This was a golden age, a time of high adventure, rich living and hard dying ... but nobody thought so. This was a future of fortune and theft, pillage and rapine, culture and vice ... but nobody admitted it. This was an age of extremes, a fascinating century of freaks ... but nobody loved it. O ÁCIDO DA FÚRIA CORROEU A BRUTA PACIÊNCIA E A PREGUIÇA QUE TINHAM FEITO DELE UM ZERO (1-0 ZÉRÔ...É O QUE SE CHAMA EMPATIA..) QUANTUM SATIS....QUANTO BASTE He was Gulliver Foyle, Mechanic's Mate 3rd Class, thirty years old, big boned and rough.. . and one hundred and seventy days adrift in space. He was Gully Foyle, the oiler, wiper, bunkerman; too easy for trouble, too slow for fun, too empty for friendship, too lazy for love. EDUCATION: NONE. SKILLS: NONE. MERITS: NONE. RECOMMENDATIONS: NONE” So reads Gully Foyle’s Merchant Marine card.

 O QUADRANTE DA MANHÃ A PARTE DO MUNDO ENTRE A MEIA-NOITE E A 
MADRUGADA 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

That's me,' he said, motioning to the robot. 'That's all of us. We prattle about free will, but we're nothing but response ... mechanical reaction in prescribed grooves. So ... here I am, here I am, waiting to respond. Press the buttons and I'll jump.'

---

- 'Why reach out to the stars and galaxies? What for?'
- 'Because you're alive, sir. You might as well ask: Why is life? Don't ask about it. Live it'

---

'There's got to be more to life than just living,' Foyle said to the robot.
'Then find it for yourself, sir. Don't ask the world to stop moving because you have doubts'
'Why can't we all move forward together?'
'Because you're all different. You're not lemmings. Some must lead, and hope that the rest will follow.'
'Who leads?'
'The men who must ... driven men, compelled men.'
'Freak men.'
'You're all freaks, sir. But you always have been freaks. Life is a freak. That's its hope and glory.'
'Thank you very much.'
'My pleasure, sir.'
'You've saved the day.'
'Always a lovely day somewhere, sir,' the robot beamed.  

 A man is a member of society first, and an individual second. You must go along with society, whether it chooses destruction or not.
 

DOS LIVROS FEITOS DE FRASES DAS FRASES QUE FAZEM LIVROS E CRIAM MUNDOS OU DAS FRASES QUE SONHAM MUNDOS QUE DORMEM EM LIVROS ...UM SOL BRUNIDO PELO SOL NASCENTE E LIMPO PELO VERÃO ...O RIO SERPENTEANTE COMO UM VELHO PREGUIÇOSO SEM SE DETER MAS SEM SE APRESSAR, ALARGANDO-SE POR VEZES EM PÂNTANOS ...ATRAVÉS DO BIOMBO DE SALGUEIROS PODIAM VER A CLARIDADE DA FOGUEIRA QUE PARECIA UM INSECTO VERMELHO NA ESCURIDÃO ....É UMA TERRA SOLITÁRIA FAZ NASCER COISAS CASTANHAS ...A ÚNICA REALIDADE ERA AQUELE VAZIO BIZARRO E PERMANENTE QUE NUNCA MAIS ACABAVA

O BELO CASTANHO DOURADO DAS ERVAS SECAS

UM TAPETE GORDO

ERA UM LÍQUIDO ROXO, MAIS ESPESSO QUE A ÁGUA CORRIA PELA TERRA

ESCARLATE ARENOSA, ONDE CRESCIAM COISAS COM FORMAS DE BARRIL

E TUBOS E DE BOLAS, COM ESPINHOS E AGULHAS

AS QUAIS PODIAM OUVIR, FALAR, VER

QUANDO O LÍQUIDO PASSAVA SOBRE AS COISAS VIVAS ELAS MORRIAM

ÁRVORES ERGUIAM-SE...UMA SÓLIDA MURALHA VERDE

NÃO TENHAM PENA DELA, NADA NO MUNDO LHE PODE TOCAR

UM TERROR ARDENTE FIRME QUE ABSORVE AS VIDAS,

UMA TORRENTE TUMULTUOSA QUE ABRIA CAMINHO

ATRAVÉS DAS TERRAS

O IMPULSO SOLENE E PODEROSO DO MISSISSIPI SUPERIOR

A CAMARADAGEM TAGARELANTE E RUIDOSA DO MINESOTA

E ALI A BELICOSIDADE DO MISSOURI

OS FILHOS DA FOME....OU OS FILHOS DA MÃE POIS NASCEM TODOS DUMA EXCEPTO OS CARACÓIS .....QUE NASCEM TODOS DE UM ...DO NEVOEIRO, NUM TURBILHÃO CINZENTO SURGIRAM MOLES DE GAJOS E GAJAS A DESPEJAR ÁGUA GELADA OU CUBOS DE GELO JÁ MUITO FUNDIDOS EM CIMA DAS CACHIMÓNIAS ...É DOM SEBASTIÃO QUE REGRESSA DO DENSO NEVOEIRO MENTAL QUE NOS SUFOCA OU QUE NOS ENTERRA VAI PARA 900 ANOS DESDE QUE ESCOLHEMOS UM FRANCÊS PRA SENHORIO DA TERRA QUE ERA NOSSA OU PELO MENOS NÃO ERA DELE ATÉ LHE DARMOS A ESCRITURA

E O BALDE CHEIO DE ÁGUA PARA A BARRELA DOS PECADOS DO MUNDO

E DA LAVAGEM DA ROUPA SUJA EM PÚBLICO

SÃO O PALCO E O PANO DE FUNDO DESTA ÓPERA MUITO BUFA ....

TODOS OS QUE EXISTEM FORA DA TRIBO DOS BALDES DE ÁGUA

NÃO SÃO CONSIDERADOS HUMANOS .....SÃO SUB URBANOS...QUIÇÁ

SÓ A TRIBO DOS BALDES DE ÁGUA FRIA É HUMANA E CARIDOSA

E UM POUCO VÁ LÁ ....ESTÚPIDA

MAS É POR UMA BOA CAUSA ....

TAL COMO HITLER É PRA LIVRAR O MUNDO DOS SUB-HUMANOS

SEM CORAÇÃO OU SEM CU...OU SEM MEDO ...UMA DESSAS...

ECSTASINE FELICITINE INEBRIOL -QUE PENA O HILTON NÃO TIVESSE ARANHAS E RATOS PENSAVA EU ...QUE BICHINHOS ENCANTADORES ENTRETANTO IA ACARICIANDO A MESA - TENTEI LIBERTAR-ME COM A JUSTIFICAÇÃO DE TER O BRAÇO CANSADO ...NESSE CASO GRITOU A SOLUÇAR DESSE-LHE AO MENOS UM PONTAPÉ ...QUE PODIA FAZER....RECUSAR SERIA DESUMANO ..........APARECEU GRITANDO QUE TINHAM DADO FURIOL À POLÍCIA PARA ANULAR OS EFEITOS DOS BENIGNIZANTES - FARMOCRACIA - TODA A GENTE QUER COMETER VILANIAS MAS NINGUÉM QUER SENTIR-SE VILÃO - AS RATAZANAS JOGAVAM BRIDGE AOS PÉS DO PROFESSOR, MESMO COM A ELEVADA CONCENTRAÇÃO DE ALUCINOGÉNIOS NO AR SERIA POSSÍVEL JOGAREM BRIDGE? AFLITO OLHEI A MAIS GORDA....AS CARTAS QUE TINHA NA MÃO NÃO ESTAVAM POR ORDEM E ELA JOGAVA MAL ....BOM,ENTÃO ESTAVA TUDO BEM.....She was beautiful all right, beautiful in a way that was at once seductive, demonic, and raspberry.....Anyhow, the criterion of common sense was never applicable to the history of the human race. Averroës, Kant, Socrates, Newton, Voltaire, could any of them have believed it possible that in the twentieth century the scourge of cities, the poisoner of lungs, the mass murderer and idol of millions would be a metal receptacle on wheels, and that people would actually prefer being crushed to death inside it during frantic weekends exoduses instead of staying, safe and sound, at home?” ― Stanisław Lem, The Futurological Congress: From the Memoirs of Ijon Tichy .

 

Each speaker was given four minutes to present his paper, as there were so many scheduled — 198 from 64 different countries. To help expedite the proceedings, all reports had to be distributed and studied beforehand, while the lecturer would speak only in numerals, calling attention in this fashion to the salient paragraphs of his work. ... Stan Hazelton of the U.S. delegation immediately threw the hall into a flurry by emphatically repeating: 4, 6, 11, and therefore 22; 5, 9, hence 22; 3, 7, 2, 11, from which it followed that 22 and only 22!! Someone jumped up, saying yes but 5, and what about 6, 18, or 4 for that matter; Hazelton countered this objection with the crushing retort that, either way, 22. I turned to the number key in his paper and discovered that 22 meant the end of the world.

Meanwhile, political trouble is brewing outside the hotel. In an attempt to forestall a revolution, the government pumps benignimizers into the water supply and the hotel is accidentally bombed with hallucinogens. Tichy is transported to an even bizarrer future, where chemicals are used to simulate everything. This is the opening for Lem to launch into a barrage of neologistic puns and satirical invention:

And therefore we have the malingerants, fudgerators and drudge-dodgers, not to mention the special phenomenon of simulimbecility or mimicretinism. A mimicretin is a computer that plays stupid in order, once and for all, to be left in peace. And I found out what dissimulators are: they simply pretend that they're not pretending to be defective. Or perhaps it's the other way around. The whole thing is very complicated.

A probot is a robot on probation, while a servo is one still serving time.

A robotch may or may not be a sabot.

One vial, and my head is splitting with information and nomenclature.

A confuter, for instance, is not a confounding machine — that's a confutator — but a machine which quotes Confucius. A grammus is an antiquated frammus, a gidget — a cross between a gadget and a widget, usually flighty.

A bananalog is an analog banana plug. ...

VÊ É UMA BICHA AUTÊNTICA 

(UMA FILA ...COMO AS DOS SOVIETES  OU AS FILAS DE PAPEL HIGIÉNICO VENEZUELANAS)

ÓPTIMO - DISSE EU DEPOIS DE UMA HORA EM PÉ....E QUANDO ABREM?

-ABREM....O QUÊ? PERGUNTOU CONFUSO

-BOM O GUICHET ACHO EU 

-NUNCA- RESPONDE-ME UM CORO DE VOZES TRIUNFANTES 

OS FABRICANTES TÊM AGORA PROBLEMAS

MUITO ESTRANHÍSSIMOS NUMA EMBALAGEM

SÓ PODE FAZER PROPAGANDA HORA AOS 

SEUS PRODUTOS, É PROIBIDO AGARRAR O CLIENTE PELOS COLARINHOS....

OS NEGROS MUDAM DE RAÇA TOMANDO CAUCÁSIO 

CARO DOENTE ....AS MEDIDAS PARA SALVÁ-LO LEVARAM A QUE SE FIZESSEM 1,2,....1O (MARCAR O QUE INTERESSA) OPERAÇÕES ...EMBORA TENHA SIDO NECESSÁRIO REMOVER OS PULMÕES FÍGADO CRÂNIO ETC....ESSES DESPOJOS FORAM TRATADOS NO RIGOROSO RESPEITO PELA SUA RELIGIÃO FORAM CREMADOS EMBALSAMADOS ATIRADOS AO LIXO, AO MAR, ENTERRADOS (MARQUE COM UM CÍRCULO O QUE INTERESSA...

 

 

 

 

Bayesianism Messianism obamanism ...onanism

Changes"

Everyone is facing changes
No one knows what's going on.
And everyone is changing places
Still the world keeps moving on.

Love must always change to sorrow?
And everyone must play the game,
Because its here today and gone tomorrow
Still the world goes on the same.

Love must always change to sorrow
And everyone must play the game,
Because its here today and gone tomorrow
Still the world goes on the same.

Its here today and gone tomorrow
Still the world goes on the same.

 General Apollon Diaz was currently in power and leaned toward the position of the hawks, which was to meet force with force. The proposal had already been made at Parliament (which stood in permanent emergency session) to counterattack: to pull twice the number of teeth from the political prisoners the abductors were demanding and mail them poste restante, as the address of guerrilla headquarters was unknown.

 Ijon Tichy, having returned to Earth from space, finds himself attending the Eighth World Futurological Congress, being held in a 106-storey hotel in Costa Rica alongside the Plenary Council of Student Protest Veterans, the Convention of Publishers of Liberated Literature, and a Philumenist Society meeting 

(collectors of matchbooks)

 For instance the second delegate from Japan unveils a 10,000:1 model of a housing complex some 800 stories tall with self sustaining everything and mobile in the ocean! It's the future! In fact, everything is recycled! Even the food is recycled waste and excrement from the people. The sausage left out in the hall is actually reconstituted human waste (at which point everyone in the audience stops eating and shuffles the food underneath their seats). This sets the tone for a few of the minor themes of the novel and gives you an idea of how Lem takes subtle jabs at everyone. For example another United States delegate takes the floor to talk about population problems that are rapidly developing. He outlines seven solutions: "mass media and mass arrests, compulsory celibacy, full-sale deeroticization, onanization, sodomization, and for repeated offenders--castration.

HE SARTED KEEPING A JOURNAL .....THE FURTIVE ACT OF A DERANGED PERSON - IT IS SOMETIMES AN APPROPRIATE RESPONSE TO REALITY TO GO INSANE - THOSE WHO AGREE WITH YOU YOUNG GAMA CROSS ARE INSANE ....AND SOMETIMES THEY ARE IN POWER AND SOMETIMES THEY ARE THE POWER...

It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.”

“When you are crazy you learn to keep quiet.”
―

“There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy you. Another sentence exists, another series of words, that could heal you. If you're lucky you will get the second, but you can be certain of getting the first.”
―

“This is a mournful discovery.
1)Those who agree with you are insane
2)Those who do not agree with you are in power.”
―

“There is no route out of the maze. The maze shifts as you move through it, because it is alive. ”
―

“The distinction between sanity and insanity is narrower than a razor’s edge, sharper than a hound’s tooth, more agile than a mule deer. It is more elusive than the merest phantom. Perhaps it does not even exist; perhaps it is a phantom. ”
―

“Fear can make you do more wrong than hate or jealousy... fear makes you always, always hold something back.”

“The cries of the dead are terrible indeed; you should try not to hear them.”
―

“Fish cannot carry guns.”
―

“Everybody knows that Aristotelian two-value logic is fucked.”

“It has been said of dreams that they are a 'controlled psychosis,' or, put another way, a psychosis is a dream breaking through during waking hours.”
―

“I did not tell Fat this, but technically he had become a Buddha. It did not seem to me like a good idea to let him know. After all, if you are a Buddha you should be able to figure it out for yourself.”

“Just tell me why; why the fucking why?" To which the universe would hollowly respond, "My ways cannot be known, oh man." Which is to say, "My ways do not make sense, nor do the ways of those who dwell in me.”

“It is amazing that when someone else spouts the nonsense you yourself believe you can readily perceive it as nonsense”

“Each of us assumes everyone else knows what HE is doing. They all assume we know what WE are doing. We don't...Nothing is going on and nobody knows what it is. Nobody is concealing anything except the fact that he does not understand anything anymore and wishes he could go home.”

“The mentally disturbed do not employ the Principle of Scientific Parsimony: the most simple theory to explain a given set of facts. They shoot for the baroque.”
―

“What he did not know then is that it is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.”
―

“Fat realized that one of two possibilities existed and only two; either Dr. Stone was totally insane – not just insane but totally so – or else in an artful, professional fashion he had gotten Fat to talk; he had drawn Fat out and now knew that Fat was totally insane.”
―started keeping a journal - had been, in fact, secretly doing so for some time: the furtive act of a deranged person.”

“We hypostatize information into objects. Rearrangement of objects is change in the content of the information; the message has changed. This is a language which we have lost the ability to read. We ourselves are a part of this language; changes in us are changes in the content of the information. We ourselves are information-rich; information enters us, is processed and is then projected outward once more, now in an altered form. We are not aware that we are doing this, that in fact this is all we are doing”
―

“Basically, Sherri's idea had to do with bringing Fat's mind down from the cosmic and the abstract to the particular. She had hatched out the practical notion that nothing is more real than a large World War Two Soviet tank.”

“You know what the doctor said to me to cheer me up?" Fat said. "There are worse diseases than cancer."
"Did he show you slides?"
We both laughed. When you are nearly crazy with grief, you laugh at what you can.”
―

“I can see Richard Wagner standing at the gates of heaven. "You have to let me in," he says. "I wrote Parsifal. It has to do with the Grail, Christ, suffering, pity and healing. Right?" And they answer, "Well, we read it and it makes no sense." SLAM.”
―

“The frogs hopping indoors agree that we are on a prison planet.
They themselves are frog criminals that were convicted of doing frog crimes.”
―

“Amazed, Fat said, "She's decomposing and yet she's still giving birth?"
"Only to monsters," Dr. Stone said.”
―

“The exegesis Fat labored on month after month struck me as a Pyrrhic victory if there ever was one -- in this case an attempt by a beleaguered mind to make sense out of the inscrutable. Perhaps this is the bottom line to mental illness: incomprehensible events occur; your life becomes a bin for hoax-like fluctuations of what used to be reality. And not only that -- as if that weren't enough -- but you, like Fat, ponder forever over these fluctuations in an effort to order them into a coherency, when in fact the only sense they make is the sense you impose on them, out of necessity to restore everything into shapes and processes you can recognize. The first thing to depart in mental illness is the familiar. And what takes its place is bad news because not only can you not understand it, you also cannot communicate it to other people. The madman experiences something, but what it is or where it comes from he does not know.”
―

“Men and the world are mutually toxic to each other.”
―

“Look in it,' he said, smiling slightly, as you do when you have given someone a present which you know will please him and he is unwrapping it before your eyes.
I opened it. In the folder I found four 8×10 glossy photos, obviously professionally done; they looked like the kind of stills that the publicity departments of movie studios put out.
The photos showed a Greek vase, on it a painting of a male figure who we recognized as Hermes.
Twined around the vase the double helix confronted us, done in red glaze against a black background. The DNA molecule. There could be no mistake.
'Twenty-three or -four hundred years ago,' Fat said. 'Not the picture but the krater, the pottery.'
'A pot,' I said.
'I saw it in a museum in Athens. It's authentic. Thats not a matter of my own opinion; I'm not qualified to judge such matters; it's authenticity has been established by the museum authorities. I talked with one of them. He hadn't realized what the design shows; he was very interested when I discussed it with him. This form of vase, the krater, was the shape later used as the baptismal font. That was one of the Greek words that came into my head in March 1974, the word “krater”. I heard it connected with another Greek word: “poros”. The words “poros krater” essentially mean “limestone font”. '
There could be no doubt; the design, predating Christianity, was Crick and Watson's double helix model at which they had arrived after so many wrong guesses, so much trial-and-error work. Here it was, faithfully reproduced.
'Well?' I said.
'The so-called intertwined snakes of the caduceus. Originally the caduceus, which is still the symbol of medicine was the staff of- not Hermes-but-' Fat paused, his eyes bright. 'Of Asklepios. It has a very specific meaning, besides that of wisdom, which the snakes allude to; it shows that the bearer is a sacred person and not to be molested...which is why Hermes the messenger of the gods, carried it.'
None of us said anything for a time.
Kevin started to utter something sarcastic, something in his dry, witty way, but he did not; he only sat without speaking.
Examining the 8×10 glossies, Ginger said, 'How lovely!'
'The greatest physician in all human history,' Fat said to her. 'Asklepios, the founder of Greek medicine. The Roman Emperor Julian-known to us as Julian the Apostate because he renounced Christianity-conside​red Asklepios as God or a god; Julian worshipped him. If that worship had continued, the entire history of the Western world would have basically changed”
―

“Once, in a cheap science fiction novel, Fat had come across a perfect description of the Black Iron Prison, but set in the far future. So if you superimposed the past (ancient Rome) over the present (California in the twentieth century) and superimposed the far future world of The Android Cried Me a River over that, you got the Empire, as the supra- or trans-temporal constant. Everyone who had ever lived was literally surrounded by the iron walls of the prison; they were all inside it and none of them knew it.”
―

“Exactly what the powers of hell feed on: the best instincts in man.

O amor é o amor - e depois? Vamos ficar os dois a imaginar, a imaginar?... O meu peito contra o teu peito cortando o mar, cortando o ar. Num leito há todo o espaço para amar! Na nossa carne estamos sem destino, sem medo, sem pudor, e trocamos - somos um? somos dois? - espírito e calor! O amor é o amor - e depois? Fonte: http://www.luso-poemas.net/modules/news03/index.php?storytopic=41&storynum=40&order=published&mode=1&uid=0&start=0#ixzz38X560sD9

Há palavras que nos beijam
Como se tivessem boca.
Palavras de amor, esperança,
De imenso amor, de esperança louca.

Palavras nuas que beijas
Quando a noite perde o rosto;
Palavras que se recusam
Aos muros do teu desgosto.

De repente coloridas
Entre palavras sem cor,
Esperadas inesperadas
Como poesia ou o amor.

(O nome de quem se ama
Letra a letra revelado
No mármore distraído
No papel abandonado)

Palavras que nos transporta
Aonde a noite é mais forte,
Ao silêncio dos amantes
Abraçados contra a morte.

A meu favor
Tenho o verde secreto dos teus olhos
Algumas palavras de ódio algumas palavras de amor
O tapete que vai partir para o infinito
Esta noite ou uma noite qualquer

A meu favor
As paredes que insultam devagar
Certo refúgio acima do murmúrio
Que da vida corrente teime em vir
O barco escondido pela folhagem
O jardim onde a aventura recomeça.

A meu favor tenho uma rua em transe
Um alto incêndio em nome de nós todos

III

 Se uma gaivota viesse
trazer-me o céu de Lisboa
no desenho que fizesse,
nesse céu onde o olhar
é uma asa que não voa,
esmorece e cai no mar.

Que perfeito coração
no meu peito bateria,
meu amor na tua mão,
nessa mão onde cabia
perfeito o meu coração.

Se um português marinheiro,
dos sete mares andarilho,
fosse quem sabe o primeiro
a contar-me o que inventasse,
se um olhar de novo brilho
no meu olhar se enlaçasse.

Que perfeito coração
no meu peito bateria,
meu amor na tua mão,
nessa mão onde cabia
perfeito o meu coração.

Se ao dizer adeus à vida
as aves todas do céu,
me dessem na despedida
o teu olhar derradeiro,
esse olhar que era só teu,
amor que foste o primeiro.

Que perfeito coração
morreria no meu peito morreria,
meu amor na tua mão,
nessa mão onde perfeito
bateu o meu coração.

 Estamos todos bem servidos
de solidão.
De manhã a recolhemos
do saco, em lugar de pão.

Pão é claro que temos
(não sou exageradão)
mas esta imagem do saco
contendo um pequeno «não»

não figura nesta prosa
assim do pé para a mão,
pois o saco utilizado,
que pode ser o do pão,

recebe modestamente
a corriqueira fracção
desse alimento que é
tão distribuído, tão

a domicílio como
o leite ou o pão.
Mas esse leitor aí
(bem real!) já diz que não,

que nunca viu no tal saco
o tal «não».
Ao que o poeta responde,
sem maior desilusão:

- Para dizer a verdade,
eu também não...
Mas estava confiante
na sua imaginação
(ou na minha...) e que sentia
como eu a solidão
e quanto ela é objecto

da carinhosa atenção

de quem hoje nos fornece
o quotidiano «não»,
por todos os meios, desde
a fingida distracção,

até ao entre-parêntesis
de qualquer reclusão...

Mal nos conhecemos
Inauguramos a palavra amigo!
Amigo é um sorriso
De boca em boca,
Um olhar bem limpo
Uma casa, mesmo modesta, que se oferece.
Um coração pronto a pulsar
Na nossa mão!
Amigo (recordam-se, vocês aí,
Escrupulosos detritos?)
Amigo é o contrário de inimigo!
Amigo é o erro corrigido,
Não o erro perseguido, explorado.
É a verdade partilhada, praticada.
Amigo é a solidão derrotada!
Amigo é uma grande tarefa,
Um trabalho sem fim,
Um espaço útil, um tempo fértil,
Amigo vai ser, é já uma grande festa!

                                                             

O ESTADO GALARDÔA A ESTUPIDEZ POR FORMA A IMPOL-A (IMPO-LA MESMO ) COMO UM TALENTO, ESTE HOSPÍCIO DE SÃO BENTO ONDE NÃO TER CABEÇA RENDE TRES MIL RÉIS AO DIA ...OH SANTO DEUS QUE TYPOS..ANTIGAMENTE METIAM-SE OS MICROCEPHALOS NOS ASYLOS HOJE METEM-SE OS VASCOS DA GAMA NA POLÍTICA....APARTE OUTRAS VIRTUDES A POLÍTICA TIRA VADIOS DA CADEIA E PESPEGA COM ELES NO CAMINHO DA FORTUNA

TODOS OS SENÕES DA MULHER BELA POR OFFÍCIO

A BELEZA GORDA. A MAGRA A PALLIDA

SYMPATHIA - PRENDA DE CONSOLAÇÃO PARA AS QUE NÃO SÃO NEM BONITAS

NEM FEIAS FUNDADA NA INTELLIGENCIA

(ESPECIE DE REFRIGÉRIO PARA AS HORROROSAS)

O QUE ENTENDIA O SENHOR ALUMNO POR PERCEPÇÃO INTERNA...

- PORQUE ERA UM RIO SÓ COMPOSTO D'AGUA ?

COMO HA DEZ OU DOZE ANNOS OS EDUCADORES DA MOCIDADE PORTUGUEZA

VÃO PRESCREVENDO A INSTRUCÇÃO SECUNDÁRIA

NÃO COMO UM METHODO

MAS COMO UMA ENCYCLOPEDIA OU WIKIPEDIA....