Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta literatura. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta literatura. Mostrar todas as mensagens

TOPS 2024 - Livros

Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) - Tom Wolfe 

O Homem Revoltado (1951) - Albert Camus

A Insustentável Leveza do Ser (1984) - Milan Kundera

Play it as it Lays (1970) - Joan Didion

A Ilha do Tesouro (1883) - Robert Louis Stevenson

TOPS 2023 - LIVROS


1 - O Infinito Num Junco (2019) - Irene Vallejo

2 - The Origin of Totalitarianism (1951) - Hannah Arendt

3 - Slouching Thowards Bethlehem (1968) / White Album (1979) - Joan Didion

4 - A Crónica do Pássaro de Corda (1994) - Haruki Murakami

5 - O Livro do Riso e do Esquecimento (1978) - Milan Kundera

6 - Eichman in Jerusalem (1963) - Hannah Arendt


 "A irresistível proliferação da grafomania entre os homens políticos, os motoristas de táxi, as parturientes, os amantes, os assassinos, os ladrões, as prostitutas, os prefeitos, os médicos e os doentes demonstra-me que qualquer homem, sem excepção, traz em si um escritor virtual, de modo que toda a espécie humana poderia, com razão, descer à rua e gritar: somos todos escritores!

Porque cada um sofre com a ideia de desaparecer num universo indiferente, sem ser ouvido nem visto, e por essa razão quer, enquanto pode, transformar-se no seu próprio universo de palavras.

Quando um dia (muito em breve) todos os homens acordarem escritores, terá chegado o tempo da surdez e da incompreensão universal."

in O Livro do Riso e do Esquecimento (1978) - Milan Kundera

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   

They may not mean to, but they do.   

They fill you with the faults they had

 And add some extra, just for you.


But they were fucked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,   

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats.


Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don’t have any kids yourself.


 This Be The Verse (1971) - Philip Larkin

2020 - Livros

The Bluest Eye (1970) - Tony Morrison

A Peste (1947) - Albert Camus

Uzumaki (1998) - Junji Ito

Diário da Peste (1722) - Daniel Defoe

Walden (1854) - Henry David Thoreau

Hollywood (1989) - Charles Bukowski

Orlando (1928) - Virginia Woolf

On The Road (1957) - Jack Kerouac

Moby Dick (1851) - Herman Melville

O Duplo (1846) - Fiódor Dostoievki

"(...) That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word... choked forever."

de Maggie Cassidy (1959), Jack Kerouac


The Ballad of Ira Hayes - Johnny Cash
letra de  Peter La Farge


Ira Hayes
Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Or the marine that went to war

Gather 'round me people
There's a story I would tell
'Bout a brave young Indian
You should remember well
From the land of the Pima Indian
A proud and noble band
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley
In Arizona land
Down the ditches a thousand years
The waters grew Ira's peoples' crops
'Til the white man stole their water rights
And the sparkling water stopped
Now, Ira's folks were hungry
And their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered
And forgot the white man's greed

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Or the marine that went to war

There they battled up Iwo Jima hill
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived
To walk back down again
And when the fight was over
And Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Or the marine that went to war

Ira Hayes returned a hero
Celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored
Everybody shook his hand
But he was just a Pima Indian
No water, no home, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
And when did the Indians dance

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Or the marine that went to war

Then Ira started drinking hard
Jail was often his home
They let him raise the flag and lower it
Like you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk early one morning
Alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water and a lonely ditch
Was a grave for Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Or the marine that went to war

Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is just as dry
And his ghost is lying thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died

"TODA A GENTE, SEM TIRAR NEM PÔR, tem ambições, objetivos, iniciativas e metas. A meta deste rapaz em concreto era ser capaz de tocar com os lábios em cada centímetro quadrado do próprio corpo.
Os braços até aos ombros e a maior parte das pernas abaixo do joelho eram brincadeira de criança. No entanto, depois dessas zonas do corpo, a dificuldade aumentava tão abruptamente como uma saliência costeira. O rapaz veio a compreender que o aguardavam desafios inimagináveis. Tinha seis anos."

David Foster Wallace in O Rei Pálido