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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUHRX09fip7ImA9WhRbEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548</id><updated>2012-01-31T01:47:14.366-08:00</updated><category term="De: Mim" /><category term="Sons" /><category term="Humor" /><category term="Útil" /><category term="Pensamentos" /><category term="poet.isa" /><title>Sem Naufragar</title><subtitle type="html">Numa noite de Sábado com tanto que há para fazer, dizer, gozar, rir, partilhar, decidi vir até aqui. Estou a navegar neste mundo de viagens que é a net. Imagino outros náufragos esta noite a fazer o mesmo.
Que este seja um bom porto de abrigo. Meu será.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>452</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/SemNaufragar" /><feedburner:info uri="semnaufragar" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUHRX08eip7ImA9WhRbEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-8580462144786025211</id><published>2012-01-31T01:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T01:47:14.372-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-31T01:47:14.372-08:00</app:edited><title>home office II</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
ideias para um Home Office descontraído.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
inspirem-se :-)&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
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&amp;nbsp;home office na crista da onda&lt;/div&gt;
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home office em cama de rede&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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Eu fui! E gostei como podem ver pelo post aqui &lt;a href="http://machineeye.blogspot.com/2012/01/arte-inspiradora.html"&gt;http://machineeye.blogspot.com/2012/01/arte-inspiradora.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Está no CCB (Belém , Lisboa), a data de fecho foi prolongada até hoje.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
É gratuíta, free!&lt;br /&gt;
Aproveitem :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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Alguém desse lado tem em casa um espaço para trabalhar?&lt;br /&gt;
Talvez uma secretária onde passe algumas horas a escrever, tratar de fotografias ou ocupado com&amp;nbsp;emails, redes sociais, ou outra ocupação?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;Como é esse espaço? Que cara tem?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Em casa temos um espaço desse género. Foi criado na sala para que possamos estar ocupados (seja com o que for)&amp;nbsp;e juntos. Já foi num dos quartos e, para além de não ajudar à socialização,&amp;nbsp;acabávamos por dar muito pouco uso à sala.&amp;nbsp;Também tem outra vantagem:&amp;nbsp;há sempre a tendência para ter alguma coisa nos computadores para partilhar com os amigos e familiares e por isso dá jeito estar mais à mão.&lt;br /&gt;
O nosso tem uma enorme secretária (podia ser mais pequena e estilosa...), dois computadores (ou mais!), tem&amp;nbsp;papéis/folhetos/postais/apontamenos de ideias/fotos/marcações de consulta&amp;nbsp;colados com fita cola&amp;nbsp;na parede&amp;nbsp;mesmo por cima, canetas e&amp;nbsp;marcadores, água, uma pilha de livros (!), e outras coisas.&amp;nbsp;Às vezes tem caneca, gato(s),&amp;nbsp;carregador do telefone, apontamentos e... Bem, e também há dias em que está exemplar, clean e&amp;nbsp;arejada!&lt;br /&gt;
É um sitio onde podem estar perfeitamente duas pessoas ocupadas e juntas.&lt;br /&gt;
Considero estes espaços sempre muito particulares, diferentes uns dos outros e talvez um pouco de cada um de nós.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;Gosto de guardar fotos que&amp;nbsp;pesquiso, contribui para inspirar e libertar o espírito. Aqui ficam 2. Depois venho cá por mais.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sigo alguns blogues. &lt;a href="http://amberleilani.blogspot.com/2012/01/little-tromp-around-my-studio.html"&gt;Este aqui&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;é um desses exemplos, uma artista que&amp;nbsp;cria bonecas de papel e está em&amp;nbsp;New Orleans. Recentemente, colocou fotos do seu atelier, um espaço cheio de "quase-obras" e&amp;nbsp;cores. Deliciosas!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hoje é Domingo e há SOL! Aqui é dia de dar um jeito na bagunça, arrumar ideias e ainda aproveitar o dia. Afinal não é todos os dias que é Domingo. Bom Domingo :-)&lt;br /&gt;
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estudei que todos nós oferecemos "resistência à mudança".&amp;nbsp;agora a questão é&amp;nbsp;mudar as palavras [a-s-p-a-l-a-v-r-a-s]: "actos" por "atos", "factos" por "fatos", "objectivo" por "objetivo" e isto custa.&lt;br /&gt;
parar-para-pensar como escrevo. como não bastasse, quando leio soa a:&amp;nbsp;"português do Brasil".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-57p_U6wdpcM/Twy8b3IHdKI/AAAAAAAABp0/7MxipVfKxyY/s1600/farol-resiste-a-uma-tempestade-003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-57p_U6wdpcM/Twy8b3IHdKI/AAAAAAAABp0/7MxipVfKxyY/s320/farol-resiste-a-uma-tempestade-003.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;não resolve perguntar ao Mundo "porque é que tivémos de baixar as calcinhas?". já me fartei de justificar mais de metade das movimentações do mundo por causa da economia.&lt;br /&gt;
será que qualquer dia convencem o SOL a pôr-se mais tarde, assim só de vez em quando, para&amp;nbsp; que as pessoas trabalhem mais? ou para que as pessoas permaneçam mais tempo nas esplanadas e consumam mais? ou para andarem mais de carro e gastarem mais combustível?!&lt;br /&gt;
raios dos motivos económicos! não seria mais&amp;nbsp;apropriado&amp;nbsp;aplicar&amp;nbsp;o&amp;nbsp;dinheiro gasto no novo acordo ortográfico em aulas de mandarim? investimento na cultura e no futuro da economia. &lt;br /&gt;
raios, voltei&amp;nbsp;à economia!!!!&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANKGF-oR3pmV_vxRoO9ifSIjJSQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ANKGF-oR3pmV_vxRoO9ifSIjJSQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/KJ7GgEEzhUc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/4160812799152401559/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=4160812799152401559" title="2 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4160812799152401559?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4160812799152401559?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/KJ7GgEEzhUc/nao-sao-as-regras.html" title="não são as regras..." /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-57p_U6wdpcM/Twy8b3IHdKI/AAAAAAAABp0/7MxipVfKxyY/s72-c/farol-resiste-a-uma-tempestade-003.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2012/01/nao-sao-as-regras.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMCQn08eSp7ImA9WhRUFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-6011870166328984367</id><published>2011-12-29T09:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T03:14:23.371-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T03:14:23.371-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="De: Mim" /><title>2012 é par, grande e estrelado!</title><content type="html">não tem preço o valor do meu Sol. tem sido constante no percurso que: acarinho e escolho, caminho e embrulho, cruzo&amp;nbsp;e&amp;nbsp;piso, abraço e&amp;nbsp;traço, conspiro&amp;nbsp;e respiro, escrevo e me atrevo! trago e rasgo, uso e abuso...&amp;nbsp;vivo e revivo-o todos os dias.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LCXkTX8pEJA/RjevpTlnzJI/AAAAAAAAARY/1Y8IDGn3km8/s1600/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LCXkTX8pEJA/RjevpTlnzJI/AAAAAAAAARY/1Y8IDGn3km8/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;todos os dias têm Sol só e apenas&lt;/strong&gt; porque tenho pessoas realmente muito boas, diria mesmo, fantásticas,&amp;nbsp;perto de mim. aos meus amigos, outros que não são e nem por isso lhes tenho menos consideração, &lt;strong&gt;desejo para o novo ano:&amp;nbsp;sintam o Sol!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
nos escolhos dos dias nem tudo está ao nosso alcance: não seguramos todas as pontas&amp;nbsp;nem&amp;nbsp;soltamos todos os nós.&lt;br /&gt;
e há dias que nem&amp;nbsp;há alento para&amp;nbsp;sussurrar ao nosso eu que&amp;nbsp;o mundo está lá fora, quanto mais GRITAR e pedir-lhe que tenha força.&lt;br /&gt;
não escolhemos nascermos toldados a uma beleza singela. podemos talvez seleccionar a simplicidade e viver o BELO. &lt;strong&gt;parar e reparar.&lt;/strong&gt; o belo estará em quase todas as formas de vida, mesmo as mais apagadas, pequenas e que, por isso mesmo, nos pode escapar aos sentidos.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
as nossas crenças são terríveis. por tudo isto, cultive-se o SOL.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;pode ser&amp;nbsp;esse o caminho que fará dé todos nós&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;mães e pais das estrelas!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p_FVvLVVpQ030d3xGovjkMVUyu4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/p_FVvLVVpQ030d3xGovjkMVUyu4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/4wlseXNfIb4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/6011870166328984367/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=6011870166328984367" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/6011870166328984367?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/6011870166328984367?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/4wlseXNfIb4/2012-e-par-grande-e-estrelado.html" title="2012 é par, grande e estrelado!" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LCXkTX8pEJA/RjevpTlnzJI/AAAAAAAAARY/1Y8IDGn3km8/s72-c/IMG_0058.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/12/2012-e-par-grande-e-estrelado.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cDR3k9eyp7ImA9WhRUEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-7562059842123147367</id><published>2011-12-28T09:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T01:17:56.763-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-20T01:17:56.763-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><title>segredos, seres que existem</title><content type="html">todos temos cá dentro. de amor e ódio. de coisas que são só nossas. momentos e lembranças. e até poderíamos querer deitá-las fora, mas são nossas e fazem de nós os seres que existimos. deixamos que fiquem, quentes e escuros, guardados e&amp;nbsp;enrolados. deixamos que permaneçam.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;seres que existem através de nós, até sermos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
quem quiser traduzir por palavras vos digo que seria tempo de pouco proveito.&amp;nbsp;chegarão as palavras para tal? bastarão essas tolas? mesmo aos amigos mais queridos, essas coisas quando ditas passariam a ser de outros como nós e, talvez ainda não tenham pensado nisso, mas provavelmente seriam de pouca compreensão.&amp;nbsp;ofuscadas pela parte inflexível das palavras, pois mesmo o&amp;nbsp;mínimo brilho que delas guardamos, incorre o risco de se esconder&amp;nbsp;pelas letras tão padronizadas.&amp;nbsp;mesmo assim, há quem se aventure na tentativa de trocá-las por palavras.&lt;br /&gt;
essas coisas que sentimos e mesquinhamente nos doem o pensamento e a alma são aqueles segredos!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;os segredos existem enquanto somos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
aos que amamos e odiamos. as coisas que apenas a nós dizem respeito. são muitas e não pensem que escapam, não tenham nisso fé. quem vive inevitavelmente os criou.&amp;nbsp;porque a vida é feita por uma parte que se vê, dá-se, traduz-se e outra dorida, sem cor e corpo e&amp;nbsp;com m-u-i-t-a-a-l-m-a.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;são nossos e sempre o serão.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
e mesmo à alma que me conhece, a quem sou sincera, mesmo a essa, a quem sou tudo e quero todo o bem, não chegam 100 anos para tê-los, lê-los e compreendê-los.&lt;br /&gt;
podem ter voz. quando canto em tom de dor é apenas meu o som que trago em mim. tem dias que é som de alma, e outros&amp;nbsp;com alma de outros. mas é minha a alma onde me guardo e onde cabem os meus segredos.&lt;br /&gt;
são pensamentos, ideias, amores e ódios. aquilo que sentimos.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;segredos, seres que existem.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
"Quando menos se esperava, 4 cantores líricos juntaram-se na Gare do Oriente e &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #20124d;"&gt;alto e bom som deram voz à DPOC&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;. Uma acção que surpreendeu e marcou o dia mundial da DPOC, a 16 de Novembro. O momento, que durou alguns minutos, foi da responsabilidade da Sociedade Portuguesa de Pneumologia e da Fundação Portuguesa do Pulmão."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;p.s. oxalá tivesse estado presente! em 2007 assisti a algo do género no Harrods em Londres e foi fantástico. Só visto!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/G_0oRpfDU5gUpYwQDH8PkiWOgRI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/G_0oRpfDU5gUpYwQDH8PkiWOgRI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/oQ1P_oo_VFw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/3218523033186920775/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=3218523033186920775" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3218523033186920775?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3218523033186920775?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/oQ1P_oo_VFw/opera-em-lisboa-na-gare-do-oriente-pela.html" title="Ópera em Lisboa, na Gare do Oriente - pela DPOC" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/nrJMavQgUf4/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/12/opera-em-lisboa-na-gare-do-oriente-pela.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cNRnw7eSp7ImA9WhRQEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-4026734239934069112</id><published>2011-12-06T15:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T15:44:57.201-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-06T15:44:57.201-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="De: Mim" /><title>vontade voraz</title><content type="html">terá alguém já sentido a vontade de amar AS PESSOAS? amar por ser pessoa. cuidar. e cuidar.&lt;br /&gt;
aceitar aquela pessoa ali exposta. é ou não é tentador?&lt;br /&gt;
é intenso e chega a doer. emociona-me. como posso explicar...?!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Hrq6GsUXIk/Tt6oMDa-dbI/AAAAAAAABpY/24ot4Kc_KMI/s1600/ponte-millau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Hrq6GsUXIk/Tt6oMDa-dbI/AAAAAAAABpY/24ot4Kc_KMI/s320/ponte-millau.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;preenche o ar. os olhos e a testa franzem-se pela força da minha vontade e desejo&amp;nbsp;para que a pessoa SE VIVA. se viva a ela e os mais pequenos milagres das 24horas que todos os dias nos são dados.&lt;br /&gt;
este elástico que nunca estico ao limite, é um autêntico vapor vitaminado que me impulsiona e, ao mesmo tempo, me mantém focada em ver A PESSOA.&lt;br /&gt;
não o sinto todos os dias. mas há dias em que se os meus braços fossem pontes&amp;nbsp;andaria esticada a ligar as margens pelo ar. e andaria nas nuvens!&lt;br /&gt;
ou abraçada. sempre entrelaçada e nas nuvens!&lt;br /&gt;
é realidade? é fantasia?&lt;br /&gt;
se sinto é. ponto final.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FrNMKBRDhEIBzMxNCzOUlnn047Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/FrNMKBRDhEIBzMxNCzOUlnn047Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/a-O4nJ-xt1g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/4026734239934069112/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=4026734239934069112" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4026734239934069112?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4026734239934069112?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/a-O4nJ-xt1g/vontade-voraz.html" title="vontade voraz" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Hrq6GsUXIk/Tt6oMDa-dbI/AAAAAAAABpY/24ot4Kc_KMI/s72-c/ponte-millau.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/12/vontade-voraz.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEICSX07eCp7ImA9WhRUFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-847192061184465754</id><published>2011-11-24T08:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T03:16:08.300-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T03:16:08.300-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Humor" /><title>à porta da AR</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JBOssoLds0k/Ts5tMmpfp0I/AAAAAAAABpQ/dPR87GcOip0/s1600/ASSEMB%257E1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JBOssoLds0k/Ts5tMmpfp0I/AAAAAAAABpQ/dPR87GcOip0/s200/ASSEMB%257E1.JPG" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Um homem ia a passar junto à Assembleia da República, e ouve lá de dentro:&lt;br /&gt;
"Ladrão. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Mentiroso. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Corrupto. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Sem Vergonha. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Trafulha. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Preguiçoso.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;Vendido..."&lt;br /&gt;
Assustado, o homem pergunta ao policia, parado à porta:&lt;br /&gt;
- O que está a acontecer ali dentro?!&lt;br /&gt;
-&amp;nbsp;Estão a começar a trabalhar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;- Mas e aqueles nomes?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;- Homem, é a chamada das presenças.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/73-0CjGcw-gm6UAUwdC1igpuN_M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/73-0CjGcw-gm6UAUwdC1igpuN_M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/RsVIRwTW17Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/847192061184465754/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=847192061184465754" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/847192061184465754?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/847192061184465754?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/RsVIRwTW17Y/mesmo-calhar.html" title="à porta da AR" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JBOssoLds0k/Ts5tMmpfp0I/AAAAAAAABpQ/dPR87GcOip0/s72-c/ASSEMB%257E1.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/11/mesmo-calhar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUGRn88cSp7ImA9WhRSFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-5683438189466375278</id><published>2011-11-14T09:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-16T01:37:07.179-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-11-16T01:37:07.179-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="De: Mim" /><title>percorremos a vida</title><content type="html">&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://machineeye.blogspot.com/2011/11/quando-minha-mente-caminha.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S24T3UprZyI/TsFO8AF1TYI/AAAAAAAABpA/Sp-C_5DRBQg/s320/caminho_sintra.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;há&amp;nbsp;dias mais fortes do que outros. costumam ser dias em que estamos mais próximos de algo grande como a&amp;nbsp;vida. &lt;strong&gt;perante a vida, o que pode ser maior? talvez apenas outra vida. &lt;/strong&gt;é por isso que nestes dias busco, sem querer, a &lt;strong&gt;palpitação da vida&lt;/strong&gt;. pequenas coisas que me lembram de que&amp;nbsp;o simples viver é uma graça que herdamos, da qual devemos estar gratos e fazer o melhor que pudermos com ela e por ela. tanta gente a morrer por doenças de tratamentos prolongados que chegamos a desejar que basta de sofrimento. os corajosos vivem-na até perderem a respiração, a força para suportar a dor, até à despedida. &lt;strong&gt;comecei a morrer há 32 anos&lt;/strong&gt; e nunca sei o que me espera. gostava que ninguém sofresse por mim, mas isso seria desejar não ter amigos. e isso sim seria deprimir a minha vida e toda a minha saúde. &lt;strong&gt;cada dia vale pelo seu valor&lt;/strong&gt;, mesmo nos dias mais fortes, aqueles que guardamos para sempre mesmo nunca tendo desejado a sua existência. por ser um dia forte dei por mim a&lt;strong&gt; viajar para encontrar belezas acessíveis a todos&lt;/strong&gt; e que &lt;strong&gt;nunca deixam cair no esquecimento o valor de percorrermos um&amp;nbsp;caminho.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0DoUq4aYdSBoNz_NYqOknLzD4zI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/0DoUq4aYdSBoNz_NYqOknLzD4zI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/-2BstALrkoM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/5683438189466375278/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=5683438189466375278" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/5683438189466375278?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/5683438189466375278?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/-2BstALrkoM/percorremos-vida.html" title="percorremos a vida" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S24T3UprZyI/TsFO8AF1TYI/AAAAAAAABpA/Sp-C_5DRBQg/s72-c/caminho_sintra.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/11/percorremos-vida.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IAQn46eCp7ImA9WhRUEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-3557561750133337738</id><published>2011-11-10T16:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T01:25:43.010-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-20T01:25:43.010-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="De: Mim" /><title>um pouco melhor qualquer coisa</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dm8h5Ot7qNg/TrxnYvd6PII/AAAAAAAABo4/YIoVEzLozIo/s1600/marcador_rosa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dm8h5Ot7qNg/TrxnYvd6PII/AAAAAAAABo4/YIoVEzLozIo/s320/marcador_rosa.jpg" width="115" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;hoje foi dia de beber. beber de outros. outros falaram, exposeram, brincaram com palavras, imagens e ideias. e só tive de dispor de tempo, mente, ouvidos e atenção. houve momento para reflexão. reflexão no meio da multidão. há melhor do que, estar comigo mesma num auditório com tanta gente? deve haver :-) mas hoje foi assim e soube bem. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
senti-me grande quando &lt;strong&gt;todos tivémos a liberdade de fechar os olhos e apenas pensar para dentro de nós, sobre nós, os nosso sonhos.&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
grata todos os dias por poder estar a viver este momento e&amp;nbsp;em Portugal. e poder estar em contacto com tantas mentes fantásticas que partilham. &lt;strong&gt;eu, a louca.&lt;/strong&gt; o "eu" que parece adormecido e que está sempre em criação. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;boa noite&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;mundo&lt;/strong&gt; que avança em silêncio e que constantemente se auto-cria e recria, que todos os dias por fazer isso&amp;nbsp;torna&amp;nbsp;&lt;em&gt;um&amp;nbsp;pouco melhor qualquer coisa&lt;/em&gt;. e qualquer coisa és tu mundo, esse que é parte de cada um de nós, e do qual cada um de nós faz parte.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_iaFAlIcqjlM1KmUQvooP_jtrH0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_iaFAlIcqjlM1KmUQvooP_jtrH0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/5wcac6Zf4Q0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/3557561750133337738/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=3557561750133337738" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3557561750133337738?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3557561750133337738?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/5wcac6Zf4Q0/um-pouco-melhor-qualquer-coisa.html" title="um pouco melhor qualquer coisa" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dm8h5Ot7qNg/TrxnYvd6PII/AAAAAAAABo4/YIoVEzLozIo/s72-c/marcador_rosa.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/11/um-pouco-melhor-qualquer-coisa.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcER347cCp7ImA9WhRUFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-4375965508311035610</id><published>2011-11-02T02:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T03:23:26.008-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T03:23:26.008-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poet.isa" /><title>perfume de amor</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kykxuRjtk20/TyE3byN_4aI/AAAAAAAABrA/q7EOm83CMCI/s1600/olfato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kykxuRjtk20/TyE3byN_4aI/AAAAAAAABrA/q7EOm83CMCI/s1600/olfato.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;frasco distraído com aroma e cor, possível contigo, agora que sei, o melhor odor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
não to pedi, não é roubado.&lt;br /&gt;
sentido e adocicado, intenso e cuidado, pelo nosso bater combinado.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
afrutado, partilhado, entranhado e suado, pelo ritmo marcado.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
nunca é demais cheirar-te, passa tudo.&lt;br /&gt;
libertar-te, deixar ser, conquistar-te. no melhor: viver-te!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
inspiro e respiro, nosso e inteiro, sensação ímpar, este profundo cheiro.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3bKrQUXddYTJMb7axR2_CvfsfJ4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3bKrQUXddYTJMb7axR2_CvfsfJ4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/Blmnnb5z3YQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/4375965508311035610/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=4375965508311035610" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4375965508311035610?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/4375965508311035610?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/Blmnnb5z3YQ/perfume-de-amor.html" title="perfume de amor" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kykxuRjtk20/TyE3byN_4aI/AAAAAAAABrA/q7EOm83CMCI/s72-c/olfato.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/11/perfume-de-amor.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8ASHk_eip7ImA9WhdbFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-3885234105493091707</id><published>2011-10-12T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T09:27:29.742-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-12T09:27:29.742-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poet.isa" /><title>atrevo-me, sussuro-te baixinho</title><content type="html">ténue e fino&lt;br /&gt;
esse limite&lt;br /&gt;
incolor&lt;br /&gt;
quase palpite&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
nenhures&lt;br /&gt;
quero estar&lt;br /&gt;
entregue&lt;br /&gt;
e dançar&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
é tão fino&lt;br /&gt;
chegas em&amp;nbsp;som&lt;br /&gt;
delicado&lt;br /&gt;
e doce tom&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
amanhecer&lt;br /&gt;
assim&lt;br /&gt;
traz tudo&lt;br /&gt;
sem fim&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
que&amp;nbsp;infinita&lt;br /&gt;
e estimulante mania&lt;br /&gt;
sempre a sonhar&lt;br /&gt;
de noite e de dia&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
gemido&lt;br /&gt;
contido&lt;br /&gt;
tremido&lt;br /&gt;
e perdido&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
trago algures&lt;br /&gt;
cheio de&amp;nbsp;mel&lt;br /&gt;
caso me&amp;nbsp;escales&lt;br /&gt;
sem toque de pele&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
chego quase&amp;nbsp;perto&lt;br /&gt;
respiro&amp;nbsp;fraquinho&lt;br /&gt;
asas batem devagarinho&lt;br /&gt;
miro-te a dormir&amp;nbsp;sózinho&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
atrevo-me, sussuro-te baixinho&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
leves e soltas&lt;br /&gt;
gramas de pardal&lt;br /&gt;
é tão ténue e tão fino...&lt;br /&gt;
voar&amp;nbsp;igual não tem&amp;nbsp;mal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c86rJlZl9e-quaEuLym1zLqDSXo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/c86rJlZl9e-quaEuLym1zLqDSXo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/U3MwxZuIrqo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/3885234105493091707/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=3885234105493091707" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3885234105493091707?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3885234105493091707?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/U3MwxZuIrqo/atrevo-me-sussuro-te-baixinho.html" title="atrevo-me, sussuro-te baixinho" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/10/atrevo-me-sussuro-te-baixinho.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4EQ3Y7eCp7ImA9WhRUFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-3019551105276913804</id><published>2011-09-28T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T03:38:22.800-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T03:38:22.800-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Útil" /><title>criatividade: texto fantástico</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="color: #e69138;"&gt;o tema da criatividade&lt;/span&gt; interessa-me muito. porquê? hoje vivemos "contra natura"; desvalorizou-se o sermos criativos em prol de sermos eficientes (ponto final).&amp;nbsp;pelo que&amp;nbsp;sei, (e qualquer pessoa que pare para pensar sobre isto vai concluir o mesmo) quando dedicamos tempo a sermos criativos estamos a proporcionar bem-estar em nós mesmos. o bem-estar de cada um é um tema interessante, é ou não é?&lt;br /&gt;
Sim? Não? Talvez?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #e69138;"&gt;está mais que na hora de apostar/investir na nossa criatividade.&lt;/span&gt; naquilo que é nosso e inevitavelmente existe em cada um de nós. se cada um fizer isso provavelmente terá mais mecanismos para voltar a si quando precisa ou valorizar-se +&amp;nbsp;rapidamente naqueles momentos em que o chão parece ter vida própria e quer&amp;nbsp;fugir debaixo dos nossos pés.&lt;br /&gt;
sobre este tema, encontrei este &lt;strong&gt;texto (fantástico)&lt;/strong&gt; para ler e reler sempre - guardar -&amp;nbsp;"Pense como um sábio tolo." uma das estratégias para a criatividade é colocarmo-nos na forma de pensar de outro tipo de pessoas, pensar como um louco. Mas um louco com conhecimento.&lt;br /&gt;
ver aqui &lt;a href="http://blog.creativethink.com/2011/08/think-like-a-wise-fool.html"&gt;http://blog.creativethink.com/2011/08/think-like-a-wise-fool.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/j3GjhgAngm75BO6J7dwoeubLxHo/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/j3GjhgAngm75BO6J7dwoeubLxHo/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/OMeEdTvyy6Q" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/3019551105276913804/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=3019551105276913804" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3019551105276913804?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3019551105276913804?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/OMeEdTvyy6Q/texto-fantastico.html" title="criatividade: texto fantástico" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/09/texto-fantastico.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkQDR3g-eyp7ImA9WhRUFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-1275156920982369495</id><published>2011-09-07T08:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T03:46:16.653-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-26T03:46:16.653-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><title>através das pessoas</title><content type="html">a ver para além das pessoas aprendi com crianças, são apenas crianças.&lt;br /&gt;
mesmo se alguém lhes lê outra alma. &lt;strong&gt;o azeite não se mistura com a água, flutua.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DxY8NRCftCI/TmeOohHzvQI/AAAAAAAABnQ/bO5EJ2mPdio/s1600/azeite%2526agua.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DxY8NRCftCI/TmeOohHzvQI/AAAAAAAABnQ/bO5EJ2mPdio/s200/azeite%2526agua.jpg" width="188" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;não é fácil ao início, porque nos ensinam a ver o óbvio. pedem-nos que sejamos objectivos, mas elas,&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;as crianças, comunicam de todas as&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;formas.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
é apenas criança. ver para além das pessoas.&lt;br /&gt;
tive uma experiência de um mês e meio que me parece ficar para a vida. todos os dias que as deixava sentia que aprendia sobre mim.&lt;br /&gt;
foi então um mês e meio de auto-conhecimento, de auto-controlo e auto-limites. &lt;br /&gt;
"Professora, porque tem essas manchas debaixo dos braços?"&lt;br /&gt;
suei bastante. ouvi bastante. até que gritei. uma aluna pediu-me que gritasse. não gosto de gritar para manter a ordem. mas fui até um canto e experimentei: resultou. todos ouviram e a partir daquele momento foi diferente. ainda assim, não gosto de gritar.&lt;br /&gt;
todas aquelas crianças estão habituadas a gritos, a castigos desmedidos&amp;nbsp;e apontarem o dedo uns aos outros. foi estranho. sempre que alguma coisa acontecia alguém facilmente dizia quem o tinha feito, quem tinha&amp;nbsp; gritado ou batido com a porta. como fazer crianças entender que até alguém perguntar não precisam&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;denunciar os colegas? e que cada um é responsável por si,... responde por si?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Professora, cheira bem." as crianças reparam em nós. e quando nos desenham isso nota-se.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
aquelas crianças são educadas no medo. e isso é medonho! quando me aproximava diminuiam de tamanho. repeti vezes sem conta: "aqui ninguém bate em ninguém. aqui conversamos."&lt;br /&gt;
às vezes não havia intervalo. às vezes tem de ser. são apenas crianlas.&lt;br /&gt;
como acredito que somos animais de hábitos, habituei-me a repetir muitas vezes a mesma coisa.&lt;br /&gt;
pedir desculpa, sim. não denunciar ninguém, não, por favor.&lt;br /&gt;
no início todos esticaram a corda. não os entendia bem e eles não tinham&amp;nbsp;regras naquela aula.&lt;br /&gt;
escrever regras. lembrar regras. regras simples. já todos as lembravam uns aos outros.&lt;br /&gt;
aos mais irrequietos pedi-lhes que escrevessem uma carta aos pais. até deu dó. a carta era guardada e quando se portavam mal havia uma carta para entregar aos pais escrita por eles a explicar porque&amp;nbsp;tinham tido&amp;nbsp;um comportamento que dificultava a aula aos colegas.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
foram crianças do início ao fim. ouviamos música juntos. experimentámos exercícios de respiração e finalmente, preparámos a festa de final de ano. mesmo os que tentaram por dinamite na preparação, no dia da festa, até esses foram anjos. foram crianças do início ao fim.&lt;br /&gt;
aprendi com crianças a ver através e para além das pessoas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;
a morte encerra em si um pano negro. &lt;br /&gt;
entristece-me sempre quando alguém morre e isso podia ter sido evitado. como quando alguém morre por fome. quando alguém morre muito novo. quando alguém com talento acaba por morrer com uma grande dor, angústia e sofrimento. quando alguém se mata e, em desespero, &lt;strong&gt;não encontra motivos para arriscar viver + 24h.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
as pessoas são cruéis e &lt;strong&gt;esquecem-se de lembrar aos outros que nem tudo o que parece é, que é normal haver dias bons e menos bons. e aqueles mesmo maus acontecem a todos.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
na minha pré-adolescência assisti a muitas perdas&amp;nbsp;de pessoas. era frequente encontrar seringas, vestígios de um xuto ou cruzar-me com vizinhos que viviam diariamente&amp;nbsp;o &lt;strong&gt;mundo da droga&lt;/strong&gt;. támbém houve &lt;strong&gt;boas surpresas, pessoas que sairam da droga. eles existem. &lt;/strong&gt;hoje a toxicodependência tem outros contornos. &lt;strong&gt;em Portugal a realidade alterou-se.&lt;/strong&gt; houve um grande esforço das instituições, do Estado, da sociedade para tratar este problema que atinguiu muitas &lt;strong&gt;familias, essas que guardam as marcas, as histórias, as fotos e o luto.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
qualquer um de nós entende que &lt;strong&gt;um toxicodependente não está bem&lt;/strong&gt;, não vive em bem-estar na sua vertente física e&amp;nbsp;mental&amp;nbsp;e precisa de ajuda. precisa de aceitação. o próprio deixou de acreditar em si, às vezes não reconhece o seu problema como um problema e&amp;nbsp;deposita pouco crédito nos&amp;nbsp;motivos para fazer diferente. às vezes não é o único doente! pode ser o sintoma de&amp;nbsp;um desiquilibrio maior, familiar.&lt;br /&gt;
na Psicologia é frequente dizer-se que a toxicodependência não é a verdadeira doença do paciente, normalmente, é &lt;strong&gt;o sintoma de que algo não está bem. como acontece com outras doenças. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;esta apenas se vê muito bem e é impossível&amp;nbsp;manter escondida durante muito tempo.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
algumas&amp;nbsp;memórias da Amy não são muito diferentes do desfecho da sua vida.&lt;br /&gt;
recordo o concerto dela em Portugal no Rock in Rio, no 1º dia e que já foi "histórico" pela actuação escandalosa da cantora.&lt;br /&gt;
o que fez dela uma artista guardo muito bem com toda a certeza: &lt;strong&gt;os&amp;nbsp;álbuns,&amp;nbsp;as músicas, a sua silhueta, aparência tão característica e&amp;nbsp;a voz inconfundível.&lt;/strong&gt; jamais esquecerei o olhar dela com os olhos pintados de uma forma única.&lt;br /&gt;
vale a pena lembrar que outras artistas como ela,&amp;nbsp;grandes mesmo,&amp;nbsp;tiveram este desfecho, morreram novas,&amp;nbsp;e continuam a ser clássicas. as grandes, Elis Regina e Janis Joplin. &lt;strong&gt;seja ou não da droga, algo não estava nada bem na vida desta mulher que&amp;nbsp;apenas com 27 anos marca a história da música.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;pergunta: porque é que pessoas talentosas não usam TODAS as suas capacidades?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Z0IuHqQKLJN6S4gBk20C7VYLy5A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Z0IuHqQKLJN6S4gBk20C7VYLy5A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/NlV-ktZ1RQo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/1231137853391549940/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=1231137853391549940" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/1231137853391549940?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/1231137853391549940?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/NlV-ktZ1RQo/amy-winehouse.html" title="RIP Amy Winehouse" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pWzAa1SQgAc/TisTHz2xOsI/AAAAAAAABm0/IjOdf8ff80M/s72-c/amy-winehouse.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/07/amy-winehouse.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04NRHg4cSp7ImA9WhRUEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-835926203134291372</id><published>2011-07-20T08:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T01:33:15.639-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-01-20T01:33:15.639-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sons" /><title>se eu quiser falar com Deus</title><content type="html">Olá.&lt;br /&gt;
Serás tu alguém que já procurou falar com Deus?&lt;br /&gt;
"Se eu quiser falar com Deus", este som que a Elis canta à capela é intenso e refere o que podemos fazer nesse momento.&lt;br /&gt;
Existem pessoas que em algum momento da vida procuram Deus. De certo todos conhecemos alguém que o tenha feito ou o faça.&lt;br /&gt;
Na&amp;nbsp;obra "Comer Orar e Amar", depois feito filme, há um momento em que a personagem principal, Liz, num momento de grande angústia, sofrimento, solidão está no wc e procura Deus. Esta passagem é fantástica porque responde a algumas questões que qualquer pessoa que tente falar com Deus encontra.&lt;br /&gt;
A Elis, sempre a grande voz, com uma dicção sem igual, canta-nos como pode ser esse momento.&lt;br /&gt;
Ouvido assim contina a ser um momento forte. Vale a pena escutar.&lt;br /&gt;
Dizem que nascemos e morremos sós. E tu, pensarás o mesmo?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Db9tZEN9VeYSI1g04_V2oHtH0FQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Db9tZEN9VeYSI1g04_V2oHtH0FQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/rcqYKgSyYjE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/835926203134291372/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=835926203134291372" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/835926203134291372?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/835926203134291372?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/rcqYKgSyYjE/se-eu-quiser-falar-com-deus.html" title="se eu quiser falar com Deus" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://img.youtube.com/vi/tWuQc7W0O-A/default.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/07/se-eu-quiser-falar-com-deus.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QERn86cCp7ImA9WhdSEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-8059947706148938488</id><published>2011-06-29T06:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-20T08:21:47.118-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-20T08:21:47.118-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poet.isa" /><title>distrai-me a vertigem</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;distrai-me o excesso de tudo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de tempo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de tarefas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de pessoas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de fins&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de começos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de encontros&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de promessas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;descentro-me de mim&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;pago por isso&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;hoje, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;amanhã, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;ontem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;e como sei que&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;hoje &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;conta como tudo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;agora é o momento&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;abafo o passado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;desafio o futuro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;e esbarro no presente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: yellow; color: blue;"&gt;sobre o azul o ouro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;o presente é que é&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;saco então o sufoco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;prendo a força&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;e salto pelo soco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;que seja por querer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;pela&amp;nbsp;vontade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;sede de conhecimento&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;de ser apenas singularidade&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;longe da vertigem&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;da dúvida e do medo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;perto de mim&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;sempre é cedo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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... seres alguém&lt;br /&gt;
... seres independente&lt;br /&gt;
... teres uma profissão&lt;br /&gt;
... teres um bom trabalho&lt;br /&gt;
... teres uma familia&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
diz por aí que: &lt;strong&gt;eles não sabem&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... nem sonham&lt;br /&gt;
... o espaço de sonhar&lt;br /&gt;
... muito de si&lt;br /&gt;
... muito do humano&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;... acreditar que é bom ter medo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... acreditar que é saudável ter coragem&lt;br /&gt;
... que a critividade é uma grande riqueza&lt;br /&gt;
... que nascemos com um músculo pouco conhecido, o cérebro&lt;br /&gt;
... que temos um coração que sente tudo&lt;br /&gt;
... que os infelizes são surdos de si mesmos&lt;br /&gt;
... que as maiores barreiras são os nossos limites&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
diz por ai que: &lt;strong&gt;quem sabe&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... saberão&lt;br /&gt;
... alguém lhes pode lembrar&lt;br /&gt;
... já o sentiram&lt;br /&gt;
... vivem no medo&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;... escondem isso de si&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
diz por aí que: &lt;strong&gt;quanto mais auto critica&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... menos se é espontâneo&lt;br /&gt;
... mais&amp;nbsp;se vive oprimido&lt;br /&gt;
... mais se afasta de si&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;... menos se é criativo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
...&amp;nbsp;maior dificuldade em deixar fluir&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
diz por ai que: vivenciar&lt;br /&gt;
... traz memória&lt;br /&gt;
... é humano&lt;br /&gt;
... é estar certo&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;... às vezes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;... é estar errado&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
... é viver&lt;br /&gt;
... é sentir a vida através da experiência&lt;br /&gt;
... é tentar&lt;br /&gt;
... é simplesmente deixar ser&lt;br /&gt;
... é permitir qualquer coisa a nós mesmos&lt;br /&gt;
... é confirmar que é posível&lt;br /&gt;
... é dizer ao meu ego que estou vivo&lt;br /&gt;
... é lembrar-me que posso&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;Boa noite mundo do "diz por aí que".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;Dorme em todo o lado a criatividade e não mora em nenhuma parte certa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AUOjOim-k8XjH1NfMf2Cv423wuM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/AUOjOim-k8XjH1NfMf2Cv423wuM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/nGspTnWylcw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/2094257877959137894/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=2094257877959137894" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/2094257877959137894?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/2094257877959137894?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/nGspTnWylcw/el-critica.html" title="el critica" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/05/el-critica.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAGSX0_fCp7ImA9WhZXEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-6106979400235571607</id><published>2011-04-29T04:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-29T04:32:08.344-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-04-29T04:32:08.344-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><title>gira o mundo</title><content type="html">pensámos todos no outro dia sobre &lt;strong&gt;"o que move o mundo".&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
apareceram respostas como ambição, dinheiro, amor, sexo, inveja.&lt;br /&gt;
acho que foi isto.&lt;br /&gt;
passaram 2 dias e volto a recordar a Madonna que disse algo como &lt;strong&gt;"o sexo faz o mundo girar".&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
nem me recordo onde li isto, mas já foi há muito tempo.&amp;nbsp;guardei porque era bem mais nova e fez-me pensar. guardei e aos 31 (quase 32) volto a pegar nela.&lt;br /&gt;
sinceramente, não é muito diferente do que penso hoje. o sexo, o amor. o amor e o sexo.&lt;br /&gt;
claro que a economia decide o mundo. resta saber &lt;strong&gt;o que move os homens e as mulheres que decidem a economia. &lt;/strong&gt;só a ganância?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;não consigo separar homem, querer e emoção. 24horas tudo separadinho?! como?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
ganância tem emoção? claro.&lt;br /&gt;
mas o dinheiro não é apenas o poder sobre o mundo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;o dinheiro traz e faz o poder sobre pessoas.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
e as pessoas exercem poder umas nas outras.&lt;br /&gt;
ajuda-me acreditar que mesmo assim, &lt;strong&gt;há sempre uma qualquer relação de emoção por trás de quase tudo.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
e o "quase tudo" são&amp;nbsp;roupas de religião, guerra, conflitos, pobreza e problemas graves.&lt;br /&gt;
todos mascarados.&lt;br /&gt;
não consigo dar todo esse poder à economia, porque a economia faz-se de homens&amp;nbsp;e para homens. mesmo que de si para si. &lt;strong&gt;e o que move os homens?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KYYzwli5gG8/TbqhsAuu2yI/AAAAAAAABmg/cve0LRxYeG0/s1600/think.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KYYzwli5gG8/TbqhsAuu2yI/AAAAAAAABmg/cve0LRxYeG0/s320/think.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;move-me a admiração. e o sonho.&lt;br /&gt;
o dinheiro procuro-o para os sonhos. para os meus, claro. pequenos, talvez, são meus.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
ajuda quem podes. resolve os teus problemas. e assim &lt;em&gt;giro&lt;/em&gt; o mundo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lBqBsuKCXHM5zKbSnJfp0_LqZYY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/lBqBsuKCXHM5zKbSnJfp0_LqZYY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/1vfJOmoZQ7A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/6106979400235571607/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=6106979400235571607" title="3 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/6106979400235571607?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/6106979400235571607?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/1vfJOmoZQ7A/gira-o-mundo.html" title="gira o mundo" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KYYzwli5gG8/TbqhsAuu2yI/AAAAAAAABmg/cve0LRxYeG0/s72-c/think.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/04/gira-o-mundo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIDQ3Y7fyp7ImA9WhZSFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-845006060880465166</id><published>2011-03-30T16:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T16:26:12.807-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-30T16:26:12.807-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><title>o poder do relógio da imaginação</title><content type="html">“Todo mundo sabe que o tempo é a Morte, que a Morte se esconde em relógios. Contudo, impondo outro tempo, movido pelo Relógio da Imaginação, pode-se recusar essa lei (...) ”&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Federico Fellini&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5u_UEuJre80Umu4jhfQaIHwlhGk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/5u_UEuJre80Umu4jhfQaIHwlhGk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/YLzSOdOG2nY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/845006060880465166/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=845006060880465166" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/845006060880465166?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/845006060880465166?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/YLzSOdOG2nY/o-poder-do-relogio-da-imaginacao.html" title="o poder do relógio da imaginação" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/03/o-poder-do-relogio-da-imaginacao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0QMR3Y8fCp7ImA9WhZTF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-324908618634001691</id><published>2011-03-20T16:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-21T06:49:46.874-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-21T06:49:46.874-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pensamentos" /><title>erros</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;a maior parte dos meus erros, cometidos por me afastar dos&amp;nbsp;meus quereres.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: xx-small;"&gt;figueira, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: xx-small;"&gt;p.s. e são todos meus. que ninguém tente assumi-los.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9WtBJEwP24RvR5nRXcyGNQUPIKI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/9WtBJEwP24RvR5nRXcyGNQUPIKI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/ffPmzzuZJng" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/324908618634001691/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=324908618634001691" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/324908618634001691?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/324908618634001691?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/ffPmzzuZJng/erros.html" title="erros" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/03/erros.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0QMSHsyfSp7ImA9Wx9aFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-3153845993433419155</id><published>2011-03-07T04:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-07T04:36:29.595-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-07T04:36:29.595-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poet.isa" /><title>é só a solidão</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;apanha-te&lt;/strong&gt; e, antes que te apanhem, experimenta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;deverás assim ser simples e tentar. tenta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;ousado em ti na tua grande pequenez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;encostado a ti. na tua sempre &lt;strong&gt;brilhante solidão.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;que nascemos sós e morremos antes da arte. não?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;eternidade é para ela.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;a solidão escolhida é para&amp;nbsp;quem&lt;strong&gt; sente. crescida mente.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;sem fantasmas que ela não morde, é assim simplesmente.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="color: #20124d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;, sans-serif;"&gt;torna-te mais puro. &lt;strong&gt;aproxima-te de ti.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xY8mWunkzU7QwioT8-Bji1eesqY/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/xY8mWunkzU7QwioT8-Bji1eesqY/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~4/DQ4uaXXCJpc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/feeds/3153845993433419155/comments/default" title="Enviar comentários" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=38523548&amp;postID=3153845993433419155" title="0 Comentários" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3153845993433419155?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/38523548/posts/default/3153845993433419155?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/SemNaufragar/~3/DQ4uaXXCJpc/e-so-solidao.html" title="é só a solidão" /><author><name>sem naufragar</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09479188481482073526</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="24" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4764/4702/185/z/796978/gse_multipart16754.jpg" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://semnaufragar.blogspot.com/2011/03/e-so-solidao.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU8BRH08eCp7ImA9Wx9bE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38523548.post-4684614658118086862</id><published>2011-02-21T10:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T10:44:15.370-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-02-21T10:44:15.370-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poet.isa" /><title>na minha rua</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;descolorem o dia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;apaguem o Sol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;vistam o dia de noite&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;e a noite de dia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;e as pequenas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;permanecem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;sempre&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;para quem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;atento&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;vive.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;pequenas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;as mais pequenas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;coisas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;que vemos às vezes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;tem dias&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;ou não&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;tem noites&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;talvez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;belezas não raras&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;não únicas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;apenas pequenas&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;visíveis ou não&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;serpentes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ou não&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;pequenas ainda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;que sejam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;são belezas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;aqui, aí, ali&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;no céu ou no mar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;na rua&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Times, &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;, serif;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;na minha rua.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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costumo dizer "i'm a lucky girl".&lt;br /&gt;
considero que &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;a vida está sempre a dar-me coisas boas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;a surpreender e a brindar-me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
parece que todos os dias são dias novos. pessoas novas. novidades novas. novos encontros.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
sinto que já fiz algumas coisas que queria fazer na vida. claro, existe mais um monte de outras por fazer.&lt;br /&gt;
algumas fiz sem as desejar. nem sabia serem possíveis. mas aconteceram e proporcionaram-me muita alegria. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;sou muito grata por esta vida.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
desejo que 2011 seja mais um ano de sonhos. podem ser pequenos, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;mas sonhos são sonhos, não importa o seu tamanho.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
se puder ter alguma influência, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;peço que as pessoas lutem pela sua paz de espírito. e a conquistem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
e possam trazer às outras vidas isso mesmo. fazer a diferença.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
sou grata por dormir descansada. faço por isso todos os dias.&lt;br /&gt;
nem sempre o que digo é bem entendido. ou nem sempre entendo bem os outros.&lt;br /&gt;
mas também &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;acho que as pessoas muitas vezes entendem o que querem entender&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
continuo descansada.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
procuro lembrar-me todos os dias que o que vale na vida&amp;nbsp;são as&amp;nbsp;pequenas coisas, os&amp;nbsp;momentos, às vezes, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;são coisas muito pequenas mesmo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
ainda assim, sei que são as pequenas coisas que tornam a vida uma grande aventura.&lt;br /&gt;
e eu &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;quero continuar a vivê-la. a partilha-la. a colori-la.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; a compreende-la. acho que isso acontece na maior parte do meu tempo.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
gasto muito tempo a pensar. gasto sim.&lt;br /&gt;
já me preocupei com isso. hoje aceito como uma forma de estar.&lt;br /&gt;
isso não me impede de viver a vida. e senti-la na sua plenitude.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
também há contratempos. também há injustiças.&lt;br /&gt;
sim, não são novidades.&lt;br /&gt;
ainda assim, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;sou mesmo uma sortuda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; por estar neste momento em Portugal, a viver tudo o que está a contecer, com as pessoas que gosto e a admirar cada vez mais pessoas. e as pessoas.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
também me desiludo. mas não me considero rancorosa. não há tempo para isso. nem acho que a vida mereça isso de mim.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
desejo que 2011 brinde cada pessoa como a vida me tem brindado a mim. ou, se possível, mais ainda.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
sei que amanhã passamos apenas uma marca no tempo. nada mais é do que isso.&lt;br /&gt;
mas ainda assim, é uma linha com importância para as pessoas. como se houvesse uma limpeza dos últimos dias e &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #660000;"&gt;chegasse um belo balão de oxigénio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; com muitos dias novos para viver!&lt;br /&gt;
que a vida seja disfrutada&amp;nbsp;mais intensamente, com&amp;nbsp;essa sensação de que é possível repensar a vida, mudá-la, melhorá-la. &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #0b5394;"&gt;todos temos esse poder.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Mundo, bom 2011!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"&gt;
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