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Β«Honk, honk!Β» β€” Harpo Marx ᡐᡃⁱ˒ ᡘᡐ α΅’α΅‡Λ’αΆœα΅˜Κ³α΅’ ⁿᡒ˒ᡗʳⁱⁿʰᡒ ᡇᡃⁱˣᡃ Κ³α΅‰βΏα΅ˆα΅ƒ ᡉ α΅ˆα΅‰Λ’α΅ˆα΅‰βΏα΅—α΅ƒα΅ˆα΅’ ☠︎︎ α΅α΅‰α΅ƒΚ³αΆœΛ’α΅—α΅ƒα΅–α΅ƒ ☠︎︎ I'm not on Bluesky / NΓ£o tenho conta no Bluesky ᡇᡉʷᡃʳᡉ α΅’αΆ  Λ’αΆœα΅ƒα΅α΅α΅‰Κ³Λ’ / αΆœα΅˜β±α΅ˆα΅ƒα΅ˆα΅’ αΆœα΅’α΅ ᡍᡒˑᡖⁱ˒ᡗᡃ˒
Ledo Ivo, Soneto de ninar: Dorme, oceano. Minha canΓ§Γ£o te embala na treva lacerada pelas constelaΓ§Γ΅es. Dorme, doce terra impura. Minha canΓ§Γ£o te cinge, leve gesto de amor na escuridΓ£o. Dorme, vento que suspende as Γ‘rvores no ar. Durmam atΓ© as pedras repousadas e felizes em seu sono de pedra.
Harold Bloom, The western canon: the books and school of the ages, p. 29-30: To read in the service of any ideology is not, in my judgment, to read at all. The reception of aesthetic power enables us to learn how to talk to ourselves and how to endure ourselves. The true use of Shakespeare or of Cervantes, of Homer or of Dante, of Chaucer or of Rabelais, is to augment one's own growing inner self. Reading deeply in the Canon will not make one a better or a worse person, a more useful or more harmful citizen. The mind's dialogue with itself is not primarily a social reality.
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