Brazilian Quotes

“Não, a vida nunca foi só a vida, nela há sonhos e fantasias que fazem a realidade ser o que é...”
― Monteiro Lobato, Cidades Mortas

“Spanish—how shall I say this?—is like
Portuguese spoken with a speech impediment.”
― Sol Luckman, Snooze: A Story of Awakening

“O que mais salta aos olhos, o que mais fere às vistas do observador, que bem se pode chamar o expoente da vida geral do país, é a falta de coesão social, o desagregamento dos indivíduos, alguma coisa que os reduz ao estado de isolamento absoluto, de átomos inorgânicos, quase podia dizer, de poeira impalpável e estéril. Entre nós, o que há de organizado, é o Estado, não é a Nação, é o governo, é a administração, por seus altos funcionários na Corte, por seus sub-rogados nas províncias, por seus ínfimos caudatários nos municípios: - não é o povo, o qual permanece amorfo e dissolvido, sem outro liame entre si, a não ser a comunhão da língua, dos maus costumes e do servilismo.”
― Tobias Barreto

“I picture the customers pressing their faces to the display window outside to look at quibes, pastéis, and codfish bolinhos. I listen for our old stereo alternating between static crackling and forró songs swelling with melancholy accordions. I search for the tangy scent of ground beef simmering in a clay pot ready to turn into coxhina filling.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“The Molinas' entourage of bakers stream through Sugar's doors with trays brimming with lavender-colored surpresas de uva, brigadeiros, and bem-casados under protective plastic films, which they load into the back of the van.
And then they bring out a full tray of empadinhas! Even from my spot across the street, I see the dough flaky and golden like Grandma's recipe.
The thing is, everyone knows that only Salt makes empadinhas on our street. That's the deal our families made generations ago, when our great-grandmothers drew the battle lines:
Ramires only prepare savory foods.
Molinas only prepare sweets.
Sugar crossed the line baking empadinhas, and they know it. Those shameless, dishonest, garbage snakes!”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“What do we have left from this morning?"
"We have a Sousa Leão cake, a marble cake, and a passion fruit cake. They're all small, unfortunately."
Seu Romário frowns. "Any frosting left?"
"Some ganache, Chef."
"Use it as frosting on the marble cake. Add a few strawberries on top. Then take all the small cakes we have left to tonight's wedding. Grab an assortment of guava and doce de leite bolos de rolo, too, that we were going to put on display tomorrow.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“I've lived my whole life across the street from the Molinas, but this is the first time I set foot in Sugar.
The theme inside is very gaudy. Twinkling lights shaped like icicles hanging from the ceiling. Red walls, just like the facade, the shade of Santa Claus's clothes. Glass shelves and counters polished until they sparkle, not one sign of fingerprints or kids' fogged breaths.
There's a translucent wall in the back with display slots. Most are empty by now, but an assortment of bolos de rolo, Seu Romário's famous cakes, takes the main spot at the center. The special lighting shows off the traditionally super thin spiral layers--- twenty layers in this roll cake, he claims--- filled with guava and sprinkled with sugar granules that glisten like a dusting of crystals.
The shelves to the right and left are packed with jujubas, bright candies, condensed milk puddings, cookies, broas, and sweet buns, filling the air with a strong, sweet perfume, the type you can actually taste. It's like being inside a candy factory.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“Empadões sit behind the glass, the round, perfectly golden brown pot pies loaded with shredded chicken and green olives.
People usually know what they want when they walk into our bakery. Five loaves of bread. Shrimp empadinhas. Maybe some lunch quentinhas, the warm to-go box filled with couscous and carne de sol.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“The familiar cooking warmth coming from the booths soothed my anxious thoughts, like entering a labyrinth of barbecued, breaded, deep-fried treats. Acarajé bursting with shrimp. Grilled fish covered in lime juice and raw onion rings. Coxinhas loaded with shredded chicken and potato. Pastéis heavy with extra minced meat and olives. Coconut and cheese tapioca. Crepe sticks, too, prepared on demand right before the customers' eyes, the batter cooked like a waffle and filled with chocolate and doce de leite.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“Bell pepper and onion skewers dripping with garlic hot sauce and a little lime. Chicken and steak skewers wrapped in bacon. And a side of farofa so we could dip the skewers and feel the crunch of kasava flour soaking up juices from the meat.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“Sour starch, Parmesan cheese, water, vegetable oil, milk, eggs... And salt, of course," he reads aloud the ingredients we'll need today. "We're making pão de queijo and packaging fresh fruits this afternoon."
This cheese bread has always been a favorite at Salt, pairing well with hot, chocolatey coffee. Growing up, I used to linger in the kitchen watching Grandma roll the dough into small balls with her hands. Once in the oven, they'd filled the entire bakery with a strong cheesy aroma that attracted customers all the way from Alto da Sé.”
― Rebecca Carvalho, Salt and Sugar

“Then I remember:These people are Brazilian-they come out of the womb salsa-ing to the rhythm of the contractions.”
― Amanda Hudson, Coffee, Tea, and Holy Water: One Woman's Journey to Experience Christianity Around the Globe

“Ah, so that must have been her mystery: she had discovered a trail into the forest. Surely that was where she went during her absences. Returning with her eyes filled with gentleness & ignorance, eyes made whole. An ignorance so vast that inside it all the world's wisdom could be contained & lost.”
― Clarice Lispector

“When lunchtime comes, as always, I run to Library 1.2. I run my fingers along the edges of the books and follow the path to the romance section, looking for the seventeenth book in the ninth row of the third shelf. This is my routine and I adore every moment of it. One of the pages of the book is different from the rest; it was glued in to replace the original page, which had been torn out. On the patched page, I find my favorite passage from the story. I sit on the floor and read.
“How’s the patient?” he asked Derby.
“Dead to the world.”
“But not actually dead.”
“No.”
“How nice—to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”
I close the book and think of my best friend. How I wish he were here to see everything we achieved together. So he could see how our mission changed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. I wanted to see the look of joy in his eyes as we admired together the demolition of the Wall. Of all the wishes, I wanted to talk to him about rhymes and metrics, sonnets and quatrains, about all the things I’ve been learning at school.
Sometimes, the longing hits so hard that I feel as if part of me died with him. As if part of my soul went with Mário, because I’ve never felt complete, whole, again.
I feel broken, old scrap.
I know Mário wanted to bring change to Redentor, but there are times when I feel it wasn’t worth it. I know it’s selfish, but I would trade all this sea of smiles on strangers’ faces to have a life by my friend’s side. I know he sacrificed himself for the good of all, but I allow myself to be a little selfish. Just a little.

Two of the few things I asked for after my participation in the revolution were Firstborn's box and Mário’s chip. At first, many came to me, trying to convince me to engage in political struggle, to be a poster boy, but my mother didn’t allow it.
He’s going to school, she said. His mission is over. Now, he’s going to be a child.
I like that my mother protects me from the adult world. And all I want is to be a normal boy and live my days peacefully. I no longer want to be involved in shootouts, explosions, and revolutions, of that I’m sure.
But she’s wrong about one thing: my mission is not over yet. It all began with Mário by my side, and it will only end with him by my side again.
Every night, before sleeping, I fiddle and tinker with the insides of that computer, just waiting to see that red light turn on and the sides of the lenses spin in processing. So far, all I’ve gotten are some light shocks. Even old Jeremias has already said the chip is completely broken, beyond repair.
I refuse to give up.
– Today’s the day – I say to myself as I unscrew the computer.
I replace the old wiring with new ones, clean the processor and run the chip through an advanced recovery system. I work for two hours hunched over the table. I plug the machine in and press the button.
Nothing.
Zero.
Absolutely nothing.
I sigh.
I don’t let discouragement or despair take hold of me. Tomorrow, I will continue. And if tomorrow the red light doesn’t turn on, I’ll try the day after tomorrow. And after that, and after that, and after that. I will work until there’s no more tomorrow.
“Everything works out in the end. If it’s not right, it’s because it’s not the end yet.”
It was a robot who liked poetry who taught me:
That's how life works.”
― Ian Fraser