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Memento Mori
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Jan 25, 2026 06:00PM

 
A guerra não tem ...
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Oct 28, 2023 09:27AM

 
Book cover for O amanhã não está à venda
É terrível o que está acontecendo, mas a sociedade precisa entender que não somos o sal da terra. Temos que abandonar o antropocentrismo; há muita vida além da gente, não fazemos falta na biodiversidade. Pelo contrário. Desde pequenos, ...more
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Caitlín R. Kiernan
“Tem cheiro de poeira e de tempo”
Caitlín R. Kiernan, The Drowning Girl

Oscar Wilde
“I have no terror of death. It is the coming of death that terrifies me. Its monstrous wings seem to wheel in the leaden air around me.”
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
“I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend.”
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Oscar Wilde
“The son [...] had set himself to the serious study of the great artistocratic art of doing absolutely nothing.”
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Oscar Wilde
“Dorian, Dorian," she cried, "before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came—oh, my beautiful love!— and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in which I had always played. To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection.”
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

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