<?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-399392966915195252</id><updated>2011-12-26T09:41:51.118Z</updated><title type='text'>ESCRITOS online</title><subtitle type='html'>"Ser feliz é uma actividade que requer toda uma vida e não pode existir em menos tempo" - Aristóteles, Ética a Nicómaco</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>41</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-9121737817479170066</id><published>2011-12-22T12:54:00.000Z</published><updated>2011-12-26T09:41:51.121Z</updated><title type='text'>Plutocracia</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O ter, possuir, bens materiais, ou a possibilidade de os adquirir, confere poder, sobretudo se e quando o ter se traduz em alguma forma de privilégio, ou vantagem relativamente a outrém. Se esse poder for usado no bom sentido, não há problema. (Em muitos casos, para usá-lo no bom sentido bastará abster-se de mau uso). Se for usado no mau sentido, torna-se causa e fonte de graves problemas.&lt;br /&gt;Embora o cristianismo, na sua essência, apele ao melhor uso do ter e do possuir, tanto bens materiais como bens intangíveis, intelecto e talentos, e sejam as maiores virtudes aquelas que o realizam, sabemos que nem todos os homens praticam tal doutrina e que, quiçá a maioria, vive subjugada a esse poder. Os que não o detêm são vítimas, mas os que o detêm também se sentem vítimas da necessidade, ou da "idiotice" de o possuírem. Não me parece que, em geral, os não detentores e os detentores tenham uma visão diferente desse poder e, de acordo com a cultura vigente, parece-me que aspiram todos ao mesmo. Mas isto está errado e é mau. A lógica que impera aqui é uma espécie de ciclo vicioso da guerra. Esta dinâmica não é uma fatalidade e é necessário revertê-la, de forma que todos se sintam mais livres, os escandalosamente ricos, os demasiado ricos, os ricos e os aspirantes a ricos e os outros. Não é resignando-nos a um sistema profunda e miseravelmente inadequado aos interesses da humanidade e incrivelmente injusto, como o era, aliás, o sistema esclavagista, que as coisas vão melhorar, bem pelo contrário.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-9121737817479170066?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/9121737817479170066/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=9121737817479170066' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/9121737817479170066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/9121737817479170066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/plutocracia.html' title='Plutocracia'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3810518147086527357</id><published>2011-11-26T22:53:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-11-26T22:53:47.318Z</updated><title type='text'>A verdade (não a mentira) de uma religião</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;A verdade de uma religião é uma verdade vasta de profundidades e horizontes sem limites e de contornos difusos, mais vasta do que a verdade do mundo, da vida e da morte, do bem e do mal, do amor e do ódio, do saber e do ignorar...É sempre mais do que as verdades dos outros e sempre mais do que a tua verdade. A verdade de uma religião também é verdade por ser religião, mas não é só por isso. Também é verdade por aspirar à verdade. Também é verdade por aspirar à verdade não pelo motivo de conhecer e de aprender, mas para salvar a alma. A verdade de uma religião não tem duas faces, ou dois gumes. O teu conhecimento pode ser usado contra ti e contra os outros. Mas a verdade não. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-3810518147086527357?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3810518147086527357/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3810518147086527357' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3810518147086527357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3810518147086527357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/11/verdade-nao-mentira-de-uma-religiao.html' title='A verdade (não a mentira) de uma religião'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-1013745255812869211</id><published>2011-10-26T00:46:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-10-26T00:47:49.294+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Estado</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;Sem entrar em detalhes, acho que o Estado não pode, nem deve ser o principal instrumento, ou meio, ou &lt;br /&gt;sistema através do qual grupos, partidos, interesses, poderes, ideologias, religiões, se "governam" e "assaltam" ou "saqueiam" o chamado erário público. Tanto mais que o Estado já não tem formas, nem mecanismos, para se defender, por exemplo, dos efeitos externos e internos da globalização. O poder de controle dos governos sobre esses efeitos já não existe. Dir-se-ia que ainda bem, considerando o que referi acima. Mas isto é um liberalismo selvagem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E há os que defendem o menos possível de Estado, que estão na primeira linha dos candidatos a cargos no Estado, dispostos a mandarem no Estado; e os que defendem o mais possível de Estado e o menos possível de liberdades individuais, que passam a vida à sombra do Estado Liberal...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Na realidade, o Estado, hoje, como sempre, é uma estrutura de dominação, que interessa a toda a gente, a uns mais do que a outros, sobretudo na dita democracia, em que tudo está racionalizado/legitimado/supostamente pactuado, e nenhum direito é teoricamente negado a ninguém, prevendo-se uma válvula de escape teórica para todas as situações críticas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O funcionário público é um trabalhador como outro qualquer, inseguro e preocupado e subordinado à lei. Mas a classe política é uma classe à parte, uma verdadeira "classe", que pode fazer a lei, para si própria, a melhor possível, o que só é coisa vergonhosa e inconcebível na medida em que, também a faz para os outros, mas não é a mesma...&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-1013745255812869211?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1013745255812869211/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=1013745255812869211' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1013745255812869211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1013745255812869211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/10/o-estado.html' title='O Estado'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3919791719418741549</id><published>2011-10-15T20:37:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T21:07:37.140+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Indignai-vos</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/dxf7dIUiP4w/0.jpg"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dxf7dIUiP4w&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dxf7dIUiP4w&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Não é racional esperarmos que os políticos actuais e os partidos actuais façam o que devia ter sido feito, mesmo antes do desvelar dos "buracos", que era encontrar as causas, os responsáveis e que fossem eles a suportar as consequências dos seus actos. Na realidade, eles não vão condenar-se a eles próprios. Mas todos sabemos que as dívidas do Estado não foram contraídas pelo cidadão comum, que sempre fez o que o obrigaram a fazer e pagou o que tinha de pagar. Quem geriu os dinheiros e o património do Estado, quem efectuou e assinou(?) as despesas é quem deve, em primeira linha responder. Quantas vezes teremos nós, cidadãos trabalhadores e contribuintes na fonte, de pagar contas que tão-pouco nos são minimamente explicadas e justificadas? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Que raio de ditadura "sagrada" é esta? E a maioria não está silenciosa. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Não podemos continuar à mercê de quem tudo fez para cairmos no abismo. A primeira medida necessária é afastar do poder todo e qualquer indivíduo que tenha feito parte dos partidos e dos governos dos últimos trinta anos. Continuam a repetir inocuidades para eles próprios, em vez de explicarem o que aconteceu, o que está a acontecer e como aconteceu. Quando eles falam, esperamos que digam algo mais do que aquilo que toda a gente está farta de saber. A segunda medida é dar-lhes a oportunidade de demonstrarem o que andaram a fazer enquanto membros dos órgãos políticos. A terceira é julgá-los. Ao mesmo tempo, apurar responsabilidades civis e criminais quanto à alegada dívida pública e aos chamados buracos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;O país e os interesses dos cidadãos não podem continuar nas mãos dessa gente. Ontem estávamos mal, hoje estamos muito pior e amanhã como é que estaremos?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;As propaladas reformas deviam ter começado pelo sistema político, pelo aparelho político do Estado e pela defesa do Estado contra o "assalto" de poderosos interesses organizados.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Se o Estado e os seus órgãos de soberania não têm controle sobre os efeitos da globalização e estão "desarmados" contra pressões e mecanismos externos, então é tempo de repensar o Estado e os poderes. O perigo é fingir que tudo continua a funcionar como dantes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Os nossos políticos nunca se pareceram tanto como hoje com actores que representam um triste e desacreditado&amp;nbsp;papel.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-3919791719418741549?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3919791719418741549/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3919791719418741549' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3919791719418741549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3919791719418741549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/10/indignai-vos.html' title='Indignai-vos'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-5034290322696673373</id><published>2011-07-16T20:14:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2011-07-27T14:42:21.081+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Podemos saber</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;Há imensas coisas que não sabemos, mas havemos de saber. É um capricho injustificado dizer «nunca podemos saber». Mas mesmo que assim fosse, a simples eventualidade de poderem ser verdade não pode deixar de manter-nos atentos e averiguadores. Quem poderia contribuir para alguma descoberta intercontinental se não desse margem para o desconhecido e a descontinuidade, preferindo religiosamente navegar à vista do que se sabe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De qualquer modo, não há que forçar as coisas. Convencer os outros não me interessa e pode até ser demasiado fácil. O que me interessa verdadeiramente é convencer-me. No que respeita aos quês (porquês, para quês, e como) eles são da ordem do conhecimento, científico ou outro. É falaciosa a argumentação de que a ciência responde aos porquês e para quês da construção das pirâmides com a mesma aptidão com que responde aos porquês e para quês, por exemplo, da existência do Homem ou da existência de Deus. O que está em causa não é a aptidão da ciência para fazer perguntas e responder-lhes, mas sim para fazer certas perguntas e responder a certas perguntas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aliás, se um cientista falasse em conflito entre religião e ciência, isso quereria dizer, pelo menos, que a ciência era contestada e rejeitada. Ora, a ciência não conhece restrições nem constrangimentos que a forcem a ser o que não é. No dia em que a ciência entrar em conflito com a religião esta cederá. A religião tem como grande força a ciência, justamente porque não teme, antes encoraja a ciência, que lhe é essencialmente cara. Ninguém, mais do que um crente, aspira à verdade e ama a verdade. O que a ciência não pode é lamentar que a religião não lhe ensine aquilo que ela não sabe mas só ela tem obrigação de saber.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-5034290322696673373?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5034290322696673373/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=5034290322696673373' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/5034290322696673373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/5034290322696673373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/07/nunca-podemos-saber.html' title='Podemos saber'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-7193153012121389249</id><published>2011-07-02T14:43:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2011-07-02T18:09:52.097+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ciência e conhecimento</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;É abusivo reduzir conhecimento a ciência, como é abusivo reduzir o que  quer que seja a conhecimento. Nada se deixa reduzir a conhecimento  porque o conhecimento, a bem dizer, nem sequer existe. O método  científico como método para obter conhecimento permite-nos conhecer, de certo modo,  coisas e fenómenos, mas não de todos os modos possíveis ou prováveis.  Permite-nos conhecer, até certo ponto, fenómenos como as religiões, a  fé, as crenças, a matemática, a trovoada, o efeito do atrito no  movimento dos corpos, etc..., mas não nos permite conhecer, por exemplo,  como as coisas seriam se não fossem como são. Neste caso, se me faço  entender, as nossas conjecturas ficarão à espera da confirmação pela  experiência. De mais a mais a ciência e o método científico, não são  senão isso, processos de linguagem e de pensamento cuja neutralidade  afectiva, estética, valorativa, ética, há-de ser garantida. E não é  assim porque não existam afectos, emoções, valores, sentidos. Então é  porquê? Deixo a pergunta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Com a mesma força, ou mais, com que o  método científico exige neutralidade, as religiões exprimem e realizam  os afectos, as emoções, os valores, os sentidos, a fé, as crenças. E não  são menos racionais e inteligentes e essenciais ao homem. Por outro  lado, se a ciência lograr explicar tudo, não será por isso que ficará em  condições de tudo poder experimentar, ou sequer observar, porque as  coisas são como são e não porque têm de ser como são.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: #444444; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&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/399392966915195252-7193153012121389249?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7193153012121389249/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=7193153012121389249' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7193153012121389249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7193153012121389249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/07/ciencia-e-conhecimento.html' title='Ciência e conhecimento'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8267006924985917064</id><published>2011-04-16T18:06:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2011-06-17T04:57:56.552+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nem tudo merece defesa</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se tudo é defensável, nem tudo merece defesa. A escolha é de cada um. A mim não interessa gastar o tempo senão com o que merece que o faça. Tratando-se de Fé, o diletantismo é quase sinónimo de infantil exibicionismo. Tolerável, é claro. Até pode ser daquelas partidas a feijões para ver quem leva a mão cheia. Mas uma vitória é sempre uma derrota, mais ainda em jogos de palavras e de diletância. Não conseguimos persuadir o "adversário". Nem a nós próprios. Quando muito, o júri. Pelos motivos e pelas razões que eles lá sabem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Há coisas em que nunca terás razão e, embora te custe ouvir e mais admitir, revelam o teu carácter: os ataques injuriosos àquilo e àqueles de quem não gostas. &lt;br /&gt;Dizer que discutes ideias e não pessoas é fácil, dizê-lo é um capricho como outro qualquer. Mas a questão não é essa. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De ideias, pouco. De pessoas muito, ou quase tudo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por si sós, as ideias não possuem valor nenhum. Sem as pessoas as ideias&amp;nbsp;sequer existem. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-8267006924985917064?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8267006924985917064/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8267006924985917064' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8267006924985917064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8267006924985917064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/04/nem-tudo-merece-defesa.html' title='Nem tudo merece defesa'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-4407776204740362184</id><published>2011-03-30T14:18:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T14:22:44.595+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A verdade e a mentira</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;Uma religião ao ser perspectivada «de fora» é reduzida a objecto que, &amp;nbsp; enquanto tal, não lhe corresponde. O crente sabe que o essencial da sua &amp;nbsp; religião não é o que ele pensa, mas o que ele faz e sente e testemunha, não &amp;nbsp; apenas com palavras. Todo o pensamento se torna possível a todos, toda a &amp;nbsp; palavra pode ser por todos usada, mas a Verdade é virtude e não existe nas &amp;nbsp; palavras, nem nos livros, nem nas enciclopédias que explicam o que é a &amp;nbsp; Verdade. E é com a Verdade que o crente se confronta, não com a verdade de &amp;nbsp; uma fórmula, de um juízo ou de uma conclusão, mas com a virtude de ser &amp;nbsp; verdadeiro, em tudo. O cristão sabe que o amor é a verdade, o amor à verdade não é só o primeiro mandamento, mas é a Lei. E a verdade é Deus e Deus está no mais pequenino de nós. O amor à verdade pode não estar no cientista, no filósofo, no literato, no político, no investigador, mas está no cristão. Ou não está a ser cristão.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt; Aliás, aposto que, se Jesus Cristo não tivesse existido, o Novo Testamento,&amp;nbsp; enquanto texto inventado, ganharia uma importância que não lhe é&amp;nbsp; reconhecida. Enquanto texto inventado, ser-lhe-ia tributada uma atenção e um&amp;nbsp; valor que tem, mas por outras razões. Mas são os próprios evangelistas que&amp;nbsp; não se assumem senão como relatores.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não obstante, tudo o que puder contribuir para desiludir e desenganar e deitar&amp;nbsp; por terra a mentira é bem vindo a quem não desespera da causa da verdade,&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; que só teria a desesperar da causa da mentira e dos mentirosos.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: justify;"&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/399392966915195252-4407776204740362184?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4407776204740362184/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=4407776204740362184' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4407776204740362184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4407776204740362184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/03/verdade-e-mentira.html' title='A verdade e a mentira'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-66221817624328623</id><published>2011-02-01T16:27:00.003Z</published><updated>2011-02-01T16:28:44.540Z</updated><title type='text'>Dogmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;De quando em quando a quem&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Preza ciência filosofia e arte&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;E como discípulo estuda&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Em busca de verdade &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;E interroga serenamente&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;A realidade e os saberes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Deparam-se peremptórios&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ateus agressivos&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Com os dogmas do partido &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Do ateísmo militante&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;(E seus deveres )&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Querendo abolir por decreto &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Todos os mistérios&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Proibir a filosofia e a investigação&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Por inúteis e supérfluas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;As artes e a religião&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Por serem ignorâncias&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Não saberes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;E isto acontece&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;No século XXI da era cristã&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Em que a humanidade &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Com inteligência e mente aberta &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Aspira à descoberta&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;Da Verdade.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&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/399392966915195252-66221817624328623?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/66221817624328623/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=66221817624328623' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/66221817624328623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/66221817624328623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2011/02/dogmas.html' title='Dogmas'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3586855789041820911</id><published>2010-12-30T00:22:00.006Z</published><updated>2011-02-17T00:56:48.607Z</updated><title type='text'>A Verdade</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;A verdade que podemos encontrar numa enciclopédia sobre a Verdade não está na enciclopédia, nem nas bibliotecas e não é a Verdade. Esta é a verdade.&amp;nbsp;Não depende de nós. Ou depende?&amp;nbsp;E é banal. É? E depois? Continuamos a procurar a verdade, mesmo falando verdade e não a encontramos? E se a verdade for desagradável? Dolorosa? Insuportável? Queremos sempre a verdade? E se a verdade é contra nós? Que verdade, ou verdades, nos interessam?&lt;br /&gt;Detestamos a mentira, mas há as meias verdades e a verdade das partes e a verdade do todo, mas a verdade não está nas partes e não está no todo. &lt;br /&gt;A verdade, em última análise, é absoluta: ou é ou não é; se é, é para todos e para todas as inteligências. É ou devia ser? Devia? Porquê?&lt;br /&gt;Um juiz disse-me que só o que está no processo é que está no mundo, a verdade dele é aquela.&lt;br /&gt;Um tipo que eu tenho por cientista diz-me que só o que é verificável, mensurável, empiricamente, merece crédito. Esta é a sua verdade.&lt;br /&gt;Um poeta proclamou que «quanto mais poético mais verdadeiro».&lt;br /&gt;A verdade do filósofo com quem falei é um veredicto, são juízos sobre os próprios juízos, sobre a contenda entre falso e verdadeiro entre a ideia e a coisa, embora saliente que ao filósofo interessa uma interpretação cósmica da sua experiência interior e que essa interpretação, qualquer que ela seja, não é a verdade.&lt;br /&gt;O meu pároco diz que Deus é a Verdade, que as verdades do cientista e do juiz e do filósofo são juízos sobre coisas, factos, acontecimentos, acções e ideias. A verdade não é conhecimento nem doutrinas teóricas que, como tais, se possam comunicar. A alma tende para a contemplação da verdade, para a pura contemplação, sem pensar anotar o que contempla para disso se separar e representar isso sob uma forma «válida em geral» com a qual todos pudessem enriquecer o seu saber. Cada pessoa permanece “fora” de interpretações e esquemas analíticos e nunca lhes está submetido; quando quer conhecer-se a si próprio, não é no homem em si, numa teoria da sua vida que se revê e o que lhe vem do íntimo não carece de explicação alguma.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 36pt;"&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/399392966915195252-3586855789041820911?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3586855789041820911/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3586855789041820911' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3586855789041820911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3586855789041820911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/12/verdade.html' title='A Verdade'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-5515272524059210201</id><published>2010-10-24T18:26:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T18:26:10.844+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Deus não é uma filosofia</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;Desde tempos imemoriais que Deus está no centro das meditações e dos questionamentos do homem. Hoje, volvidos tantos séculos de pensamento e investigação e cultura e "contraditório" entre religiões diferentes e dentro das próprias religiões, entre culturas e concepções diferentes e até antagónicas, podemos reconhecer que todo o tipo de tentativas foram feitas (e continuam a ser) pelos homens de cultura e de ciência para "afirmar" ou "negar" Deus. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;Mas Deus não é uma teoria, nem é uma hipótese. Deus não é uma filosofia. Nem é uma explicação. É certo que tudo pode ser teorizado e questionado sem limite. Se Deus fosse uma hipótese, ou uma teoria ou uma filosofia, não causaria mais dificuldades do que as questões sobre qualquer outro assunto. Nenhuma teoria, filosofia ou religião consegue transformar uma coisa naquilo que ela não é, ou fazer com que ela deixe de existir. Mesmo aqueles que (apenas) teorizam ou filosofam sobre Deus sabem que teorizam sobre um mistério, sobre o mais antigo e inesgotável dos mistérios. Os que acolhem Deus "revelado" nas suas vidas vivem numa relação construtiva e edificante com esse mistério, uma relação cujos termos são parte essencial da revelação.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-5515272524059210201?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5515272524059210201/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=5515272524059210201' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/5515272524059210201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/5515272524059210201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/10/deus-nao-e-uma-filosofia.html' title='Deus não é uma filosofia'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-4048996457109488027</id><published>2010-09-06T09:58:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-09-06T09:58:05.776+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O ateu é dogmático</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;O ateu que invoca a necessidade de demonstração científica da existência de Deus para acreditar, está a incorrer num duplo vício: primeiro, declarando-se ateu, em vez de agnóstico e depois, porque supõe que o método científico tem a virtualidade e a aptidão para conhecer tudo , considerando que a natureza é tudo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #4c1130;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;A questão é a seguinte: Deus&lt;/span&gt;, que as religiões proclamam como Criador de todas as coisas visíveis e invisíveis (e as filosofias têm tentado racionalizar), não é sequer uma questão para o ateu. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;E por que razões o não é? Por razões científicas? Não. As ciências da natureza não têm informação nem explicação para as origens da natureza, nem para o que ela virá a ser. Têm pretendido apresentar hipóteses, por exemplo, da origem do Universo, da origem da vida, de que houve e há evolução das espécies. Mas todas essas hipóteses não passam disso mesmo e, se continuam em aberto, é como tal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;O ateu é um dogmático. Desde logo, por não se declarar agnóstico. E por se declarar científico, quando não há ateísmo científico. O ateu arroga-se algo que, embora critique e impute, por exemplo, ao cristianismo, este nunca pretendeu: ser científico-naturalista.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Jesus Cristo não deixou dúvidas sobre a importância (necessidade) da Fé. O ateu, que se insurge contra esta condição, a qual diz ser “irracional”, não compreende o seguinte: o que Jesus nos propõe nem sequer é um conhecimento (de algo que não saibamos de acordo com as ciências da natureza). O que Jesus nos propõe é uma Fé e uma prática de vida, mais do que uma atitude (e não é uma filosofia), uma entrega da nossa vida pelos que sofrem, pelos necessitados, por amor aos inimigos. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; color: #4c1130; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Para Jesus Cristo, o conhecimento, os saberes, em si mesmos, nada são. São faculdades humanas, competências mentais e motoras, mais ou menos conscientes, mais ou menos voluntárias, mais ou menos inatas, através das quais o homem é chamado a realizar o Bem, o Amor, não como um comércio de interesses e de instintos, mas como imperativo da sua consciência. Consciência de si próprio, consciência do(s) que o rodeia(m), do significado e do sentido das próprias vivências e da História. Neste âmbito, por mais sábio e erudito que o homem seja, não terá realizado o essencial se e enquanto a sua consciência axiológico-normativa lho não ditar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&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/399392966915195252-4048996457109488027?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4048996457109488027/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=4048996457109488027' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4048996457109488027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4048996457109488027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/09/o-ateu-e-dogmatico.html' title='O ateu é dogmático'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3451486406969664789</id><published>2010-08-26T01:16:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-27T14:36:17.970+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A ciência não acredita?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"&gt;A ciência&lt;/span&gt; não acredita? A ciência acredita em si mesma enquanto não é convencida do contrário. Acredita na eficácia e na validade dos seus processos e métodos, como não podia deixar de ser. Não obstante ela não explica o conhecimento, nem o que é, nem como é originado.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Todas as épocas tiveram as suas certezas e as suas dúvidas.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Mas o acreditar da ciência é um acreditar diferente do acreditar dos cientistas, e das pessoas em geral, naquilo para que não há explicações do tipo&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;naturalista.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #660000; font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &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/399392966915195252-3451486406969664789?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3451486406969664789/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3451486406969664789' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3451486406969664789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3451486406969664789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/08/ciencia-nao-acredita.html' title='A ciência não acredita?'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-878267024356797427</id><published>2010-08-21T23:29:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-21T23:58:39.701+01:00</updated><title type='text'>As ideias e os ideais não brotam do nada</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;As ideias e os ideais não brotam do nada, derivam de percepções da realidade. Não são uma fotografia do que se vê ou outro registo sensorial, intelectual, etc., em forma de cópia. São uma elaboração complexa das percepções processadas na pessoa mas não necessariamente pela pessoa. Quer dizer, é um processo em que a vontade do sujeito normalmente não intervém e, quando intervém, é já numa fase de elaboração avançada. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Que representação podemos fazer, por exemplo, de uma coisa que nunca vimos? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Ou, que representação podemos fazer, por exemplo, de um cheiro? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;De uma voz, ou de um som, ou de um paladar, ou de uma dor de dentes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Que ideia poderia o homem fazer de Deus, antes de Jesus Cristo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;E Que ideia pode o homem fazer de Deus, depois de Jesus Cristo?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-878267024356797427?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/878267024356797427/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=878267024356797427' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/878267024356797427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/878267024356797427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/08/as-ideias-e-os-ideais-nao-brotam-do.html' title='As ideias e os ideais não brotam do nada'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-6760473103657527116</id><published>2010-08-12T00:28:00.008+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T00:28:20.530+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nas filosofias o ideal e os ideais ocupam lugar proeminente</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page WordSection1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.WordSection1	{page:WordSection1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #351c75; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Nas filosofias, o ideal e os ideais ocupam um lugar muito destacado de reflexão e análise, já no tempo de Platão.&lt;br /&gt;Na religião, parece-me haver quem tenha uma visão do homem e do mundo a caminho de um ideal (de perfeição, questiono o que seja perfeição), como se Deus tivesse um plano ou projecto em realização e haver quem não sobrevalorize essa perspectiva, vivendo a sua fé no plano das coisas como elas são, sem preocupações ou interesse quanto ao que poderiam ou poderão ser, sem considerarem que, por exemplo, orar ou ajudar os que sofrem é cumprir&amp;nbsp;algum tipo de ideal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: #351c75; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O ideal, entendido como a perfeição de uma forma ou de uma representação mental ou intelectual não passa disso e não substitui o real. Quando dizemos ideal=representação mental, não estamos a dizer ideal=representação gráfica(p.exemplo); esta representação gráfica é real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #20124d; color: white; font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-6760473103657527116?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6760473103657527116/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=6760473103657527116' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6760473103657527116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6760473103657527116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/08/nas-filosofias-o-ideal-e-os-ideais.html' title='Nas filosofias o ideal e os ideais ocupam lugar proeminente'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-7741951246510615204</id><published>2010-08-06T19:54:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-08-06T19:54:58.038+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Nas ciências os ideais não têm lugar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Na sociedade, na política, na religião, as ideias e os ideais estão constantemente postos em causa.  O ser posto em causa, o estar em causa é-lhes essencial. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Na política, vai havendo consensos maioritários, ou conivências, relativamente às directrizes a seguir na governação. Subjacentes estão sempre formas, mais ou menos definidas / assumidas/provisórias, de ideais.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Nas ciências os ideais não têm lugar. O que sucede é que as ciências podem ser colocadas ao serviço de ideais. Podem ser instrumentos para a realização de ideais e objectivos.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&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/399392966915195252-7741951246510615204?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7741951246510615204/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=7741951246510615204' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7741951246510615204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7741951246510615204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/08/nas-ciencias-os-ideais-nao-tem-lugar.html' title='Nas ciências os ideais não têm lugar'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3432286157866019100</id><published>2010-07-31T22:19:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-07-31T22:19:58.672+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Não se ama o que não existe</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page WordSection1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.WordSection1	{page:WordSection1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;As ideias e os ideais (há que distinguir o que é ideal para mim do que seria o ideal universal e o ideal absoluto) funcionam como guias ou coordenadas da vontade, mas sabemos que esta é instável e, não raro, caprichosa, cedendo a veleidades, vícios e fraquezas.&amp;nbsp; Pelos ideais se aferem as realidades, físicas, sociais, comportamentais, epistemológicas, culturais... Muitas vezes não gostamos das coisas como elas se nos apresentam porque estamos “apaixonados” pelo que achamos que elas deviam ser.&amp;nbsp; Outras vezes, a realidade que se nos impõe é de tal modo adversa aos nossos desejos e à nossa vontade que nos sentimos profundamente frustrados e revoltados. Mas não se ama o que não existe. O amor é por aquilo que é, como é e não como devia ser. Quando amamos alguém não amamos a pessoa ideal (que não existe e nunca conheceremos) mas amamos uma pessoa como ela é e não como, em nosso entender, ela devia ser.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&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/399392966915195252-3432286157866019100?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3432286157866019100/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3432286157866019100' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3432286157866019100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3432286157866019100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/07/nao-se-ama-o-que-nao-existe.html' title='Não se ama o que não existe'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8025581234770221336</id><published>2010-07-26T23:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-07-26T23:56:29.682+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O homem não sabe o que quer</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Eis o problema: o homem não sabe o que quer, nem para si próprio, quanto mais para os outros... E, supondo que as pessoas têm uma vontade e objectivos para os outros, para a história, para o mundo, para a Humanidade, um desejo, sonho (projecto é diferente e, certamente, não existe um projecto com essas características, individual ou colectivo) que as transcende, então aí o que sabemos é pouco e o que não sabemos é incomensurável (e que certeza temos&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;disto?).&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-8025581234770221336?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8025581234770221336/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8025581234770221336' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8025581234770221336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8025581234770221336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/07/o-homem-nao-sabe-o-que-quer.html' title='O homem não sabe o que quer'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-4986149602196145805</id><published>2010-07-08T00:24:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-07-08T00:24:18.590+01:00</updated><title type='text'>À frente de qualquer juízo de ciência</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Quanto à nossa dependência do conhecimento, ou à primazia que damos (ou não) aos juízos de ciência, os nossos critérios são diversificados e complexos. Não nos regemos por meras racionalidades e verdades teoréticas. À frente de qualquer juízo de ciência colocamos, por exemplo, a nossa sobrevivência. E, normalmente, não precisamos de razões para nos confiarmos àquilo que, sem dúvida, nos interessa e nos agrada. Só que, também aqui estamos sujeitos a contingências de ignorância e de erro, senão numa perspectiva egoística, pelo menos, numa perspectiva do interesse e do agrado dos outros. Ao tentarmos compreender o que é a inteligência, deparamos com conceitos de inteligência conflituantes e contraditórios, consoante se trate de inteligência, por exemplo, do interesse individual imediato, inteligência do interesse colectivo, inteligência do imediato ou do eterno, etc..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Aquilo que cada um quer em função do seu interesse e do seu agrado não significa que seja o melhor ou o mais conveniente para os outros, ou que seja o melhor a médio/longo prazo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&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/399392966915195252-4986149602196145805?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4986149602196145805/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=4986149602196145805' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4986149602196145805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4986149602196145805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/07/frente-de-qualquer-juizo-de-ciencia.html' title='À frente de qualquer juízo de ciência'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-6764506868451026719</id><published>2010-07-05T00:53:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-07-05T00:53:05.232+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O conhecimento não ocupa lugar</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page WordSection1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.WordSection1	{page:WordSection1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O conhecimento só existe na medida em que existam pessoas. Pessoas capazes de o formular, de o comunicar e operacionalizar. Se as pessoas desaparecessem, o mundo, tal como está, com todos os registos, bibliotecas, bases de dados, artefactos, artes… seria um mundo não habitado pelo conhecimento. Um computador não tem conhecimento. Uma biblioteca não tem conhecimento. O conhecimento não está em lado nenhum. Nem no cérebro. Ou está? O conhecimento é uma função/actividade muito específica, complexa e dinâmica de descodificação/elaboração /codificação de informações de características muitas vezes difíceis de delimitar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Dizer que o mundo não seria habitado pelo conhecimento, não quer dizer que no mundo, com todos os seres vivos, não abunde informação. Assim, a vida e os comportamentos dos animais, por exemplo, tendem a assegurar objectivos de conservação e de sobrevivência, não porque possuam conhecimento para tal e o façam em função desse conhecimento, mas porque estão “programados” para isso.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&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/399392966915195252-6764506868451026719?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6764506868451026719/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=6764506868451026719' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6764506868451026719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6764506868451026719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/07/o-conhecimento-nao-ocupa-lugar.html' title='O conhecimento não ocupa lugar'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8865796976692664237</id><published>2010-07-02T00:14:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-07-02T00:14:03.851+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Indício de sabedoria</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Vejo as reservas que podemos levantar face ao conhecimento, como um indício de sabedoria. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Quando dizemos que alguém tem conhecimento de algo, o que é que isso significa? Ou por outra, quando alguém tem conhecimento de algo, o que é que tem? Onde está o conhecimento? Ocupa lugar? Qual a relação entre o conhecimento e aquilo que se conhece? Pode falar-se em conhecimento falso e conhecimento verdadeiro? E os saberes? Também são sempre ou falsos ou verdadeiros?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Alguém me ajuda a responder a estas questões?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Quando falamos de sabedoria estamos a considerar que há diferenças entre saber, conhecimento, ciência e sabedoria. Por exemplo, transmitir conhecimento envolve linguagens que não são propriamente, nem necessariamente, semelhantes às que se usam para partilhar e comunicar sabedoria ou, em geral, saberes de vária ordem. Os gestos, os comportamentos, as expressões corporais, as artes, a literatura… E as prioridades da acção, os valores e as virtudes podem justificar-se na sabedoria antes de o serem ou de poderem ser justificados por alguma espécie de conhecimento. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Toda a sabedoria e todo o saber são formas de conhecimento?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: white; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;E a inversa é verdadeira?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&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/399392966915195252-8865796976692664237?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8865796976692664237/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8865796976692664237' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8865796976692664237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8865796976692664237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/07/indicio-de-sabedoria.html' title='Indício de sabedoria'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-4095602315542478332</id><published>2010-06-27T22:33:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-27T22:33:25.759+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Lutamos contra a ignorância e o erro</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Não lutamos apenas contra a ignorância. Também lutamos contra o erro. E,  por motivos muito diversos que aos interesses humanos dizem respeito,  somos induzidos a ignorâncias e a erros contra os quais não estamos  imunes e precisamos de nos precaver. Travamos estas lutas,  intermináveis, com os instrumentos de que dispomos de observação e de  análise e, na dúvida, com reservas, à defesa, advertidos da falibilidade  das premissas, das conclusões e do próprio processo intelectual do  conhecimento, para já não falar do reducionismo e das condições da  comunicabilidade do conhecimento.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"&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/399392966915195252-4095602315542478332?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4095602315542478332/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=4095602315542478332' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4095602315542478332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4095602315542478332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/lutamos-contra-ignorancia-e-o-erro.html' title='Lutamos contra a ignorância e o erro'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-7702938127645757862</id><published>2010-06-26T13:56:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-26T13:56:06.744+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Realidade e discurso (sobre a mesma)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Por um lado temos a realidade, os fenómenos observáveis. Por outro,  temos as representações dessa realidade e o discurso sobre a mesma. As  leis do pensamento e da linguagem e do intelecto mostram-se muito toscos  instrumentos de análise e de compreensão dos fenómenos. Mas, ao mesmo  tempo, são eles que nos permitem reflectir criticamente sobre os  próprios limites e as contingências das linguagens. Em parte, será  porque o acesso a essa realidade é condicionado à partida pelas  características desses instrumentos. Noutra parte, o acesso à realidade é  fortemente condicionado pelo nosso interesse na mesma. &lt;br /&gt;A tendência  para considerarmos que o que não observamos não existe ou que só existe o  que conseguimos abarcar é por sua vez uma determinante. Noutra parte,  ainda, o que observamos e o que podemos concluir sobre o que observamos  não é mais do que aquilo que esses instrumentos alcançam.  Um dos  aspectos em que esses instrumentos se revelaram surpreendentes foi a  capacidade de se observarem e analisarem a si mesmos e de produzirem e  desenvolverem instrumentos com capacidades cada vez maiores de  observação e de análise.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9d2e9; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"&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/399392966915195252-7702938127645757862?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7702938127645757862/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=7702938127645757862' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7702938127645757862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7702938127645757862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/realidade-e-discurso-sobre-mesma.html' title='Realidade e discurso (sobre a mesma)'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-2491104508245791669</id><published>2010-06-24T20:53:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T20:15:26.089+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Ele disse «Deus não existe». Isto é uma contradição</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page WordSection1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.WordSection1	{page:WordSection1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #660000; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Ele disse «Deus não existe». Isto é uma contradição. Ainda assim, encontrar o Deus filosófico ou cosmológico não é o encontro com o Deus Vivo e não resolve todos os problemas que Deus nos coloca. E os problemas que Deus nos coloca não são problemas teoréticos. Qualquer abordagem literal dos textos sagrados está condenada ao fracasso. Mas qualquer que seja a abordagem desses textos ela não nos dará respostas a qualquer tipo de perguntas. E coloca-nos sobretudo interrogações sobre nós próprios, sobre a nossa relação com os outros, sobre a nossa condição humana, sobre a vida, sobre Deus. Ao lê-los, a nossa inteligência, os processos de conhecimento, discursivos e não só e de comunicação, estão constantemente postos em causa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-2491104508245791669?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2491104508245791669/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=2491104508245791669' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2491104508245791669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2491104508245791669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/tu-dizes-deus-nao-existe-isto-e-uma.html' title='Ele disse «Deus não existe». Isto é uma contradição'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-2697390136815436039</id><published>2010-06-20T11:47:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T23:49:44.916+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - X</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;A rádio local dedicou um programa especial à morte do Velha. O Amante de Catástrofes fez questão de prestar homenagem a esse homem de quem lhe disseram três coisas: que lhe chamavam Velha, que se apresentava como Alberto Caeiro e que era pastor de transístores. Abriu o programa com rajadas de metralhadora e, após um silêncio sepulcral, declarou, num tom declamatório «assalto e assassínio de um desconhecido».&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Os dois repórteres, incumbidos de lhe trazerem notícias do Velha, foram as primeiras pessoas a ser informadas da sua morte, no hospital, onde se deslocaram para tentarem levá-lo ao estúdio para ser entrevistado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Dois dias antes tê-lo-iam encontrado de perfeita saúde e teriam tido oportunidade de dar a conhecer um pouco da história da própria vida que ele fosse capaz de contar. Mas agora era tarde e ninguém poderia ajudá-los, nem com depoimentos. Por sua vez, as informações do hospital eram lacónicas. Até o nome que constava na ficha de internamento não era aquele pelo qual o Velha era conhecido. E diziam uma hora e uma data do falecimento, mas nenhuma referência ao nascimento, morada, naturalidade, ascendência…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #ffd966; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Além disso, sabiam que tinha sido assaltado e agredido, depois das aulas à noite, a caminho de casa e que a polícia lavrou auto da ocorrência. As suas atenções, agora, estariam voltadas para a investigação e eventual descoberta do(s) autor(es) do(s) crime(s).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-2697390136815436039?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2697390136815436039/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=2697390136815436039' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2697390136815436039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2697390136815436039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-velha-x.html' title='O Velha - X'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-1812897251077922630</id><published>2010-06-12T23:23:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T12:10:08.156+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - IX</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O quadro clínico do Velha agravara-se e não havia ninguém referenciado  como familiar ou amigo a quem o hospital pudesse comunicar a situação. A  última pessoa com quem ele tinha vivido falecera dois dias antes dele  se despedir da Serra Alta e de, ao chegar a Pérolas Falsas, chorar de  inconsolável tristeza. E já tinha passado perto de um ano.&lt;br /&gt;Era a  tia-avó Anja, abandonada à solidão, numa aldeia de mais de cem casebres  vazios, de portas e janelas escancaradas, cada vez menos visitados pelos  fantasmas da memória enferma ao ponto de a ensurdecer e cegar a maior  parte do tempo, desde que se levantava até que adormecia. &lt;br /&gt;Com o seu  rebanho de transístores, o Velha distraía-se de a ver, àquela que o  criara de pequeno, que não conheceu pai nem mãe, nem lhe disseram alguma  vez se eram vivos. &lt;br /&gt;Com os anos, ele cresceu e a tia, envelhecendo,  deixou, pouco a pouco, de o reconhecer. O Velha não saberia dizer a  idade com que ela, arrastando o pesado corpo, no inverno, se deslocava  para onde houvesse sol e, no verão, para onde a água fresca cantasse na  fonte. &lt;br /&gt;E não sendo capaz de, por si só, regressar a casa era ele  quem, incerto de ser ouvido, a guiava, falando todo o tempo do doloroso e  lento percurso sobre calhaus rolados, certamente pré-históricos, até  aos cinco tormentos que era subirem cinco degraus de granito da escada  desmantelada da entrada. A tia-avó, sem poder comentar, gemia e chorava,  amparada ao sobrinho-neto e ao cajado cujas marcas da passagem do tempo  haviam sido já por este apagadas. Quando, finalmente, chegavam à  cozinha ela esperava que ele pusesse na mesa algum alimento para  debicarem. &lt;br /&gt;Também foram assim os derradeiros momentos da vida dessa  mulher de quem não se sabe se chegou a pensar que o mundo existia para  lá da Serra Alta.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;" /&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/399392966915195252-1812897251077922630?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1812897251077922630/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=1812897251077922630' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1812897251077922630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1812897251077922630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-velha-ix.html' title='O Velha - IX'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8167693116713559265</id><published>2010-06-10T00:11:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-13T00:25:04.545+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - VIII</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O Amante de Catástrofes, como era  conhecido o director da rádio local,  correu mundos e fundos para  encontrar o Velha. Assim que soube do  interesse do pastor por  transístores, pela primeira vez, desde que se  dedica a noticiar  catástrofes, deixou de dormir por um motivo diferente,  para poder  pensar num programa de que o Velha fizesse parte. Antes,  porém, era  preciso encontrá-lo e convencê-lo a participar. Depois de  cinco dias de  buscas infrutíferas, só conseguiu saber que estava  hospitalizado por  ter sido assaltado e agredido, quando regressava das  aulas no ensino  nocturno. Entrou no estúdio, ainda de madrugada e, antes  de ir para o  ar, ordenou aos repórteres de serviço «desta vez suspendam  as  reportagens de catástrofes; com um pouco de sorte, haverá um dia sem   que ocorra alguma, e tratem de encontrar o pastor alucinado por rádios.   Procurem-no no hospital. Quero entrevistá-lo, se possível, em directo.»   Um dos repórteres, impensadamente, retorquiu «mas, ó chefe, olhe que   isso pode ser uma catástrofe!». &lt;/span&gt;&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List" style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData" style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping" style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page Section1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.Section1	{page:Section1;}--&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="line-height: 115%;"&gt;Sem contemplações, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; line-height: 115%;"&gt;o Amante de Catástrofes ripostou &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;«Deixe-se de ironias e traga-me notícias   desse homem».&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d9ead3; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-8167693116713559265?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8167693116713559265/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8167693116713559265' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8167693116713559265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8167693116713559265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-amante-de-catastrofes-como-era.html' title='O Velha - VIII'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-1987932692705035321</id><published>2010-06-07T23:12:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T23:13:23.092+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - VII</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O Velha mexeu-se.  Estava a acordar da anestesia geral. O cirurgião que o operou  inclinou-se para ver-lhe os olhos. A médica anestesista perguntou-lhe  «está bem? Como se chama? Qual é o seu nome?». «Fernando Pessoa»,  respondeu. O cirurgião arregalou os olhos e abanou negativamente a  cabeça. A anestesista insistiu na pergunta «Como? Qual é o seu nome?».  «Álvaro de Campos», voltou a responder. Desta vez ambos os médicos  esboçaram um sorriso. E consultaram a ficha clínica. Ovelha era o nome  que lá constava. «Não se levante, não se esforce. Está tudo bem, não  está?».&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O Dr. Pedrinho olhou para a Drª Água, tirou os óculos com uma  das mãos e, com a outra, massajou suavemente os olhos cansados. «Não se  esforce, deixe-se estar em repouso.»&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O Velha pôs-se a falar com muita  lentidão e alguma dificuldade. Os médicos ficaram à escuta.  «Sobe ao  pódio dos teus pés/Que o prémio te sinta /Mesmo que não sejas  vencedor/Te diga que o és/Canta o hino /Que aprenderes/A olhar para  longe /Do que fores/Capaz/Que o silêncio/No fim /Seja murmúrio/De paz.»&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-1987932692705035321?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1987932692705035321/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=1987932692705035321' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1987932692705035321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1987932692705035321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/o-velha-vii.html' title='O Velha - VII'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3025370010206429298</id><published>2010-06-03T01:25:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-06-03T01:28:46.784+01:00</updated><title type='text'>À vista do céu</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Aprende-se a morrer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Sem ter vivido&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Mas ninguém sabe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;São muitas e belas e o poder&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Das horas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Derrota as memórias&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Como se não fossem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Vitórias&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Vive-se de promessas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;E de esperanças&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Mas não de certezas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Enquanto cintilam&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Estrelas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Do que é desejado&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;A alegria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;De acreditar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;Na plenitude da terra&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #274e13; font-size: large;"&gt;À vista do céu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-3025370010206429298?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3025370010206429298/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3025370010206429298' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3025370010206429298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3025370010206429298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/06/vista-do-ceu.html' title='À vista do céu'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-2649824722693390852</id><published>2010-05-29T16:52:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-29T16:53:05.095+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - VI</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Depois das aulas, no regresso a casa,  perdeu-se. Estava habituado a orientar-se pelas estrelas e, nessa noite,  não havia estrelas. Os candeeiros da iluminação pública  desorientaram-no. Deu voltas e voltas sem saber por onde e ao passar  pela terceira vez na mesma ponte sobre um riacho convenceu-se de que  devia seguir em frente, na direcção do pio dos mochos. &amp;nbsp;Quando parou de  andar, vencido pelo cansaço, ao primeiro sol da manhã, viu que o lugar  desconhecido em que se encontrava era o fim do mundo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Incrível! – exclamou. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Uma regra de oiro dos montes penhascosos em  que foi pastor durante vinte anos iluminou-lhe a mente «diante de um  precipício, andar para trás é a única forma de andar para a frente». Mas  não sentia vontade de retroceder.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Esses momentos ficariam na sua memória como os  do primeiro encontro com aquela que viria a ser sua companheira  inseparável até ao último dia de vida: a Insónia. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;A sombra de uma árvore enorme que tinha sido  arrancada pela mão de um gigante poderoso era um convite a que se  abrigasse do sol para dormir.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Deteve-se diante daquele raizeiro ao ar, maior  do que a casa dos sete anões. &amp;nbsp;Ao peso das pálpebras, fechou os olhos  sem resistência, escutando rugidos rotundos que lhe lembravam trovões,  mas eram as vagas do mar. Do mar que ele não via e nunca vira. A insónia  não o largava. Quem dera rebanhos para contar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-2649824722693390852?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2649824722693390852/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=2649824722693390852' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2649824722693390852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/2649824722693390852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-velha-vi.html' title='O Velha - VI'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-4920250977383623209</id><published>2010-05-25T18:46:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T18:47:24.807+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - V</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O  primeiro texto que subscreveu como Alberto Caeiro levantou um problema  ao professor Ruga. O Velha não compreendia onde estava o problema. Não  estava a plagiar. Também não estava a usurpar a identidade de ninguém.  Mas o professor não aceitou que ele se fizesse passar por um autor  consagrado. Como é que alguém ousava atribuir os seus escritos a uma  celebridade das letras?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Para  o Velha não havia problema, porque as coisas não eram assim. Ele não  atribuía a autoria dos seus escritos ao Alberto Caeiro que, aliás, nunca  escreveu nada. Ele atribuía a autoria dos seus escritos a si próprio,  verdadeiro Alberto Caeiro. De carne e osso, com larga experiência de  pastoreio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Cão  tomara partido pelo Velha e dizia de cor os seguintes versos do poema  “Observo”:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;  A terra treme a água salta o vento arranca&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A bata branca&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A rã enxuta&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A bruxa manca&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #0c343d; font-family: &amp;quot;Trebuchet MS&amp;quot;,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A puta ama a ama puta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/399392966915195252-4920250977383623209?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4920250977383623209/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=4920250977383623209' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4920250977383623209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/4920250977383623209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-velha-v.html' title='O Velha - V'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-1692955386203142850</id><published>2010-05-13T23:34:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-14T17:50:51.753+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - IV</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #134f5c; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace; font-size: large;"&gt;Nem ele próprio sabe quando é que percebeu a origem da alcunha o Velha. Mas foi  em casa que, carinhosamente, começaram a tratá-lo assim. Nas próprias palavras,  quando nasceu, já tinha aspecto de velha. À medida que foi crescendo, esse  aspecto acentuou-se e, como ele não dava por outro nome, porque nunca o  baptizaram e não saberia dizer outro nome por que fosse tratado ou conhecido, um  colega da escola para adultos, zarolho e corcunda, identificava-o por Velha. E  Velha continuou. O zarolho era a sua companhia preferida que o tratava assim,  não por despeito, mas por genuína simpatia. &lt;br /&gt;Por sua vez, tratava as pessoas  por alcunhas que lhes atribuía por associá-las a animais, a coisas e a outras  pessoas. Ao corcunda, que se tornou seu amigo, chamava Cão, honrando-o assim com  a associação ao notável navegador português que explorou o rio Congo.  Apesar de ser zarolho, nunca lhe ocorreu cognominá-lo de Camões. O Cão, como ele  lhe chamava, não tinha nada que o pudesse associar ao grande vate, a não ser a  deficiência ocular. A associação pelo mais, não pelo menos, anuiu o Velha  consigo próprio.&lt;br /&gt;Ao Antunes, um colega sisudo e pouco sociável, que ficava no  fundo da sala de aula e se torturava ao computador, com jogos de justas  medievais, enquanto fingia trabalhar nas fichas que o professor distribuía, o  Velha chamava Lobo Sem Alcateia.&lt;br /&gt;A sua descoberta gloriosa, no entanto, veio  a ser que o Alberto Caeiro era ele e que Fernando Pessoa era um dos seus  heterónimos. &lt;br /&gt;Foi o começo de uma nova era.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-1692955386203142850?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1692955386203142850/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=1692955386203142850' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1692955386203142850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1692955386203142850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-velha-iv.html' title='O Velha - IV'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-3820067438804990743</id><published>2010-05-10T11:24:00.000+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T11:24:48.523+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - III</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Até ao dia em que foi à cidade, só tinha convivido com dez pessoas entre família e vizinhos. Habituara-se a falar e a cantarolar sozinho, para os animais, para as plantas e para as coisas. Lembrava-se de quando se mirou no espelho da água do rio pela primeira vez. Teve a sensação nítida de que se tratava de outra pessoa e, mesmo sozinho, sentia-se como se estivesse acompanhado por uma espécie de sombra. &lt;br /&gt;Na cidade, tudo era intensamente novidade. Os seus olhos e o seu cérebro não tinham memória de nada do que viam. Anos mais tarde ainda estaria refém da memória desse encontro fabuloso com a cidade, dessa experiência tão marcante. Via as pessoas a entrar e a sair das casas e das lojas e imitava-as. Sorria para elas como se as conhecesse e achava graça às expressões delas. Entrou num café e não sabia o que fazer nem o que pedir. Era de tal modo o centro das atenções que sentiu algo parecido com felicidade, sentimento que ele praticamente nunca havia experimentado. Em nenhum rosto viu sinais de hostilidade ou desdém. E quando se riam dele, então é que ele gostava. E ria também. Com dificuldade, porque não tinha rido mais de duas vezes na vida. Uma, quando ouviu pela primeira vez a rádio. Outra, quando um missionário passou pela aldeia e o ensinou a fazer o sinal da cruz.&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-3820067438804990743?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3820067438804990743/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=3820067438804990743' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3820067438804990743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/3820067438804990743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-velha-iii.html' title='O Velha - III'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-1962065619697064141</id><published>2010-05-01T01:23:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T14:03:03.380+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - II</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page Section1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.Section1	{page:Section1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #666666; font-family: &amp;quot;Courier New&amp;quot;,Courier,monospace;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Um dia teve uma ideia que o fez saltar. Deu um grito e as ovelhas pararam de mastigar. Se estivesse numa grande cidade teria um rebanho imenso de transístores. &amp;nbsp;Quando teve de ir ao médico, ao passar à porta dos estabelecimentos comerciais, que tinham, quase todos, um rádio a tocar, ficou encantado. &amp;nbsp;Achou tanta graça à cidade que perdeu o gosto de viver no monte. Assim que saiu do consultório com o diagnóstico de desnutrição crónica, em vez de ir comer, que já o não fazia há mais de cinco horas, deixou-se&amp;nbsp; perder pelas ruas da cidade de Pérolas Falsas enquanto pensava que todas as pérolas são falsas.&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #38761d;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #38761d;"&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/399392966915195252-1962065619697064141?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1962065619697064141/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=1962065619697064141' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1962065619697064141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/1962065619697064141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/05/o-velha-ii.html' title='O Velha - II'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-7793087165898970565</id><published>2010-04-26T23:36:00.011+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T00:10:06.034+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O Velha - I</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Calibri&amp;quot;,&amp;quot;sans-serif&amp;quot;; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"&gt;O Velha apresentava-se sempre como Alberto Caeiro e dizia ser pastor de transístores. Para muitas pessoas isso correspondia ao anúncio de uma seita esotérica, religiosa ou política. Mas não era. O Velha não era pastor de uma seita, era mesmo pastor de rebanhos de ovelhas e de cabras. Com o tempo foi-se tornando também pastor de transístores e, pouco a pouco, declarava-se a si próprio como pastor de transístores que deixara de ser pastor de gado. Na infância foi pastor de gado. Nunca pertenceu a uma tribo. Aprendeu a viver sozinho e a lidar sozinho com os seus medos. Mais tarde frequentou a escola para adultos e descobriu que era Alberto Caeiro e que tinha mais que um heterónimo, sendo um deles &amp;nbsp;Fernando Pessoa. Mas a maior descoberta da sua vida foi o transístor. Desde o dia em que&amp;nbsp; o descobriu que passou a fazer-se acompanhar dele para os montes com os rebanhos. Assim que pôde comprou mais alguns e levava-os todos para os sintonizar em estações diferentes. Enquanto as ovelhas pasciam, colocava os transístores em posições estratégicas no solo e ouvia de tudo em simultâneo. Se mais estações de rádio houvesse mais transístores teria comprado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-7793087165898970565?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7793087165898970565/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=7793087165898970565' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7793087165898970565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7793087165898970565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/04/o-velha-i.html' title='O Velha - I'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8742083908003207200</id><published>2010-04-08T01:15:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T10:56:07.046+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Escuto as dores do mar</title><content type='html'>&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, 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color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Nem todas as janelas já estão fechadas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;As dores do mar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;O balançar das árvores ao alto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;É nessas cores que a torda da alegria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Perde peso&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;E a alma de magreza voa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Do mar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;A olímpica fantasia &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Que atordoa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Quem poderá domar?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue',Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&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/399392966915195252-8742083908003207200?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8742083908003207200/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8742083908003207200' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8742083908003207200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8742083908003207200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/04/escuto-as-dores-do-mar.html' title='Escuto as dores do mar'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-700343081480052487</id><published>2010-04-01T14:24:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T23:25:45.355+01:00</updated><title type='text'>O pregador e o propagandista</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Está sol num grande largo povoado de sombras um pregador sob uma árvore adverte em nome do bem como um sol que faz desaparecer sombras no canto de lá um propagandista reclama liberdade como um sol que faz sombras.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbs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&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-700343081480052487?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/700343081480052487/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=700343081480052487' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/700343081480052487'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/700343081480052487'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/04/esta-sol-e-num-grande-largo-povoado-de.html' title='O pregador e o propagandista'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-6611030740229914336</id><published>2010-03-31T00:13:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T14:33:31.623+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Aceito o teu convite</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link 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left;"&gt;(a cantar numa voz de ópera?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;Já te vi subir o pano&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;Como o suave sol de Maio&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;Sobe a colina&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;Faz-me ver grandes nuvens brancas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;E temer adormecer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;Sem o desejar.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-6611030740229914336?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6611030740229914336/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=6611030740229914336' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6611030740229914336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/6611030740229914336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/03/aceito-o-teu-convite.html' title='Aceito o teu convite'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-7562663630392257063</id><published>2010-03-28T02:24:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2010-03-28T02:35:18.909+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Porque é que estou a lembrar estas coisas</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Um caminho abandonado há tantos anos&lt;br /&gt;Interrompido por uma estrada&lt;br /&gt;A única coisa valiosa que possuo&lt;br /&gt;Recordações da minha juventude&lt;br /&gt;Como se as tivesse lido em livros&lt;br /&gt;De aventuras que não li&lt;br /&gt;Até ao fim&lt;br /&gt;Por me aborrecer&lt;br /&gt;De morte.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-7562663630392257063?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7562663630392257063/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=7562663630392257063' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7562663630392257063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/7562663630392257063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/03/porque-e-que-estou-lembrar-estas-coisas.html' title='Porque é que estou a lembrar estas coisas'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-839866369131098616</id><published>2010-03-25T09:06:00.005Z</published><updated>2010-03-25T09:20:16.209Z</updated><title type='text'>Ao amor desconhecido</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CDRC500%7E1.RIC%5CDEFINI%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0cm;	margin-right:0cm;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0cm;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-fareast-language:EN-US;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page Section1	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm;	mso-header-margin:36.0pt;	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.Section1	{page:Section1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst"&gt;Se tivesses uma morada ou telefone &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Que eu soubesse &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Um telemóvel ou e-mail que&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Provavelmente tens&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;É improvável que escrevesse esta carta sem endereço&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Nem sequer a escreveria&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Faço-o porque não te conheço&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;E sou fiel &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Ao sonho e mais profundo desejo &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Sem trair o anjo do meu cortejo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;E sem temer &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Vir-me a arrepender&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Pelo menos enquanto não te encontrar&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Se tivesse dúvidas sobre o ridículo das cartas de amor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Elas cessariam com esta&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Não por ser simples carta de amor&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Mas por ser ao amor desconhecido&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Que confiança pode merecer-te alguém que viveu &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Oitenta anos sem te ter tido&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Ou que o afirma &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Mais indigno de ti&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Quem diz que amou sem te conhecer&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Ou quem não amou à espera que isso acontecesse&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"&gt;Mas tu não vieste?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-839866369131098616?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/839866369131098616/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=839866369131098616' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/839866369131098616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/839866369131098616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/03/ao-amor-desconhecido.html' title='Ao amor desconhecido'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-399392966915195252.post-8201538865663806455</id><published>2010-03-09T16:09:00.012Z</published><updated>2010-03-23T10:08:56.335Z</updated><title type='text'>Dezenas de AUTORES Lusófonos COMENTADOS NESTE LIVRO</title><content type='html'>Arfemo Abgalvão  Abílio  Alberto da Fonseca Alemtagus Alexis Alice Duarte Altabongo  Amandu  Amora  Ana Baldner  Ana Cláudia Laforga  Ana Coelho  Ana Guimarães  Ana Oliveira  AnaMar   Anamarques  Ângelo Ferrão António casado  António Martins  Antónia Ruivo  António Paiva  Bernardo Almeida Betha M Costa Bóris Vinha Bruno Vilar Campista Cabral Carla Ribeiro  Carlos Carpinteiro  Carlos Teixeira Luís Carlos Senna Júnior Carolina Cátia Margarida Celito Medeiros  cherry Cláudia Guerreiro Cleo ConceiçãoB Damasco Daniele Barizon David Gomes Dermeval Dete Dianabalis Dionísio Dinis Dite Apolinário Djabal Maat Domingos da Mota Dora Limeira  Edi Edilson Eduardas Eliézer Magalhães Elvira Fábio Videira Santos Fabrícia Muniz Fatinha Mussato Fernando Rezende Fhatima Flavia Flávio Silver Fly Francisco Boaventura Frank Mike Gaivota Gdec Gilberto Glaucia GloriaSalles Goretidias Guacira Maciel Helena Costa Helen de Rose Henrique Cachetas Henrique Pedro Hisalena HomoSapiens HorrorisCausa Inês  Jaber João Filipe Ferreira João Merino Delize José António José Félix José Silveira José Torres José Nunes JSL KamMeiTa Karla Bardanza Lau Milesi Laura Gil Ledalge Liliana Maciel llayra Loyd christmas Luisa MargaridaRap LuísF Luís Filipe Pereira Maduro Manuela Fonseca Marcopintoc Marcos Santos Margarete Margarida Maria Santos Maria Sousa Maria Verde Marília Mel de Carvalho MeninadeOuro Mim moon Nanda Natacha Nina Araújo Onovopoeta Orlando Monteiro Oswaldo Eurico Rodrigues Paloma Stella Patrícia Andrade Paulo Afonso Paulo Andel Paula Martins Paulo de Carvalho Pedra Filosofal Pedro du Bois PoesiadeNeno Porvinho Q14 Radiante Raul Cordeiro Renata Fern Renato Retalhos Ricardo Calmon Ricardo Gonzalez Roque Silveira RosaDSaron Rosafogo Rosamaria Rose C. Salete Cochinsky Salomé Sanderscatherina Sandra Costa Melo Sandra Fonseca-Isabor Navarro Sandro Santos SaraCosta Seda natural Sob_versiva Sonianogueira Tânia Camargo Tere Tavares Tom Trabisdementia Valdevinoxis Valquiria Vanda Paz Vânia  Vaza Pinheiro Ventura Vera Silva Vicky Londres Vilde Vóny Ferreira XavierZarco xelu'Zida(maciel).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pedidos para Sítio do Livro:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.sitiodolivro.pt/pt/livro/escritos-online/9789899665903"&gt;http://www.sitiodolivro.pt/pt/livro/escritos-online/9789899665903&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/399392966915195252-8201538865663806455?l=escritosonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.sitiodolivro.pt/pt/livro/escritos-online/9789899665903/' title='Dezenas de AUTORES Lusófonos COMENTADOS NESTE LIVRO'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8201538865663806455/comments/default' title='Enviar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=399392966915195252&amp;postID=8201538865663806455' title='8 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8201538865663806455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/399392966915195252/posts/default/8201538865663806455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://escritosonline.blogspot.com/2010/03/autores-comentados-neste-livro.html' title='Dezenas de AUTORES Lusófonos COMENTADOS NESTE LIVRO'/><author><name>Carlos Ricardo Soares</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03079231328814280040</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9_ARBOf3jOQ/Sz1K3txAX5I/AAAAAAAAAD0/M5N4ePSZWKY/S220/minha+foto1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry></feed>
