136. Leiria 2007

Castelo de Leiria e Praça Rodrigues Lobo.

135. São Paulo

Desde 1 de Janeiro de 2007 é proibida a publicidade exterior em São Paulo. O resultado:

São Paulo No Logo.

134. Dois andares

Lisboa, anos 80. Um autocarro de dois andares e uma curva apertada para a esquerda.

133. Middlemarch

«On a gray but dry November morning Dorothea drove to Lowick in company with her uncle and Celia. Mr. Casaubon's home was the manor-house. Close by, visible from some parts of the garden, was the little church, with the old parsonage opposite. In the beginning of his career, Mr. Casaubon had only held the living, but the death of his brother had put him in possession of the manor also. It had a small park, with a fine old oak here and there, and an avenue of limes towards the southwest front, with a sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so that from the drawing-room windows the glance swept uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes ended in a level of corn and pastures, which often seemed to melt into a lake under the setting sun. This was the happy side of the house, for the south and east looked rather melancholy even under the brightest morning. The grounds here were more confined, the flower-beds showed no very careful tendance, and large clumps of trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had risen high, not ten yards from the windows. The building, of greenish stone, was in the old English style, not ugly, but small-windowed and melancholy-looking: the sort of house that must have children, many flowers, open windows, and little vistas of bright things, to make it seem a joyous home. In this latter end of autumn, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves falling slowly athwart the dark evergreens in a stillness without sunshine, the house too had an air of autumnal decline, and Mr. Casaubon, when he presented himself, had no bloom that could be thrown into relief by that background.»

George Eliot, Middlemarch, 1871.

132. Trólei 5

Coimbra, 1979. Visto aqui.

131. Há uma música do povo

Há uma música do povo,
Nem sei dizer se é um fado
Que ouvindo-a há um ritmo novo
No ser que tenho guardado...

Ouvindo-a sou quem seria
Se desejar fosse ser...
É uma simples melodia
Das que se aprendem a viver...

E ouço-a embalado e sozinho...
É isso mesmo que eu quis ...
Perdi a fé e o caminho...
Quem não fui é que é feliz.

Mas é tão consoladora
A vaga e triste canção ...
Que a minha alma já não chora
Nem eu tenho coração ...

Sou uma emoção estrangeira,
Um erro de sonho ido...
Canto de qualquer maneira
E acabo com um sentido!

Fernando Pessoa.