“No mar tanta tormenta, e tanto dano,
Tantas vezes a morte apercebida!
Na terra tanta guerra, tanto engano,
Tanta necessidade avorrecida!
Onde pode acolher-se um fraco humano,
Onde terá segura a curta vida,
Que não se arme, e se indigne o Céu sereno
Contra um bicho da terra tão pequeno?”
“E outros em quem poder não teve a morte.”
“Ó glória de mandar! Ó vã cobiça
Desta vaidade, a quem chamamos Fama!
Ó fraudulento gosto, que se atiça
Cua aura popular, que honra se chama!
Que castigo tamanho e que justiça
Fazes no peito vão que muito te ama!
Que mortes, que perigos, que tormentas,
Que crueldades neles esprimentas!”
“E ponde na cobiça um freio duro,
E na ambição também, que indignamente
Tomais mil vezes, e no torpe e escuro
Vício da tirania infame e urgente;
Porque essas honras vãs, esse ouro puro,
Verdadeiro valor não dão à gente.
Milhor é merecê-los sem os ter,
Que possuí-los sem os merecer.”
“Me disse: "As cousas árduas e lustrosas
Se alcançam com trabalho e com fadiga;
Faz as pessoas altas e famosas
(...)”
“Não mostra quanto pode; e, com razão:
Que é fraqueza entre ovelhas ser leão.”
“Mas, logo ao outro dia, seus parceiros,
Todos nus e da cor da escura treva,
Decendo pelos ásperos outeiros,
As peças vem buscar que estoutro leva.
Domésticos já tanto e companheiros
Se nos mostram, que fazem que se atreva
Fernão Veloso a ir ver da terra o trato
E partir-se co eles pelo mato.
É Veloso no braço confiado
E, de arrogante, crê que vai seguro;
Mas, sendo um grande espaço já passado,
Em que algum bom sinal saber procuro,
Estando, a vista alçada, co cuidado
No aventureiro, eis pelo monte duro
Aparece e, segundo ao mar caminha,
Mais apressado do que fora, vinha.
O batel de Coelho foi depressa
Polo tomar; mas, antes que chegasse,
Um Etíope ousado se arremessa
A ele, por que não se lhe escapasse.
Outro e outro lhe saem; vê-se em presa
Veloso, sem que alguém lhe ali ajudasse,
Acudo eu logo, e, enquanto o remo aperto
Se mostra um bando negro descoberto.
Da espessa nuvem setas e pedradas
Chovem sobre nós outros, sem medida,
E não foram ao vento em vão deitadas,
Que esta perna trouxe eu dali ferida;
Mas nós, como pessoas magoadas,
A reposta lhe demos tão tecida,
Que em mais que nos barretes se suspeita
Que a cor vermelha levam desta feita.
E, sendo já Veloso em salvamento,
Logo nos recolhemos pera a armada,
Vendo a malícia feia e rudo intento
Da gente bestial, bruta e malvada,
De quem nenhum milhor conhecimento
Pudemos ter da Índia desejada
Que estarmos inda muito longe dela.
E assi tornei a dar ao vento a vela.
Disse então a Veloso um companheiro
(Começando-se todos a sorrir):
"Oula, Veloso amigo, aquele outeiro
É milhor de decer que de subir.”
“The combination of razor-sharp wit (completely real) and his credentials (completely fake) had won them over in the end.”
“I noticed him right away. No, it wasn’t his lean, rugged face. Or the dark waves of shiny hair that hung just a little too long on his forehead. It wasn’t the slim, collarless biker jacket he wore, hugging his lean shoulders. It was the way he stood. The confident way he waited in the cafeteria line to get a slice of pizza. He didn’t saunter. He didn’t amble. He stood at the center, and let the other people buzz around him. His stance was straight and sure.”
“No, whoever was out there didn't want to take her in. But his sights were on her, gun sights, steady. Clear. She stared into them, and with a mocking smile, mouthed the words, I dare you!" (Cassie Sinclair)
***
He smiled at the challenge. One day, she just might dare him too far, but he doubted it would be a bullet he'd penetrate her with. (Unknown Breed)”
“His gaze slid toward the back of the sanctuary and collided with Joanna, standing silently in the doorway. You...Crockett's voice tapered off.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. Her rapt attention, the tiny smile that brought into relief the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way the light passed through the doorway behind her to see her hair ablaze beneath the prim straw bonnet she wore. Yet it was her inner light that captured him the most. The serenity of her features. The glow in her blue eyes. This was a woman of authentic spirituality. No wonder the Master Weaver had chosen her to be the central thread to anchor his new tapestry.”
“[The photos] all bore the hallmarks of very expensive lighting and artistry, but Godric was projecting variations on the same emotion in every single one of them. Acute awkwardness.
Admittedly he'd really gotten "awkward" nailed--even in black Armani, leaning against a glass wall, he looked like a teenager waiting outside an STD clinic.”
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