c'est secret

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose, elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses...

Quelqu'n m'a dit, Carla Bruni

And to one lost sheep, a shepherd boy is greater than the richest king

So how do you measure the worth of a man
In wealth or strength or size? In how much he gained or how much he gave?
The answer will come, the answer will come to him who tries
To look at his life through heaven's eyes

And that's why we share all we have with you
Though there's little to be found
When all you've got is nothing, there's a lot to go around

No life can escape being blown about
By the winds of change and chance
And though you never know all the steps...
You must learn to join the dance

Through Heaven's Eyes, The Prince of Egypt

... or nobody will.

God help the outcasts, «The Hunchback of Notre Dame»

nao, afinal nao querem que voemos.

Já não se trata de planos, relatórios, pontualidade ou critérios de avaliação. Já não se trata sequer de postura, de tom de voz, ou de escolha de palavras. Nem vale a pena perder tempo, esconder, disfarçar, mentir. A verdade está lá: a hipocrisia, o cinismo, a desonestidade comandam a acção dos homens. É ingenuidade pensar que é com a justiça e a integridade que as pessoas vão olhar para nós e ouvir-nos. É ingenuidade pensar que vão sequer ouvir-nos.

E lembrar que pensava que nos estavam a cortar as asas. Mais do que isso. Mas é diferente, aliás... é normal. Supostamente normal.

Como é difícil controlar a raiva e a revolta, quando elas gritam mais alto que qualquer rugido. E todos nos dizem com um sorriso falsamente compreensivo: «Está tudo bem.»

Não, não está: esse é o problema.

Haiti...

A angústia, a morte e a busca pela vida. A lágrima do vivo, o corpo do morto e o sorriso do que luta pela sobrevivência. Estas foram as três fotografias do Haiti arrasado que mais me marcaram - é de louvar a sensibilidade fotográfica de Carlos Barria.

Aqui encontras formas de ajudar Haiti.

Ballad of Mulan

(...)
Ask her of whom she thinks,
Ask her for whom she longs.

"There is no one I think of,
There is no one I long for.

Last night I saw the army notice,
The Khan is calling a great draft -

A dozen volumes of battle rolls,
Each one with my father's name.

My father has no grown-up son,
And I have no elder brother.

I'm willing to buy a horse and saddle,
To go to battle in my father's place."
(...)

Ten thousand miles she rode in war,
Crossing passes and mountains as if on a wing.

On the northern air comes the sentry's gong,
Cold light shines on her coat of steel.

The general dead after a hundred battles,
The warriors return after ten years.

They return to see the Son of Heaven,
Who sits in the Hall of Brilliance.

The rolls of merit spin a dozen times,
Rewards in the hundreds and thousands.

The Khan asks her what she desires,
"I've no need for the post of a gentleman official,

I ask to borrow a camel fleet of foot,
To carry me back to my hometown."
(...)

The buck bounds here and there,
Whilst the doe has narrow eyes.

But when the two rabbits run side by side,
How can you tell the female from the male?

the sound of one sigh after another, as mulan weaves the doorway

com a rapidez de um rio em fúria, com o ímpeto de um tufão, com o poder de um fogo imenso.

Portuguese version «Be a Man», Mulan

till the end of times, elvis.

love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go.

Elvis Presley 8.Jan.35 - 16.Ago.77

suck the marrow out of life

Todd: I close my eyes... and his image floats beside me.
Keating: ...the sweaty toothed madman...
Todd: The sweaty toothed madman whose stare pounds my brain.
Keating: Yes! Excellent.
Todd: And all the while he's mumbling.
Keating: What's he mumbling?
Todd: Mumbling Truth. Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
Keating (the class laughs): Forget them. Forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket.
Todd: Y-y-y-you push it, stretch it. It'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it. It'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.

Keating (whispering): Don't you forget this.


Dead Poets Society, by Peter Weir.

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2010: International Year of Biodiversity