Naquele mesmo ritmo uniforme ultrapassamos devagar o monte cinzento de nuvens que tenta cobrir o mundo, com o seu pequeno buraquinho de sol a tentar sorrir-nos encoberto, quase triste.

Iron thoughts sail out at evening

Iron thoughts sail out at the evening on iron ships;
They move hushed as far lights while twelve footers
Dive at anchor as the ferry sputters
And spins like a round top, in the tide rips,
Its rooster voice half muted by choked pipes
Plumed with steam. The ship passes. The cutters
Fall away. Bells strike. The ferry utters
A last white phrase; and human lips,
A last black one, heavy with welcome
To loss. Thoughts leave the pitiless city,
Yet ships themselves are iron and have no pity;
While men have hearts and sides that strain and rust.
Iron thoughts sail from the iron cities in the dust,
Yet soft as doves the thoughts that fly back home.

As cantinas e Outros poemas do álcool e do mar, Malcolm Lowry

O medo (2)

"Sabes, para tocar o lugar onde as nossas sombras se confundem nenhuma metamorfose do coração me aterroriza."

O medo, Al Berto

On the road

“Emotionlessly she kissed me in the vineyard and walked off down the row. We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked up at each other for the last time.”

On the road, Jack Kerouac