Soyons reconnaissants aux personnes qui nous donnent du bonheur; elles sont les charmants jardiniers par qui nos âmes sont fleuries.
—Marcel Proust
Soyons reconnaissants aux personnes qui nous donnent du bonheur; elles sont les charmants jardiniers par qui nos âmes sont fleuries.
—Marcel Proust
Uma forma bastante fácil de conservar framboesas. Eu utilizo nos iogurtes naturais, panna cotta, gelado ou refresco bem gelado.
Colocam-se as framboesas numa panela, junto com o açúcar e o vinagre. Mexe-se durante 10 minutos em lume brando até ficar suave. Passa-se por um coador para retirar a maior parte das sementes.
Lavam-se as sementes do coador numa taça com 300ml de água para retirar toda a polpa e côa-se outra vez. Leva-se tudo ao lume novamente e deixa-se ferver bem durante um minuto. Depois de arrefecer é melhor armazenar em pequenas garrafas esterilizadas onde se conservará durante alguns meses. Depois de abrir guarda-se no frigorífico.
— I want to plant a garden in the side yard. I love gardens. You plant beans, you get beans. Carrots become carrots. Set out to make something grow and it does.
Masters of Sex, segunda temporada, sétimo episódio (2014).
Narcissus ‘Minnow’.
I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o’er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the shew to me had brought:
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
— William Wordsworth
— You haven’t given me the password, sir.
— Good man. You’ve got your wits about you. The word is “crocus”.
Angels One Five (1952).