybody said, since she had a whole day to herself?—since she was alone? …


Then, as she watched, light moved and dark moved; light and shadow went travelling over the hills and over the valleys. A deep murmur sang in her ears—the land itself, singing to itself, a chorus, alone. She lay there listening. She was happy, completely. Time had ceased.


1914

(Source: gutenberg.net.au)


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