Arquivo mensal: agosto 2011

Pottermore letters…

More Welcome emails are being sent out today (Tuesday 30 August), from approximately 1:15pm (BST).

This week on the Insider, we’ll be answering some of the questions we’ve seen from people who are currently exploring the Pottermore site.


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On today’s Fresh Air: How To Cook The Perfect French Fry (and other kitchen science tips)

Science & french fries!



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Quero ver todos daqui do Tumblr amanhã em Hogwarts!



The Bridge | Gellert, Budapest, Hungary
©  arminMarten


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Por que sera que professores são profissionais tão mal remunerados?

Mesmo nas instituições de ensino que mais os valorizam (e isso se reflete em seus salários), a remuneração que recebem é pífia, especialmente se comparada a de outros setores.

Se pensarmos que o mercado de valores, bolsas, ações, é um mercado que na realidade trabalha com capital simbólico, onde o valor de tudo é efêmero, é o que atualmente rende mais bens materiais, isso não é uma ironia? Esses valores inconstantes tem mais peso que a educação, do que o conhecimento, do que a formação do caráter.

Para um professor, que ensinará aos filhos de todos, que deveriam ser o maior bem de um indivíduo, a remuneração é barganhada, contada centavo a centavo, e no caso das instituições públicas, dilapidada pela corrupção.

E com as atitudes mais recentes, de cotas e sucateamento das únicas insitituições públicas que ainda são valorizadas e reconhecidas, em pouco tempo teremos no Ensino Superior o mesmo fenômeno que ocorreu com o Fundamental e o Médio, algumas décadas atrás.

Ainda que não admitamos, ainda mantemos um dos pés no Antigo Regime. E é triste constatar que ao menos lá, tínhamos menos aristocratas se apropriando de nossos bens e nossa dignidade.

Em breve os professores precisarão de mecenas…


Virgínia Woolf


To Flush, My Dog – Por Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Loving friend, the gift of one

Who her own true faith has run

Through thy lower nature,

Be my benediction said

With my hand upon thy head,

Gentle fellow- creature!

Like a lady’s ringlets brown,

Flow thy silken ears adown

Either side demurely

Of thy silver-suited breast

Shining out from all the rest

Of thy body purely.

Darkly brown thy body is,

Till the sunshine striking this

Alchemise its dullness,

When the sleek curls manifold

Flash all over into gold

With a burnished fulness.

Underneath my stroking hand,

Startled eyes of hazel bland

Kindling, growing larger,

Up thou leapest with a spring,

Full of prank and curveting,

Leaping like a charger.

Leap! thy broad tail waves a light,

Leap! thy slender feet are bright,

Canopied in fringes;

Leap! those tasselled ears of thine

Flicker strangely, fair and fine

Down their golden inches

Yet, my pretty, sportive friend,

Little is’t to such an end

That I praise thy rareness;

Other dogs may be thy peers

Haply in these drooping ears

And this glossy fairness.

But of thee it shall be said,

This dog watched beside a bed

Day and night unweary,

Watched within a curtained room

Where no sunbeam brake the gloom

Round the sick and dreary.

Roses, gathered for a vase,

In that chamber died apace,

Beam and breeze resigning;

This dog only, waited on,

Knowing that when light is gone

Love remains for shining.

Other dogs in thymy dew

Tracked the hares and followed through

Sunny moor or meadow;

This dog only, crept and crept

Next a languid cheek that slept,

Sharing in the shadow.

Other dogs of loyal cheer

Bounded at the whistle clear,

Up the woodside hieing;

This dog only, watched in reach

Of a faintly uttered speech

Or a louder sighing.

And if one or two quick tears

Dropped upon his glossy ears

Or a sigh came double,

Up he sprang in eager haste,

Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,

In a tender trouble.

And this dog was satisfied

If a pale thin hand would glide

Down his dewlaps sloping, —

Which he pushed his nose within,

After, — platforming his chin

On the palm left open.

This dog, if a friendly voice

Call him now to blither choice

Than such chamber- keeping,

‘Come out!’ praying from the door, —

Presseth backward as before,

Up against me leaping.

Therefore to this dog will I,

Tenderly not scornfully,

Render praise and favor:

With my hand upon his head,

Is my benediction said

Therefore and for ever.

And because he loves me so,

Better than his kind will do

Often man or woman,

Give I back more love again

Than dogs often take of men,

Leaning from my Human.

Blessings on thee, dog of mine,

Pretty collars make thee fine,

Sugared milk make fat thee!

Pleasures wag on in thy tail,

Hands of gentle motion fail

Nevermore, to pat thee

Downy pillow take thy head,

Silken coverlid bestead,

Sunshine help thy sleeping!

No fly’s buzzing wake thee up,

No man break thy purple cup

Set for drinking deep in.

Whiskered cats arointed flee,

Sturdy stoppers keep from thee

Cologne distillations;

Nuts lie in thy path for stones,

And thy feast-day macaroons

Turn to daily rations!

Mock I thee, in wishing weal? —

Tears are in my eyes to feel

Thou art made so straitly,

Blessing needs must straiten too, —

Little canst thou joy or do,

Thou who lovest greatly.

Yet be blessed to the height

Of all good and all delight

Pervious to thy nature;

Only loved beyond that line,

With a love that answers thine,

Loving fellow-creature!

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