<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333</id><updated>2011-07-29T00:18:55.312-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"All's Well that Ends Well"</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-1827605984873133818</id><published>2010-02-16T11:22:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-16T11:24:36.114-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S3rw4b3BMAI/AAAAAAAAABo/n1RNaYZkuDI/s1600-h/SDC13338.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S3rw4b3BMAI/AAAAAAAAABo/n1RNaYZkuDI/s320/SDC13338.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438924352345157634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Mais um Carnaval!!! Sempre com o melhor "vagabundo/bêbedo" de sempre... e eu, igual a mim própria, mas "a little bit darker"!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-1827605984873133818?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/1827605984873133818/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2010/02/mais-um-carnaval-sempre-com-o-melhor.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/1827605984873133818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/1827605984873133818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2010/02/mais-um-carnaval-sempre-com-o-melhor.html' title=''/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S3rw4b3BMAI/AAAAAAAAABo/n1RNaYZkuDI/s72-c/SDC13338.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-8319178148708148333</id><published>2010-01-28T08:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T08:59:19.272-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S2HBRbqJF0I/AAAAAAAAABg/rivD-UXS6ak/s1600-h/salvador+dal%C3%AD+-+a+persist%C3%AAncia+da+mem%C3%B3ria.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S2HBRbqJF0I/AAAAAAAAABg/rivD-UXS6ak/s320/salvador+dal%C3%AD+-+a+persist%C3%AAncia+da+mem%C3%B3ria.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431835130811979586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:180%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Book Antiqua;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Aprendo.                  &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Te aprendo, homem. O que a memória ama fica eterno. Te amo com a                  memória, imperecível.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Adélia Prado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-8319178148708148333?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/8319178148708148333/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2010/01/aprendo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/8319178148708148333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/8319178148708148333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2010/01/aprendo.html' title=''/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/S2HBRbqJF0I/AAAAAAAAABg/rivD-UXS6ak/s72-c/salvador+dal%C3%AD+-+a+persist%C3%AAncia+da+mem%C3%B3ria.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-3184783929509293521</id><published>2009-12-13T11:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-30T03:25:54.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Szs4lY7adPI/AAAAAAAAABY/3G1_FeCb7Zg/s1600-h/escrever.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420988791468487922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Szs4lY7adPI/AAAAAAAAABY/3G1_FeCb7Zg/s320/escrever.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Escrever é esquecer. A literatura é a maneira mais agradável de ignorar a vida. A música embala, as artes visuais animam, as artes vivas (como a dança e a arte de representar) entretêm. A primeira, porém, afasta-se da vida por fazer dela um sono; as segundas, contudo, não se afastam da vida - umas porque usam de fórmulas visíveis e portanto vitais, outras porque vivem da mesma vida humana. Não é o caso da literatura. Essa simula a vida. Um romance é uma história do que nunca foi e um drama é um romance dado sem narrativa. Um poema é a expressão de ideias ou de sentimentos em linguagem que ninguém emprega, pois que ninguém fala em verso.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fernando Pessoa&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-3184783929509293521?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/3184783929509293521/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/escrever-e-esquecer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/3184783929509293521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/3184783929509293521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/escrever-e-esquecer.html' title=''/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Szs4lY7adPI/AAAAAAAAABY/3G1_FeCb7Zg/s72-c/escrever.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-4030741077759077128</id><published>2009-12-13T11:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-17T13:05:46.071-08:00</updated><title type='text'>As amoras</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqVB51G2uI/AAAAAAAAABQ/rqoPbbz-5Wc/s1600-h/1139526792_4ea513e9dd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416305361802418914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqVB51G2uI/AAAAAAAAABQ/rqoPbbz-5Wc/s320/1139526792_4ea513e9dd.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;O meu país sabe as amoras bravas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;no verão.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ninguém ignora que não é grande,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nem inteligente, nem elegante o meu país,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;mas tem esta voz doce&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;de quem acorda cedo para cantar nas silvas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Raramente falei do meu país, talvez&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nem goste dele, mas quando um amigo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me traz amoras bravas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;os seus muros parecem-me brancos,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;reparo que também no meu país o céu é azul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-4030741077759077128?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/4030741077759077128/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/as-amoras.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/4030741077759077128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/4030741077759077128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/as-amoras.html' title='As amoras'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqVB51G2uI/AAAAAAAAABQ/rqoPbbz-5Wc/s72-c/1139526792_4ea513e9dd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-3853035963905054075</id><published>2009-12-13T11:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-17T12:21:21.845-08:00</updated><title type='text'>As borboletas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqSgtRhx0I/AAAAAAAAABI/XdAb7fPxNmg/s1600-h/SDC12813.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416302592473024322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 184px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqSgtRhx0I/AAAAAAAAABI/XdAb7fPxNmg/s320/SDC12813.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Brancas&lt;br /&gt;Azuis&lt;br /&gt;Amarelas&lt;br /&gt;E pretas&lt;br /&gt;Brincam&lt;br /&gt;Na luz&lt;br /&gt;As belas&lt;br /&gt;Borboletas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Borboletas brancas&lt;br /&gt;São alegres e francas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Borboletas azuis&lt;br /&gt;Gostam muito de luz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As amarelinhas&lt;br /&gt;São tão bonitinhas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E as pretas, então…&lt;br /&gt;Oh, que escuridão!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Vinícius de Moraes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-3853035963905054075?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/3853035963905054075/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/as-borboletas.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/3853035963905054075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/3853035963905054075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/as-borboletas.html' title='As borboletas'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SyqSgtRhx0I/AAAAAAAAABI/XdAb7fPxNmg/s72-c/SDC12813.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-6913695916324005199</id><published>2009-12-03T04:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T05:01:13.236-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Contra a poluição, australianos querem ovelha que arrote menos</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sxe2jn17d3I/AAAAAAAAABA/p1YmQzgFkeo/s1600-h/ovelhas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410994200415795058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 185px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 125px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sxe2jn17d3I/AAAAAAAAABA/p1YmQzgFkeo/s320/ovelhas.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Cientistas na Austrália estão a tentar criar uma espécie de ovelha que mande menos arrotos, num esforço para combater as mudanças climáticas. Cerca de 10% das emissões de gases poluentes da Austrália provêm do metano produzido pela população de 8 milhões de ovelhas do país, além dos outros animais.&lt;br /&gt;Os especialistas do Sheep Cooperative Research Council estão a tentar descobrir se existe alguma influência genética na produção de arrotos pelas ovelhas, observando a sua ruminação e a sua digestão. Se provarem que são os genes que estão por trás duma digestão mais “ecológica”, eles esperam obter uma nova espécie de animal mais “amigo do meio ambiente”.&lt;br /&gt;Até ao momento, os cientistas testaram 200 animais e descobriram que metade arrota mais do que a média, enquanto a outra metade produz uma quantidade de metano consideravelmente menor. Segundo eles, a explicação para isso é simples: as ovelhas que comem mais arrotam mais.&lt;br /&gt;Mas os especialistas acreditam que outros factores também influenciam a ruminação e podem apontar para uma origem genética. O gás metano proveniente do processo digestivo tem uma capacidade de provocar o aquecimento ambiental 17 vezes maior que o gás carbónico.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Fonte: BBC Brasil&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-6913695916324005199?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/6913695916324005199/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/contra-poluicao-australianos-querem.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/6913695916324005199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/6913695916324005199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/12/contra-poluicao-australianos-querem.html' title='Contra a poluição, australianos querem ovelha que arrote menos'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sxe2jn17d3I/AAAAAAAAABA/p1YmQzgFkeo/s72-c/ovelhas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-4351085147659738404</id><published>2009-11-23T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T14:57:48.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aos homens da minha vida</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Swr837QrjeI/AAAAAAAAAA4/I_Xa0OLxJXM/s1600/SDC12791.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407412340342361570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 332px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Swr837QrjeI/AAAAAAAAAA4/I_Xa0OLxJXM/s320/SDC12791.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje deu-me vontade de homenagear os homens (pai, irmão e amigos) que fazem parte e preenchem a minha vida... Pensei em escrever um texto com tudo o que sinto por cada um deles, todos tão diferentes e, ao mesmo tempo, tão iguais pelo significado que têm na minha vida! Ao ler este texto que vos apresento, senti que seria inutil apresentar-vos um escrito por mim, uma vez que aqui está muito bem retratado o que penso e o que sinto! Assim sendo, a esses homens só tenho uma palavra a acrescentar: OBRIGADA!!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Independentemente de serem parentes, amigos ou amores, meus homens são inteligentes, sagazes, espirituosos, interessantes, charmosos, fortes e apaixonados cada um de uma forma única. Me emprestam o ombro quando preciso chorar, o ouvido quando quero bancar a mulherzinha, os dotes culinários quando estou faminta, a garrafa quando tenho de me livrar da fossa, a biblioteca quando quero crescer e o bíceps quando não posso fazer força sozinha.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Como se já não fosse suficiente, são homens que têm o dom de usar as palavras, que sabem o valor do conhecimento e da arte, que me recomendam filmes, que me colocam no colo quando estou cansada, que ficam do meu lado na minha casa ou no messenger até altas horas, conversando comigo e ouvindo as bobagens que eu falo. E ainda me ligam no outro dia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;São homens que me amam incondicionalmente. Choram por mim, me dizem o quanto sou importante, me dão mais uma chance. Me dedicam música e letra. Carregam minhas compras e minha mudança. Pegam na minha mão e me dizem que vai ficar tudo bem. Me emprestam o carro ou o guarda-chuva. Me olham como se não existisse mais nada nesse mundo. Me dizem que sou a melhor e a pior na mesma persona, e ainda assim me amam. Estão cientes que não sou só deles, e ainda assim me amam. Sabem que sou difícil, e ainda assim me amam. Me amam, me querem, têm esperança em mim no matter what, how, where or when, mesmo que eu pareça um caso perdido. Me fazem sofrer, chorar, me despedaçar e, ainda assim, merecem cada minuto do meu tempo, e me fazem ser grata por ser capaz de conseguir amar de uma forma que muita gente passa a vida inteira sem conhecer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sabem que posso ser uma gatinha ou uma leoa. Admiram meu amor pelo meu trabalho apesar de odiarem a visível prioridade que dou a ele. Dividem suas paixões comigo. Secam meu cabelo depois do banho. Me pagam a conta. Me fazem encher a cara e depois me curam da ressaca. Se deleitam nas minhas virtudes. Se desatinam com meus defeitos embora se divirtam com eles. Me deixam arrebatada como ninguém mais. Me levam às gargalhadas e aos prantos - às vezes ao mesmo tempo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(...)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Porque muito do que me constitui provém dos inesquecíveis homens que um dia amei e me amaram."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;ldsacramento &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Não poderia nunca deixar de referir dois grandes homens/amigos que não estão na foto que vos apresento, mas que são igualmente importantes... São eles Lee (sabes bem) e Carlos Miguel Abreu (por tudo o que tens feito por mim).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;E, ao homem da minha vida, Carlos, obrigada por me tentares fazer feliz todos os dias!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-4351085147659738404?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/4351085147659738404/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/aos-homens-da-minha-vida.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/4351085147659738404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/4351085147659738404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/aos-homens-da-minha-vida.html' title='Aos homens da minha vida'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Swr837QrjeI/AAAAAAAAAA4/I_Xa0OLxJXM/s72-c/SDC12791.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-1562475249795019014</id><published>2009-11-17T06:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T06:23:12.506-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Adeus - Eugénio de Andrade</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SwKxcC_jiDI/AAAAAAAAAAw/2uL2FFqEgD0/s1600/eugenio_andrade.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405077598195910706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 226px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 166px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SwKxcC_jiDI/AAAAAAAAAAw/2uL2FFqEgD0/s200/eugenio_andrade.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Já gastámos as palavras pela rua, meu amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;e o que nos ficou não chega&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;para afastar o frio de quatro paredes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Gastámos tudo menos o silêncio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Gastámos os olhos com o sal das lágrimas,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;gastámos as mãos à força de as apertarmos,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;gastámos o relógio e as pedras das esquina&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;sem esperas inúteis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Meto as mãos nas algibeiras e não encontro nada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Antigamente tínhamos tanto para dar um ao outro;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;era como se todas as coisas fossem minhas:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;quanto mais te dava mais tinha para te dar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Às vezes tu dizias: os teus olhos são peixes verdes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;E eu acreditava.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Acreditava,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;porque ao teu lado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;todas as coisas eram possíveis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Mas isso era no tempo dos segredos,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;era no tempo em que o teu corpo era um aquário,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;era no tempo em que os meus olhos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;eram realmente peixes verdes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Hoje são apenas os meus olhos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;É pouco mas é verdade,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;uns olhos como todos os outros.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Já gastámos as palavras.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Quando agora digo: meu amor,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;já não se passa absolutamente nada.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;E no entanto, antes das palavras gastas,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;tenho a certezade que todas as coisas estremeciam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;só de murmurar o teu nome&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;no silêncio do meu coração.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Não temos já nada para dar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Dentro de ti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;não há nada que me peça água.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;O passado é inútil como um trapo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;E já te disse: as palavras estão gastas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Adeus.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-1562475249795019014?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/1562475249795019014/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/adeus-eugenio-de-andrade.html#comment-form' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/1562475249795019014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/1562475249795019014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/adeus-eugenio-de-andrade.html' title='Adeus - Eugénio de Andrade'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/SwKxcC_jiDI/AAAAAAAAAAw/2uL2FFqEgD0/s72-c/eugenio_andrade.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3145555033471902333.post-385364180655499637</id><published>2009-11-15T04:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T05:03:14.879-08:00</updated><title type='text'>About me...</title><content type='html'>Pensei em mil formas de começar este meu bloguezito...&lt;br /&gt;Talvez com umas baboseiras quaisquer sobre qualquer coisa que não interessa...&lt;br /&gt;Talvez falar de mim, com uma autobiografia muito bem elaborada...&lt;br /&gt;Talvez não...&lt;br /&gt;Desisto da autobiografia cheia de floridos e irei aos poucos mostrar-vos quem sou e o que me vai na alma...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vai ser essa a funçao deste espaço, partilhar textos, imagens, ideias, fotos que marcam a minha vida...&lt;br /&gt;Em suma, vou mostrar-vos um pouco de mim e do mundo que me rodeia...&lt;br /&gt;Obrigada a todos!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3145555033471902333-385364180655499637?l=esmerastories.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/feeds/385364180655499637/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/about-me.html#comment-form' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/385364180655499637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3145555033471902333/posts/default/385364180655499637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://esmerastories.blogspot.com/2009/11/about-me.html' title='About me...'/><author><name>Esmeralda Machado</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05241160249840754265</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0vpBr1uk2CY/Sv_yjPNaGvI/AAAAAAAAAAM/InT84JO7DyE/S220/SDC12663.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
