encontrei esse aí abaixo que, imagino, foi enviado para outro grupo na Internet ao qual estive inscrito.
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Rio - 29 Aug 1996
In less than six months I will be 70 years old and only now I start to think of velvet covered breasts, of water-babies and of the wind that softly sailled the boat on Sunday afternoons on our return to doc. The hot cup that warmed our hands with its fragrance of jasmine tea.
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Is silence an elegant thing?
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Motors and noise are becoming to those whose money is recent, maybe not their father’s but one’s own, made with the salty sweating of competition for power. Money is everything; it opens all doors and the hearts of recent acquaintances.
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The time goes back 20 or 30 years, a nothing when compared with the ageless memories we carry from our chromosomes.
Is sadness a reward for being a survivor? Is it a gargantuan deception for not being able to repeat the glorious moments that were taken as granted, as if we were children in paradise?
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Why had I to live so long before understanding the pleasure of hearing Gustav Mahler or Marlene, in person, singing words I could not know the meaning; her deep soft voice like a pleasure purr.
Oh! the power of beauty. It glues to the inner most cells of your brain and re-appears when the solitude of age sets in; like a flash of light, a short scented whif of long-ago-perfume.
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Embora buscado, não encontrei o resto desse texto.
Lembro que foi em época que os passeios no veleiro, geralmente nos domingos, a tarde finalizava com nosso retorno, vindo de volta das Ilhas Cagarras para o clube, em que se ouvia o silêncio.
Explico : - o soprar do vento nas velas nos trazendo de volta, se bem me lembro, nem era notado. Era algo como o silêncio.
(2 suspiros)
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