Amnistia

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Achei este trabalho muito bem conseguido.

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Sonnet 47

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Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast And to the painted banquet bids my heart; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: So, either by thy picture or my love, Thyself away art resent still with me; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them and they with thee; Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. Shakespeare, Sonnet 47 (Inglês currente: Between my eyes and heart a pact is made, And they each now do good things for the other: When my eyes are starved for a look (at you), Or my heart smothers itself with sighs, On my love's picture my eyes do feast And my eyes call my heart to this beautiful picture; Another ...
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Um vídeo interessantíssimo, uma TED talk pelo John Maeda . Sobre John Maeda: John Maeda is a world-renowned graphic designer, visual artist, and computer scientist at the MIT Media Lab , and is a founding voice for “simplicity” in the digital age. - John Maeda is a graphic designer and computer scientist dedicated to linking design and technology. Through the software tools, web pages and books he creates, as well as his devoted students at MIT's Media Lab, he spreads his philosophy of elegant simplicity.
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Sonnet 18

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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair some time declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grows't: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Shakespeare, Sonnet 18 (1609) (Inglês currente: Shall I compare you to a summer's day? You are more lovely and more constant: Rough winds shake the beloved buds of May And summer is far too short: At times the sun is too hot, Or often goes behind the clouds; And everything beautiful sometime will lose its beauty, By misfortune or by nature...
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