<?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-2637245295749355556</id><updated>2011-10-03T15:54:51.340-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vida</title><subtitle type='html'>Quisera eu
ser a primavera,
a boa-nova,
os sabores da vida
dentro da sua tigela colorida
de tons incomuns
e colorir um a um
os seus momentos nus,
queria ser
quem você quisesse ver.
Te dar bom dia antes do sol
e sem tem acordar, mergulhar
debaixo do seu lençol.
Quisera eu, como eu queria
saber que você me espera
na próxima esquina
pra irmos pra casa.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-4434199512481524720</id><published>2009-09-17T13:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T13:25:03.023-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Não, nada de nada</title><content type='html'>Não, nada de nada&lt;br /&gt;não, eu não lamento nada&lt;br /&gt;nem o bem que me fizeram, nem o mal&lt;br /&gt;tudo isso pra mim é igual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não, nada de nada&lt;br /&gt;não, eu não lamento nada.&lt;br /&gt;É pagar, varrer, esquecer,&lt;br /&gt;eu ignoro o passado.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Com as minhas lembranças&lt;br /&gt;eu acendi o fogo&lt;br /&gt;meus desgostos, meus prazeres&lt;br /&gt;eu não necessito mais disso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Varri meus amores&lt;br /&gt;com os seus tremores&lt;br /&gt;varri para sempre&lt;br /&gt;eu retornei ao zero&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não, nada de nada&lt;br /&gt;não, eu não lamento nada&lt;br /&gt;nem o bem que me fizeram, nem o mal&lt;br /&gt;tudo isso me é igual&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não, nada de nada&lt;br /&gt;não, eu lamento nada.&lt;br /&gt;Pois minha vida, pois minhas alegrias&lt;br /&gt;por hoje&lt;br /&gt;começam com você.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-4434199512481524720?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/4434199512481524720/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=4434199512481524720' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4434199512481524720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4434199512481524720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2009/09/nao-nada-de-nada.html' title='Não, nada de nada'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-4602746636729152186</id><published>2009-05-17T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T19:26:37.382-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sonhos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Composição: Peninha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tudo era apenas uma brincadeira&lt;br /&gt;E foi crescendo, crescendo, me absorvendo.&lt;br /&gt;E, de repente, eu me vi assim:&lt;br /&gt;Completamente seu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vi a minha força amarrada no seu passo,&lt;br /&gt;Vi que sem você não tem caminho, eu não me acho,&lt;br /&gt;Vi um grande amor gritar dentro de mim&lt;br /&gt;Como eu sonhei um dia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando o meu mundo era mais mundo&lt;br /&gt;E todo mundo admitia.&lt;br /&gt;Uma mudança muito estranha&lt;br /&gt;Mais carinho, mais pureza,&lt;br /&gt;Mais calma, mais alegria,&lt;br /&gt;No meu jeito de me dar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quando a canção se fez mais forte e mais sentida&lt;br /&gt;Quando a poesia fez folia em minha vida&lt;br /&gt;Você veio me contar dessa paixão inesperada&lt;br /&gt;Por outra pessoa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mas não tem revolta, não&lt;br /&gt;Eu só quero que você se encontre&lt;br /&gt;Ter saudade até que é bom&lt;br /&gt;É melhor que caminhar vazio&lt;br /&gt;A esperança é um dom&lt;br /&gt;Que eu tenho em mim&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não tem desespero, não&lt;br /&gt;Você me ensinou milhões de coisas&lt;br /&gt;Tenho um sonho em minhas mãos&lt;br /&gt;Amanhã será um outro dia&lt;br /&gt;Certamente, eu vou ser mais feliz.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-4602746636729152186?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/4602746636729152186/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=4602746636729152186' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4602746636729152186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4602746636729152186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2009/05/sonhos-composicao-peninha-tudo-era.html' title=''/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-7155124364860760761</id><published>2008-08-06T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T12:37:44.633-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sonho de uma flauta</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/SJn6XAinKxI/AAAAAAAAADg/WBHrga1sgd4/s1600-h/gabi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231487715356650258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/SJn6XAinKxI/AAAAAAAAADg/WBHrga1sgd4/s400/gabi.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff0000;"&gt;"Nem toda palavra é aquilo que o dicionário diz&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Nem todo pedaço de pedra&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Se parece com tijolo ou com pedra de giz&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff0000;"&gt;Avião parece passarinho que não sabe bater asa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff9900;"&gt;Passarinho voando longe parece borboleta que fugiu de casa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff9900;"&gt;Borboleta parece flor que o vento tirou pra dançar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff9900;"&gt;Flor parece a gente pois somos semente do que ainda virá&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ff9900;"&gt;A gente parece formiga lá de cima do avião&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ffcc33;"&gt;O céu parece um chão de areia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ffcc33;"&gt;Parece descanso pra minha oração&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ffcc33;"&gt;A nuvem parece fumaça tem gente que acha que ela é algodão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#ffcc33;"&gt;Algodão às vezes é doce mas, às vezes, é doce não&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33cc00;"&gt;Sonho parece verdade quando a gente esquece de acordar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33cc00;"&gt;E o dia parece metade quando a gente acorda e esquece de levantar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33cc00;"&gt;Ah! E o mundo é perfeito!?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;E o mundo é perfeito!?!E o mundo é perfeito&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33ff33;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Eu não pareço meu pai, nem pareço com meu irmão&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Sei que toda mãe é santa, sei que incerteza traz inspiração&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Tem beijo que parece mordida,tem mordida que parece carinho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#3366ff;"&gt;Tem carinho que parece briga,tem briga que aparece pra trazer sorriso&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#333399;"&gt;Tem sorriso que parece choro,tem choro que é pura alegria&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#333399;"&gt;Tem dia que parece noitee a tristeza parece poesia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#333399;"&gt;Tem motivo pra viver de novo,tem o novo que quer ter motivo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#333399;"&gt;Tem sede que morre no seio,nota que fermata quando desafino&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#333399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993399;"&gt;Descobrir o verdadeiro sentido das coisas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993399;"&gt;É querer saber demais&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#993399;"&gt;Querer saber demais"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fernando Anitelli&lt;/em&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/2637245295749355556-7155124364860760761?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/7155124364860760761/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=7155124364860760761' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/7155124364860760761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/7155124364860760761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2008/08/nem-toda-palavra-aquilo-que-o-dicionrio.html' title='Sonho de uma flauta'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/SJn6XAinKxI/AAAAAAAAADg/WBHrga1sgd4/s72-c/gabi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-4443569152891891157</id><published>2007-11-15T14:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T15:08:19.193-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa Chuva</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;(ELE)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vai chover de novo, deu na TV &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Que o povo já se cansou de tanto o céu desabar&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;E pede a um santo daqui que reze ajuda de Deus &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mas nada pode fazer se a chuva quer é trazer você pra mim &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vem cá que ta me dando uma vontade de chorar &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não faz assim, não vá pra lá&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Meu coração vai se entregar à tempestade &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(ELA)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Quem é você pra me chamar aqui se nada aconteceu? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Me diz, foi só amor ou medo de ficar sozinho outra vez?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cadê aquela outra mulher? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Você me parecia tão bem! &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A chuva já passou por aqui, eu mesma que cuidei de secar &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Quem foi que te ensinou a rezar? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Que santo vai brigar por você? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Que povo aprova o que você fez? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Devolve aquela minha TV que eu vou de vez &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Não há porque chorar por um amor que já morreu &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Deixa pra lá, eu vou, adeus &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Meu coração já se cansou de falsidade&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Letra: Marcelo Camelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Intérprete: Maria Rita&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-4443569152891891157?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/4443569152891891157/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=4443569152891891157' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4443569152891891157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4443569152891891157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/11/santa-chuva.html' title='Santa Chuva'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-3176287203574304238</id><published>2007-08-09T18:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T18:53:03.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Milágrimas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Em caso de dor, ponha gelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mude o corte do cabelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mude como modelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vá ao cinema, dê um sorriso&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ainda que amarelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Esqueça seu cotovelo&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Se amargo for já ter sido&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Troque já este vestido&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Troque o padrão do tecido&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saia do sério, deixe os critérios&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Siga todos os sentidos&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Faça fazer sentido&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A cada milágrimas sai um milagre&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Em caso de tristeza vire a mesa&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Coma só a sobremesa&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Coma somente a cereja&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jogue para cima, faça cena&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cante as rimas de um poema&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sofra apenas, viva apenas&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sendo só fissura, ou loucura&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Quem sabe casando cura&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ninguém sabe o que procura&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Faça uma novena, reze um terço&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Caia fora do contexto, invente seu endereço&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A cada milágrimas sai um milagre&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mas se apesar de banal&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chorar for inevitável&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sinta o gosto do sal&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sinta o gosto do sal&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gota a gota, uma a uma&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Duas, três, dez, cem mil lágrimas, sinta o milagre&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A cada milágrimas sai um milagre.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#6633ff;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ZD, Lulu Santos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-3176287203574304238?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/3176287203574304238/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=3176287203574304238' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/3176287203574304238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/3176287203574304238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/08/milgrimas.html' title='Milágrimas'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-7656253006815405218</id><published>2007-06-21T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-21T17:53:12.570-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"poema" sem graça</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000066;"&gt;Eu queria viver poeticamente&lt;br /&gt;Onde o mínimo significasse o máximo...&lt;br /&gt;Mas não!&lt;br /&gt;Eu oscilo&lt;br /&gt;Vou de extremo a extremo&lt;br /&gt;Buscando o auge.&lt;br /&gt;Mas...&lt;br /&gt;Que auge?&lt;br /&gt;Tem horas que o auge é ser careta&lt;br /&gt;Tem horas que o auge é ser brilhante&lt;br /&gt;Tem horas que o auge é não ser&lt;br /&gt;                     nada&lt;br /&gt;O auge...&lt;br /&gt;De fato o auge é constante em minha vida.&lt;br /&gt;O auge da dúvida,&lt;br /&gt;Da insegurança,&lt;br /&gt;Da incerteza.&lt;br /&gt;Auge da carência e da solidão&lt;br /&gt;Mas é tão deprimente falar de solidão...&lt;br /&gt;E é derrotante assumir depressão&lt;br /&gt;É vergonhoso tirar a casca&lt;br /&gt;Mostrar a cara&lt;br /&gt;Mostrar pra ninguém&lt;br /&gt;Mostrar pra mim mesma&lt;br /&gt;Esse é o maior medo&lt;br /&gt;Medo de ser o que é&lt;br /&gt;De reconhecer no espelho o reflexo da verdade&lt;br /&gt;E da vaidade&lt;br /&gt;Da virtude ou da maldade&lt;br /&gt;Medo do que vão pensar&lt;br /&gt;Ou do que eu vou pensar que os outros vão pensar?&lt;br /&gt;Medo de  descobrir, assumir&lt;br /&gt;De autenticar, de transparecer&lt;br /&gt;Medo de realmente ser&lt;br /&gt;Medo de poeticamente&lt;br /&gt;Poder viver...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AC.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-7656253006815405218?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/7656253006815405218/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=7656253006815405218' title='3 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/7656253006815405218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/7656253006815405218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/06/poema-sem-graa.html' title='&quot;poema&quot; sem graça'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-5695066564490257963</id><published>2007-06-13T18:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T18:31:27.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nascimento do Amor</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;color:#993399;"&gt;Depois de tanto tempo encontrei um motivo sublime pra escrever&lt;br /&gt;Se trata de uma das coisas mais mágicas da vida&lt;br /&gt;Ela chega sem a gente ver, sentir e nos pega assim desprevenidos.&lt;br /&gt;Quando a gente vê ele já nasceu...&lt;br /&gt;Chega tomando conta de tudo&lt;br /&gt;Muda as cores da vida, tudo fica mais bonito.&lt;br /&gt;Tudo vira música&lt;br /&gt;Ai ai...&lt;br /&gt;Só pode ser o amor!&lt;br /&gt;Eu não estou desfrutando de uma história pessoal mas vivendo um pouco da história de duas pessoas que eu amo e sei que vai dar certo.&lt;br /&gt;O que se precisa para ser feliz assim?&lt;br /&gt;Talvez um pouco de sorte e merecimento também&lt;br /&gt;Sorte pra encontrar a pessoa certa e merecimento de que essa pessoa tenha a perfeita sintonia com você.&lt;br /&gt;Eu não sei explicar, só sei que quando acontece é sublime...&lt;br /&gt;É um momento X da vida, daqueles que se pudesse ser registrado, congelado, guardado à sete chaves, seria o escolhido dentre tantos já vividos...&lt;br /&gt;Eu espero que o momento dos meus amigos seja eterno&lt;br /&gt;E espero ansiosamente pelo meu...&lt;br /&gt;Que chegue logo...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Andréa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-5695066564490257963?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/5695066564490257963/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=5695066564490257963' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5695066564490257963'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5695066564490257963'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/06/nascimento-do-amor.html' title='Nascimento do Amor'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-5393598502921480288</id><published>2007-04-22T17:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T18:32:03.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Um, dois, três, dez dias sem escrever.&lt;br /&gt;Inspiração?&lt;br /&gt;Essa vai e vem&lt;br /&gt;Mas se eu for escrever sobre o que eu estou sentindo&lt;br /&gt;Vou escrever sobre o quê?&lt;br /&gt;Nada&lt;br /&gt;É só isso que eu sinto&lt;br /&gt;Um vazio&lt;br /&gt;cheio de perguntas&lt;br /&gt;de ócio&lt;br /&gt;de tédio&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;comer sorvete na chuva com ele!&lt;br /&gt;Isso sim seria perfeito&lt;br /&gt;Mas ele quem?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quem é ele&lt;br /&gt;onde está ele?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, prefiro ficar sozinha,&lt;br /&gt;se apaixonar dá muita dor de cabeça...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o nome disso é fuga&lt;br /&gt;desculpa pra justificar uma falta de amor&lt;br /&gt;de emoção&lt;br /&gt;de beijos&lt;br /&gt;de frio na barriga&lt;br /&gt;de ansiedade&lt;br /&gt;de dúvidas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a falta de combustível&lt;br /&gt;de ocupação mental&lt;br /&gt;de imaginação&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;enfim&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nesse caso, viva os amigos!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quase sempre&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#666600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#666600;"&gt;Andréa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-5393598502921480288?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/5393598502921480288/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=5393598502921480288' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5393598502921480288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5393598502921480288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/04/um-dois-trs-dez-dias-sem-escrever.html' title='...'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-2938491510561588294</id><published>2007-04-08T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T21:01:49.343-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pessoas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RhkfLz79p2I/AAAAAAAAAA8/XwGdyyofgek/s1600-h/abraÃ§o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051102744853456738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RhkfLz79p2I/AAAAAAAAAA8/XwGdyyofgek/s400/abra%C3%A7o.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;É bem verdade que ao longo da nossa vida passam milhares de pessoas.&lt;br /&gt;É bem verdade também que cada um passa de uma forma bem peculiar&lt;br /&gt;O melhor dessa história toda é poder observar o quanto cada um na sua forma se torna fundamental.&lt;br /&gt;E o mais engraçado é pensar que como uma pessoa que nem era conhecida consegue se tornar insubstituível.&lt;br /&gt;E tentar imaginar como a gente conseguiu passar tanto tempo sem essa pessoa...&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que entra na nossa vida antes mesmo da gente existir e com certeza é a pessoa mais insubstituível de todas...&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que passa a vida com você e te olha sempre como se fosse a primeira vez&lt;br /&gt;E quando você cresce essa pessoa acha que você ainda é uma criança.&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que a gente tem perto da gente tanto tempo que a gente até confunde com a gente mesmo.&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que entra na nossa vida, bagunça tudo e depois sai de fininho...&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que a gente pensa que não gosta mas quando pensamos em perdê-la descobrimos que além de gostar dela, seria muito chato viver sem.&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que embora não tenha sido legal com a gente saiu e deixou muitos aprendizados de como ser ou não...&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que a gente ama só de olhar&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que a gente pensa que ama mas não ama&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que só no olhar entende o que a gente quer dizer&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que já foi mas a gente sente ela sempre perto de nós&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente que nos faz rir mas também nos faz chorar na hora de ir embora.&lt;br /&gt;Tem gente de todos os tipos, todas importantes na sua forma porém diferentes como impressões digitais, que cada uma deixa em nós...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;Andréa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-2938491510561588294?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/2938491510561588294/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=2938491510561588294' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/2938491510561588294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/2938491510561588294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/04/bem-verdade-que-ao-longo-da-nossa-vida.html' title='Pessoas'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RhkfLz79p2I/AAAAAAAAAA8/XwGdyyofgek/s72-c/abra%C3%A7o.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-4749261756583890507</id><published>2007-04-02T18:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-02T18:34:35.029-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Filtro Solar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Senhoras e Senhores, filtro solar. Nunca deixem de usar filtro solar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Se eu pudesse dar só uma dica sobre o futuro, seria esta: use filtro solar.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Aproveite bem, o máximo que puder, o poder e a beleza da juventude.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Ou então esquece. Você nunca vai entender mesmo o poder e a beleza da juventude até que tenham se apagado.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não se preocupe com o futuro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Ou então preocupe-se, se quiser, mas saiba que pré-ocupação é tão eficaz quanto mascar chiclete para tentar resolver uma equação de álgebra.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Todo dia, enfrente pelo menos uma coisa que te meta medo de verdade.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;Cante.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não seja leviano com o coração dos outros.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não ature gente de coração leviano.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não perca tempo com a inveja. Às vezes se está por cima, às vezes por baixo. A peleja é longa. E às vezes, no fim, é você contra você mesmo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não esqueça os elogios que receber. Esqueça as ofensas. Se conseguir isso, me ensine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Guarde as antigas cartas de amor. Jogue fora os extratos bancários velhos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;Estique-se.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Não se sinta culpado por não saber o que fazer da vida. As pessoas mais interessantes que eu conheço, não sabiam, aos 22, o que queriam fazer da vida. Alguns dos quarentões mais interessantes que conheço, ainda não sabem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Tome bastante cálcio. Seja cuidadoso com os joelhos, você vai sentir falta deles.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Talvez você case, talvez não. Talvez tenha filhos, talvez não. Talvez se divorcie aos quarenta, talvez dance ciranda em suas Bodas de Diamante.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;Dance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Dedique-se a conhecer seus pais. É impossível prever quando eles terão ido embora de vez.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Seja legal com seus irmãos. Eles são a melhor ponte com o seu passado e, possivelmente, quem vai sempre mesmo te apoiar no futuro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Entenda que amigos vão e vêm, mas nunca abra mão de uns poucos bons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;More uma vez em Nova York, mas vá embora antes de endurecer. More uma vez no Havaí, mas se mande antes de amolecer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"&gt;Viaje.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Cuidado com os conselhos que comprar. Mas seja paciente com aqueles que os oferecem. Conselho é uma forma de nostalgia. Compartilhar conselhos é um jeito de pescar o passado do lixo, esfregá-lo, repintar as partes feias e reciclar tudo para mais do que vale.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663333;"&gt;Mas no filtro solar, acredite.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;tradução de Pedro Bial&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-4749261756583890507?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/4749261756583890507/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=4749261756583890507' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4749261756583890507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4749261756583890507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/04/filtro-solar.html' title='Filtro Solar'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-1611764523304815508</id><published>2007-03-30T11:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T21:01:49.531-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Borboletas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rg1cUYVENbI/AAAAAAAAAAs/QtyUFgQyPRE/s1600-h/borboleta.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047792262550140338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rg1cUYVENbI/AAAAAAAAAAs/QtyUFgQyPRE/s400/borboleta.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;"...As pessoas não se precisam, elas se completam... não por serem metades, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;mas por serem inteiras, dispostas a dividir objetivos comuns, alegrias e vida. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#993399;"&gt;Com o tempo, você vai percebendo que para ser feliz com a outra pessoa, você precisa em primeiro lugar, não precisar dela. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Percebe também que aquela pessoa que você ama (ou acha que ama) e que não quer nada com você, definitivamente, não é o homem ou a mulher de sua vida. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Você aprende a gostar de você, a cuidar de você, e principalmente a gostar de quem gosta de você. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc66cc;"&gt;O segredo é não cuidar das borboletas e sim cuidar do jardim para que elas venham até você.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;No final das contas, você vai achar não quem você estava procurando,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff99ff;"&gt;mas quem estava procurando por você! " &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;Mário Quintana&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/2637245295749355556-1611764523304815508?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/1611764523304815508/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=1611764523304815508' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/1611764523304815508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/1611764523304815508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/03/borboletas.html' title='Borboletas'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rg1cUYVENbI/AAAAAAAAAAs/QtyUFgQyPRE/s72-c/borboleta.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-1345855778966789421</id><published>2007-03-29T19:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T19:17:26.777-07:00</updated><title type='text'>saudade</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#000066;"&gt;Alguém já parou pra pensar porque a palavra saudade só existe na língua portuguesa?&lt;br /&gt;Talvez seja porque nós sentimos muito mais que falta, o que sentimos é vontade de reviver e ao mesmo tempo deixar a lembrança lá, intocável.&lt;br /&gt;Que de tão perfeito nem dá vontade de mexer...&lt;br /&gt;A gente se sente bem só por tê-los vivido.&lt;br /&gt;A saudade só existe em português porque o brasileiro vive mais intensamente&lt;br /&gt;Ele vive o carnaval, o futebol, o chopp na esquina e a noite enluarada.&lt;br /&gt;O brasileiro vive uma infância infinita&lt;br /&gt;E sente saudades até do que ele achava que era ruim...&lt;br /&gt;Saudade das brigas e da encheção de saco da mãe&lt;br /&gt;Saudade de ter que ir na rua comprar ingredientes pro jantar&lt;br /&gt;E quando ele sente um cheirinho de tempero ele sente falta desse tempo.&lt;br /&gt;A gente sente saudade do cheiro de pão no entardecer&lt;br /&gt;A gente sente falta dos amores e dos desamores que a gente achava que era amor&lt;br /&gt;A gente sente saudade de quem está na nossa frente mas em outras situações&lt;br /&gt;Como o amigo que passou o final de semana com você se divertindo e agora está dentro de um terno todo sério&lt;br /&gt;Ele está serio mas no fundo está morrendo de saudades de ontem também.&lt;br /&gt;A gente sente saudades de músicas e de sentimentos trazidos por ela&lt;br /&gt;E sentimos falta também das gargalhadas escandalosas que nos faziam passar vergonha&lt;br /&gt;Sentimos falta do carnaval, do cheiro misturado de suor, cerveja, e do xixi nas ruas&lt;br /&gt;Das pessoas dançando felizes sem motivo&lt;br /&gt;De tudo sentimos saudades&lt;br /&gt;Do que já foi e do que sonhamos.&lt;br /&gt;Fato é que a saudade é muito mais do que uma simples falta&lt;br /&gt;A saudade é um sentimento que temos por tudo  que descobrimos que foi bom.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#000066;"&gt;andréa&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-1345855778966789421?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/1345855778966789421/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=1345855778966789421' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/1345855778966789421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/1345855778966789421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/03/saudade.html' title='saudade'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-4244356275468895595</id><published>2007-03-28T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T21:01:50.216-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tempo do tempo</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RgquK4VENYI/AAAAAAAAAAU/86QN7SywaTg/s1600-h/feliz2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047037834364728706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RgquK4VENYI/AAAAAAAAAAU/86QN7SywaTg/s320/feliz2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;Um dia...&lt;br /&gt;vinte e quatro horas&lt;br /&gt;uns parecem ter mais de 100 horas&lt;br /&gt;outros passam num piscar de olhos&lt;br /&gt;é a relatividade do tempo&lt;br /&gt;assim como a vida...&lt;br /&gt;relativa&lt;br /&gt;o amor é relativo&lt;br /&gt;a alegria é relativa&lt;br /&gt;a tristeza é relativa&lt;br /&gt;o juízo é relativo&lt;br /&gt;o muito e o pouco são relativos&lt;br /&gt;o bom e o ruim são relativos&lt;br /&gt;o relativo é relativo&lt;br /&gt;o que devemos fazer é viver a vida&lt;br /&gt;não viver relativamente&lt;br /&gt;mas viver intensamente&lt;br /&gt;cada minuto&lt;br /&gt;seja das 100 horas&lt;br /&gt;seja de cada olhar ou de cada piscar&lt;br /&gt;transforme o mínimo no máximo&lt;br /&gt;o ruim no bom....&lt;br /&gt;o bom aprendizado&lt;br /&gt;viva musicando&lt;br /&gt;viva praiando&lt;br /&gt;viva sentindo&lt;br /&gt;viva amando&lt;br /&gt;cada dia&lt;br /&gt;seja qual dia&lt;br /&gt;esse dia for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;andréa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&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/2637245295749355556-4244356275468895595?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/4244356275468895595/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=4244356275468895595' title='0 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4244356275468895595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/4244356275468895595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/03/um-dia.html' title='Tempo do tempo'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/RgquK4VENYI/AAAAAAAAAAU/86QN7SywaTg/s72-c/feliz2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2637245295749355556.post-5161446094550388655</id><published>2007-03-27T17:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T21:01:50.448-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Viva</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rgm9oYVENXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TxzTpkmEHAM/s1600-h/MMenezes_Circo+063.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046773358868575602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rgm9oYVENXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TxzTpkmEHAM/s320/MMenezes_Circo+063.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Viva&lt;br /&gt;Viva o hoje&lt;br /&gt;Viva o ontem&lt;br /&gt;E porque não o amanhã?&lt;br /&gt;Viva todo dia cada minuto&lt;br /&gt;E todo minuto cada sentimento&lt;br /&gt;Os prazeres e as dores&lt;br /&gt;Viva a gula, a ira e a luxúria&lt;br /&gt;Sinta&lt;br /&gt;O calor do sol&lt;br /&gt;Ou de um abraço&lt;br /&gt;Sinta o cheiro da chuva&lt;br /&gt;Ou dos seus pressentimentos&lt;br /&gt;O olhar do desejo&lt;br /&gt;Ou do afeto&lt;br /&gt;Sinta o som&lt;br /&gt;Da música&lt;br /&gt;Ou da voz da pessoa amada&lt;br /&gt;Sinta prazer da brisa batendo no rosto&lt;br /&gt;Ou da respiração ofegante no ouvido&lt;br /&gt;Viva os problemas!&lt;br /&gt;Encare-os e vença-os&lt;br /&gt;Aprenda com eles&lt;br /&gt;Beba, fale, cante&lt;br /&gt;Brinde!&lt;br /&gt;Tenha a certeza de que valeu a pena&lt;br /&gt;Tudo&lt;br /&gt;Sempre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;andréa&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2637245295749355556-5161446094550388655?l=andreacmotta.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/feeds/5161446094550388655/comments/default' title='Publier les commentaires'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2637245295749355556&amp;postID=5161446094550388655' title='1 commentaires'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5161446094550388655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2637245295749355556/posts/default/5161446094550388655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://andreacmotta.blogspot.com/2007/03/viva.html' title='Viva'/><author><name>Andréa Cristina</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12799096753774085954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pKmJyoPVKhc/Rgm9oYVENXI/AAAAAAAAAAM/TxzTpkmEHAM/s72-c/MMenezes_Circo+063.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
