PENSAMENTOS

“Generous tears filled Gabriel’s eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling.”
― James Joyce, The Dead (A Novella) (Annotated): Enriched Edition. A Snowbound Dublin Epiphany of Memory, Irish Identity, and Modernist Revelation

“He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. 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 (A Novella) (Annotated): Enriched Edition. A Snowbound Dublin Epiphany of Memory, Irish Identity, and Modernist Revelation

“Há alguma exageração nisto; mas o discurso humano é assim mesmo, um composto de partes excessivas e partes diminutas, que se compensam, ajustando-se.”
― Machado de Assis, Dom Casmurro

“Foram cócegas da mocidade; coçou-se, passou, estava bom.”
― Machado de Assis, Dom Casmurro