thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
SECOND TRIMESTER - HERE WE GO! The Story of an Hour So here is our first story of the second trimester - "The Story of an Hour", by Kate Chopin. It's a short short story so I managed to put it all here.The Story of An HourKate Chopin (1894) Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with
her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under the breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! "Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door." "Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.When
Haikais are a form of Japanese poetry. They are really short, and normally have three lines. Although there used to be very strict rules about its structure and content, modern haikais often follow only the three-line rule. Word play is also very common in haikais.Another important characteristic of the haikai is that it usually includes a revelation at the end. That is, the first two lines may present ordinary elements, but the third one creates a surprising closure.Below are some examples of haikais.The first one is from the one of the most famous Japanese poets, Basho, and it is probably his best know haikai, in one of its many translations:the old pond;a frog jumps in the sound of the water.These other haikais were originally written in English:an aging willow--its image unsteadyin the flowing streammeteor shower...a gentle wavewets our sandalssnow in my shoeabandonedsparrow's nestautumn morningrepainting our bedroomthe color it wasduskup to my earsin birdsongclinic waiting room...one fish in the aquariumbelly upHere are some links to more haikais in English and in Portuguese:Modern HaikuHaiku Society of America Online Haiku CollectionsCaixa de HaikaiEnjoy! :D CHARLESby Shirley JacksonThe day my son Laurie started kindergarten he renounced corduroy overalls with bibs and began wearing blue jeans with a belt; I watched him go off the first morning with the older girl next door, seeing clearly that an era of my life was ended, my sweet-voiced nursery-school tot replaced by a long-trousered, swaggering character who forgot to stop at the corner and wave good-bye to me.He came running home the same way, the front door slamming open, his cap on the floor, and the voice suddenly become raucous shouting, Isnt anybody here?At lunch he spoke insolently to his father, spilled his baby sisters milk, and remarked that his teacher said we were not to take the name of the Lord in vain.How was school today? I asked, elaborately casual.All right, he said.Did you learn anything? his father asked.Laurie regarded his father coldly. I didnt learn nothing, he said.Anything, I said. Didnt lean anything.The teacher spanked a boy, though, Laurie said, addressing his bread and butter.For being fresh, he added, with his mouth full.What did he do? I asked. Who was it?Laurie thought. It was Charles, he said. He was fresh. The teacher spanked him and made him stand in the corner. He was awfully fresh.What did he do? I asked again, but Laurie slid off his chair, took a cookie, andleft, while his father was still saying, See here, young man.The next day Laurie remarked at lunch, as soon as he sat down, Well, Charles was bad again today. He grinned enormously and said, Today Charles hit the teacher.Good heavens, I said, mindful of the Lords name, I suppose he got spankedagain?He sure did, Laurie said. Look up, he said to his father.What? his father said, looking up.Look down, Laurie said. Look at my thumb. Gee, youre dumb. He beganto laugh insanely.Why did Charles hit the teacher? I asked quickly.Because she tried to make him color with red crayons, Laurie said. Charles wanted to color with green crayons
so he hit the teacher and she spanked him and said nobody play with Charles but everybody did.The third dayit was a Wednesday of the first weekCharles bounced a see-saw on to the head of a little girl and made her bleed, and the teacher made him stay inside all during recess. Thursday Charles had to stand in a corner during story-time because he kept pounding his feet on the floor. Friday Charles was deprived of black-board privileges because he threw chalk.On Saturday I remarked to my husband, Do you think kindergarten is too unsettling for Laurie? All this toughness and bad grammar, and this Charles boy sounds like such a bad influence.Itll be alright, my husband said reassuringly. Bound to be people like Charles in the world. Might as well meet them now as later.On Monday Laurie came home late, full of news. Charles, he shouted as he came up the hill; I was waiting anxiously on the front steps. Charles, Laurie yelled all the way up the hill, Charles was bad again.Come right in, I said, as soon as he came close enough. Lunch is waiting.You know what Charles did? he demanded following me through the door.Charles yelled so in school they sent a boy in from first grade to tell the teacher she had to make Charles keep quiet, and so Charles had to stay after school. And so all the children stayed to watch him.What did he do? I asked.He just sat there, Laurie said, climbing into his chair at the table. Hi, Pop,yold dust mop.Charles had to stay after school today, I told my husband. Everyone stayedwith him.What does this Charles look like? my husband asked Laurie. Whats his other name?Hes bigger than me, Laurie said. And he doesnt have any rubbers and he doesnt wear a jacket.Monday night was the first Parent-Teachers meeting, and only the fact that the baby had a cold kept me from going; I wanted passionately to meet Charless mother. On Tuesday Laurie remarked suddenly, Our teacher had a friend come to see her in school today.Charless mother? my husband and I asked simultaneously.Naaah, Laurie said scornfully. It was a man who came and made us do exercises, we had to touch our toes. Look. He climbed down from his chair and squatted down and touched his toes. Like this, he said. He got solemnly back into his chair and said, picking up his fork, Charles didnt even do exercises.Thats fine, I said heartily. Didnt Charles want to do exercises?Naaah, Laurie said. Charles was so fresh to the teachers friend he wasnt letdo exercises.Fresh again? I said.He kicked the teachers friend, Laurie said. The teachers friend just toldCharles to touch his toes like I just did and Charles kicked him.What are they going to do about Charles, do you suppose? Lauries father asked him.Laurie shrugged elaborately. Throw him out of school, I guess, he said.Wednesday and Thursday were routine; Charles yelled during story hour and hit a boy in the stomach and made him cry. On Friday Charles stayed after school again
and so did all the other children.With the third week of kindergarten Charles was an institution in our family; the baby was being a Charles when she cried all afternoon; Laurie did a Charles when he filled his wagon full of mud and pulled it through the kitchen; even my husband, when he caught his elbow in the telephone cord and pulled the telephone and a bowl of flowers off the table, said, after the first minute, Looks like Charles.During the third and fourth weeks it looked like a reformation in Charles; Laurie reported grimly at lunch on Thursday of the third week, Charles was so good today the teacher gave him an apple.What? I said, and my husband added warily, You mean Charles?Charles, Laurie said. He gave the crayons around and he picked up the books afterward and the teacher said he was her helper.What happened? I asked incredulously.He was her helper, thats all, Laurie said, and shrugged.Can this be true about Charles? I asked my husband that night. Can something like this happen?Wait and see, my husband said cynically. When youve got a Charles to deal with, this may mean hes only plotting. He seemed to be wrong. For over a week Charles was the teachers helper; each day he handed things out and he picked things up; no one had to stay after school.The PTA meetings next week again, I told my husband one evening. Im going to find Charless mother there.Ask her what happened to Charles, my husband said. Id like to know.Id like to know myself, I said.On Friday of that week things were back to normal. You know what Charles didtoday? Laurie demanded at the lunch table, in a voice slightly awed. He told a littlegirl to say a word and she said it and the teacher washed her mouth out with soap and Charles laughed.What word? his father asked unwisely, and Laurie said, Ill have to whisper it to you, its so bad. He got down off his chair and went around to his father. His father bent his head down and Laurie whispered joyfully. His fathers eyes widened.Did Charles tell the little girls to say that? he asked respectfully.She said it twice, Laurie said. Charles told her to say it twice.What happened to Charles? my husband asked.Nothing, Laurie said. He was passing out the crayons.Monday morning Charles abandoned the little girl and said the evil word himself three or four times, getting his mouth washed out with soap each time. He also threw chalk.My husband came to the door with me that evening as I set out for the PTA meeting. Invite her over for a cup of tea after the meeting, he said. I want to get a look at her.If only shes there. I said prayerfully.Shell be there, my husband said. I dont see how they could hold a PTA meeting without Charless mother.At the meeting I sat restlessly, scanning each comfortable matronly face, trying to determine which one hid the secret of Charles. None of them looked to me haggard enough.
No one stood up in the meeting and apologized for the way her son had been acting. No one mentioned Charles.After the meeting I identified and sought out Lauries kindergarten teacher. She had a plate with a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate cake; I had a plate with a cup of tea and a piece of marshmallow cake. We maneuvered up to one another cautiously, and smiled.Ive been so anxious to meet you, I said. Im Lauries mother.Were all so interested in Laurie, she said.Well, he certainly likes kindergarten, I said. He talks about it all the time.We had a little trouble adjusting, the first week or so, she said primly, but nowhes a fine helper. With occasional lapses, of course.Laurie usually adjusts very quickly, I said. I suppose this time its Charless influence.Charles?Yes, I said, laughing, you must have your hands full in that kindergarten, with Charles.Charles? she said. We dont have any Charles in the kindergarten.
So, the time has come you guys can bring your songs.The dates are:June 2nd:Group 3: Mateus / Adriano / ManoelaGroup 1: Ana / Marcelle / IreneJune 9th:Group 2: Marina / Sophia / YaelGroup 4: Nina / Victor / Victor EduardoJune 10th:Group 5: Mariana / Thiago / Daniel / Daniela.Need any help? Look for me in advance, feel free to e-mail as well.Remember I expect nothing from you. Except the best. =) Voces vao aprender que nessa vida nao se pode mais errarVao descobrir que entre as estrelas e o chao existe o marAi entao a euforia, um belo dia,vai passarE caira sobre seu mundo, num segundo,a traicao Deixa estar Vai ficar tudo bem.- menti - Alucinacao.Glicerina.Lipoaspiracao.Sabonete.Medo.Arrepio.Silencio.Loucura.Loucura?Por que voce olha no espelho de manha?Por que voce guarda dinheiro?Por que voce gasta?O que voce tem na cabeca?Precisava?Por que?Quando a pessoa que voce ama foi embora?Qual o melhor remedio para a insonia?Onde esta a sua mente?Significa alguma coisa?Voce escolhe?Sorvetes. Relogios. Jeans.O suicidio e um homicidio em legitima defesa.Defesa?Merecemos os sonhos que temos?Fazemos por onde realiza-los?Nao?Voce tem a resposta pra alguma dessas perguntas?Nao? Entao esta no lugar certo. Bem vindo ao Clube!Se voce nao se fizer valer pelo seu lado humano,voce se tornara apenas mais um numero,voce foi avisado Duas e meia de amanha.A batalha mais dificil eu Ja ganhei, foi assim que parei de lutar.Parei de sonhar tambem, ter um objetivo se torna entediante.Eu quis voce a vida inteira e agora que tenho, vou fazer o que?Duas e meia de manha.Eu troquei o dia pela noite e essa escolha eu fiz faz tempo.As vezes sinto vontade de dizer, as vezes e so vontade de voce.Sabe, a unica coisa que te desejo sou eu, pra te cuidar,te falar o que fazer. Nao acredito em conselhos mas acredito em tentar.Vamos, acredite em mim.A gente faz o que pode.Sonha acordado, apaga e ascende o cigarro que assim fica mais forte.E, a gente faz o que pode.Pensa na vida em 360 segundos, come pipoca de microondas,espera o banho de chuva, cai na chao, rala a mao e levanta.A gente viaja junto pra qualquer lugar e volta na hora de dormir.Soma as placas dos carros, tenta entender todo mundo.Toma um gole de cafe e procura a primeira estrela so pra fazer um pedido.Duas e meia, outra manha perdida na Janela.E tudo tao surreal que eu nem fiquei surpresa quando aprendi a voar. E sempre a mesma coisa,seja os caras que querem brigar ou os que tem o coracao partido. E que nem o pensamento.impossivel deixar do Jeito que se quer chegar. "sobre loucuras,monstros e segredos."Danton,Sao 13:31, do dia 20 do mes de Julho.Curiosamente, hoje e dia do amigo.Ja faz um tempo - nao sei bem ao certo quanto que quero escrever sobre voce, mas eu nunca sabia como comecar.Entao eu tive uma especie de lampejo muito, muito encorajador.E decidi que eu devia apenas comecar pelo comeco.Escrever sobre voce tem que ser muito simples, porque Dan, voce e uma das pessoas mais expressivas e autenticas que eu conheco.Parece ser tao facil viver no teu mundo, catando as coisinhas do chao e
tornando o que antes era lixo em qualquer coisa que voce queira, como se fosse um dom.Dom como o de voar, coisa que voce (e so voce) consegue.Seja atraves de dois pedacos de papelao ou dos teus fones de ouvido que nunca, nunca te abandonam.Dan, e tao bom conversar com voce.Acho linda essa tua mania de roubar constantemente o celular do teu pai apenas pra dar ainda mais motivos pros teus amigos pensarem Que lindo, esse Danton.Nem faz tanto tempo assim desde que eu te conheco, mas parece fazer bem mais, porque as vezes eu nem falo nada e tenho a sensacao que voce consegue entender.Nao lembro ao certo o dia, voce estava de tenis e camisa vermelha.Todo mundo falava de voce, mas eu nunca tinha te visto.Eu admito que achei estranho voce saber o meu nome, mas eu tambem sabia o teu, entao tudo bem.Voce ficou la, dentro de um carrinho de supermercado muito confortavel enquanto conversava com pessoas que voce havia conhecido no dia, entre elas, eu.Que te imaginava completamente diferente do que voce era.Que me surpreendi, de uma maneira totalmente positiva com teu jeito so teu de ser, Dan, voce e quase uma crianca, me faz querer cuidar de voce e te fazer rir o tempo todo.Tao magro, e com um cabelo escuro milimetricamente desgrenhado,Tuas camisas, tuas calcas rasgadas ou nao, e o teu modo de andar meio pra frente, meio rapido, meio devagar.Nao sei, Danton.Eu nunca consigo te desenhar,Eu nunca conseguiria te descrever com perfeicao.Mas eu acho que posso apenas dizer que eu adorei aquele dia quando voce escreveu meu nome no chao com uma pedra na frente do CEI.E continuo querendo tentar te fazer bem como no aniversario da Ingra, quando te mandei uma mensagem (muito sincera) que dizia: "Te amo, gagoto."Porque, e isso ai. Te amo, gagoto.
Eles ainda estavam em silencio e so uma palavra mudaria isso.Nem a chuva no sol, nem todo o barulho la fora, so uma palavra. Estava deitado, abracava os joelhos como uma crianca e empurrando o rosto contra as pernas dela que lhe serviam de abrigo ele tentava persuadir o choro a ir embora. Ela, consciente de que naquele momento era bracos e pernas da sua crianca adulta, ja nao chorava. Nao havia espaco pra solucos e os dois sabiam disso. - Eu nao me arrependo. Ele disse, desviando a atencao dela de seus proprios cachos e do metodico carinho que recebia. - A respeito de que? Ela retrucou, enquanto deslizava os dedos para lhe tocar a barba mal feita. - Bem, voce sabe. Sobre nos. Eu me sinto agora infinitamente distante e ainda assim nao nada porque as coisas boas ainda sao otimas. Ele olhava o rosto dela agora, buscando um olhar que nao encontrou. - E se as coisas nao melhorarem? - Voce esta querendo dizer que as coisas nao vao melhorar? Aninhou-se de novo no colo dela, escolhendo a estrategia de ataque para a sua defesa. - Eu nao disse isso. Levantou-se, tendo o cuidado de apoiar-lhe a cabeca em um monte fofo do cobertor azul. - Bom, que bom. Ele sentou, apoiando-se agora em seus proprios bracos,sentindo outra vez o seu proprio peso, isso doeu.- Eu mudei tanto, mas eu nao quero que voce pense que eu me arrependo. Ele franziu o cenho mas ela nao viu. - Nao vou pensar, Tom. Nao se preocupe, ok? Por cima do ombro lhe jogou um sorriso. Ele se levantou, foi ate ela e colocou as maos em volta de sua cintura.- Samanta, promete? - O que? Ela se virou e olhou pra ele. - Promete que voce nunca vai me odiar, ou deixar de me amar como me ama agora? Eles ainda estavam em silencio e so uma palavra mudaria isso.- Nao.So uma palavra. So aquela palavra. - Porque nao pode ser diferente? - Ela suspirou, como se ja esperasse que eu lhe perguntasse isso.Por alguns minutos eu pensei que ela Ja ate havia planejado uma resposta.- Voce disse que eu era perfeita pra voce, lembra? Eu concordei- Isso significa que voce deveria ser perfeito para mim tambem, certo?Nao respondi em voz alta, mas acho que ela entendeu o meu silencio. (...)O que falar de voce?Fazem uns dias e eu venho adiando para escrever o que Ja deveria ter sido escrito aquele dia no Shopping.Eu nao consigo entender.Eu fiz o que eu sempre faco, juntei os fatos, ouvi uma musica, ascendi um cigarro.Eu deveria apenas segurar a caneta e escrever por minutos, ou quem sabe horas.Outro dia eu me vi pensando que deveria ser facil falar de voce tanto quanto e facil ficar por perto.Eu lembro de quando eu te vi pela primeira vez.Nao lembro nem sequer o ano, mas la estava voce com o cabelo escuro no rosto, usando moletom e comendo o seu sushi como se ninguem estivesse ali te olhando, tentando ouvir o que voce estava pensando, tentando