Instead of the final judgement, what worries me is the final dream.

Instead of the final judgement, what worries me is the final dream.

João Cabral de Melo Neto
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Mud Slinging is so much fun,when you do it to others. But remember the day someone else does the same to you,youll realise how bad the mud in your mouth tastes. Think twice before you go around ruining the reputation of others. Because what goes around comes around for sure.

Rachitha Cabral
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HOME is where the heart is, but today, the PHONE is where the Heart is!!!

Rachitha Cabral
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Life is one big Coaster Ride -Sometimes You are UP, sometimes Down and sometimes You are in the Middle Screaming your head off wondering what it's all about!!!

Rachitha Cabral
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I get butterflies every time I wander beautiful places I've never been.

Katrice Cabral
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You create your future in the Present, use your Now well, for a better Tomorrow!

Rachitha Cabral
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Before there was an American Story, before Paterson spread before Oscar and Lola like a dream, or the trumpets from the Island of our eviction had even sounded, there was their mother, Hypatia Belicia Cabral: a girl so tall your leg bones ached just looking at her, so dark it was as if the Creatrix had, in her making, blinked.

Junot Díaz
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Instead of the final judgement, what worries me is the final dream.

João Cabral de Melo Neto
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Hide nothing from the masses of our people. Tell no lies. Expose lies whenever they are told. Mask no difficulties, mistakes, failures. Claim no easy victories...

Amilcar Cabral, Revolution in Guinea: Selected Texts
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Forge your iron; shape it by force, not into a flower you already know but into what can also be a flower if you think it is and it is so.

João Cabral de Melo Neto, Education by Stone
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Muchos años después, frente al pelotón de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendía había de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevó a conocer el hielo. Macondo era entonces una aldea de 20 casas de barro y cañabrava construidas a la orilla de un río de aguas diáfanas que se precipitaban por un lecho de piedras pulidas, blancas y enormes como huevos prehistóricos. El mundo era tan reciente, que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para mencionarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo".

Gabriel García Márquez, Cien años de soledad
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