Sonnet XIX by William Shakespeare (in English)

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,

And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,

And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,

To the wide world and all her fading sweets;

But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:

O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;

Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

   Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,

   My love shall in my verse ever live young.

"Ahasverus e o Gênio" by Castro Alves (in Portuguese)

ao poeta e amigo J. Felizardo Júnior

Sabes quem foi Ahasverus?...— o precito,

O mísero Judeu, que tinha escrito

Na fronte o selo atroz!

Eterno viajor de eterna senda...

Espantado a fugir de tenda em tenda,

Fugindo embalde à vingadora voz!

Misérrimo! Correu o mundo inteiro,

E no mundo tão grande... o forasteiro

Não teve onde... pousar.

Co'a mão vazia — viu a terra cheia.

O deserto negou-lhe — o grão de areia,

A gota d'água — rejeitou-lhe o mar.

D'Ásia as florestas — lhe negaram sombra

A savana sem fim — negou-lhe alfombra.

O chão negou-lhe o pó!...

Tabas, serralhos, tendas e solares...

Ninguém lhe abriu a porta de seus lares

E o triste seguiu só.

Viu povos de mil climas, viu mil raças,

E não pôde entre tantas populaças

Beijar uma só mão ...

Desde a virgem do Norte à de Sevilhas,

Desde a inglesa à crioula das Antilhas

Não teve um coração! ...

E caminhou!... E as tribos se afastavam

E as mulheres tremendo murmuravam

Com respeito e pavor.

Ai! Fazia tremer do vale à serra...

Ele que só pedia sobre a terra

— Silêncio, paz e amor! —

No entanto à noite, se o Hebreu passava,

Um murmúrio de inveja se elevava,

Desde a flor da campina ao colibri.

"Ele não morre", a multidão dizia...

E o precito consigo respondia:

— "Ai! mas nunca vivi!" —

O Gênio é como Ahasverus... solitário

A marchar, a marchar no itinerário

Sem termo do existir.

Invejado! a invejar os invejosos.

Vendo a sombra dos álamos frondosos...

E sempre a caminhar... sempre a seguir...

Pede u'a mão de amigo — dão-lhe palmas:

Pede um beijo de amor — e as outras almas

Fogem pasmas de si.

E o mísero de glória em glória corre...

Mas quando a terra diz: — "Ele não morre"

Responde o desgraçado: — "Eu não vivi!..."

Untitled Poem by José Thiesen (in Portuguese)

Ao F. M. Pires

Vou pela estrada de minha vida
só e sempre só.
Nela, o ar é seco e o pó me sufoca -
via tão triste.
De vez em quando te vejo no caminho,
meio longe, meio perto,
mas é só miragem: nunca estás onde te vejo,
eu só e sempre só.

"The Green Monkey" by Unknown Writer (in English)

art by Mike Sekowsky & Mike Peppe - Boris Karloff Thriller#1 -  Gold Key, October 1962.

“12 Angry Men” by Reginald Rose (in English)

[Juror #9 has pointed out that the witness across the street had marks on her nose, indicating that she normally wore glasses]

Juror #8: [to Juror #4] Do you wear glasses when you go to bed?

Juror #4: No. I don't. No one wears eyeglasses to bed.

Juror #8: It's logical to assume that *she* wasn't wearing them when she was in bed - tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep!

Juror #3: How do *you* know?

Juror #8: I don't *know* - I'm guessing! I'm also guessing that she probably didn't put her glasses on when she turned to look casually out of the window - and she herself testified the killing took place just as she looked out, the lights went off a split second later - she couldn't have had *time* to put them on then! [stops #3 from stopping him]  Here's another guess: maybe she honestly thought she saw the boy kill his father - I say she only saw a blur!

Juror #3: How do you know *what* she saw? How does he know all that? How do you know *what* kind of glasses she wore? Maybe they were sunglasses, maybe she was far-sighted! What do you *know* about her?

Juror #8: I only know the woman's eyesight is in question now!

Juror #11: She had to be able to identify a person sixty feet away, at night, without glasses.

Juror #2: You can't send someone off to die on evidence like that!

Juror #3: Oh, don't give me that.

Juror #8: Don't you think the woman *might* have made a mistake?

Juror #3: [stubbornly] No!

Juror #8: It's not *possible?*

Juror #3: No, it's not possible!

Juror #8: [gets up and speaks to Juror #12] Is it possible?

Juror #12: [nods] Not guilty.

Juror #8: [goes to #10] You think he's guilty?

[#10 shakes his head "no"]

Juror #3: *I* think he's guilty!

Juror #8: [ignores #3; goes to #4] How about you?

Juror #4: [looks at #8, pauses, then shakes head] No... I'm convinced. Not guilty.

Juror #3: [shocked, having just lost all support] What's the matter with ya?

Juror #4: I have a reasonable doubt now.

Juror #9: Eleven to one!

Untitled trova by Pedro Ornellas (in Portuguese)

O acerto, sim, amedronta,

mas creio que estamos quites:

Para os meus erros sem conta

Deus tem perdão sem limites.

Untitled trova by Unknown Writer (in Portuguese)

Eu não quero nem brincando

Dizer adeus a ninguém:

Quem parte, leva saudades,

Quem fica, saudades tem.