Questões de Concursos Tarde

This book wants to show the newcomer the lie of the land without confusing him with details. In writing it I thought first and foremost of readers in their teens. But I have never believed that books for young people should differ from books for adults except for the fact that they must reckon with the most exacting class of critics, critics who are quick to detect and resent any trace of pretentious jargon or bogus sentiment. I know from experience that these are the vices which may render people suspicious of all writings. I have striven to use plain language even at the risk of sounding casual or unprofessional. I hope that no reader will attribute my decision to get along with a minimum of the art historian’s conventional terms to any desire on my part of ‘talking down’ to him. Apart from this decision, I have tried to follow a number of more specific self-imposed rules, such as limiting myself to real works of art and cutting out anything which might merely be interesting as a specimen of taste or fashion. This decision entailed a considerable sacrifice of literary effects. Praise is so much duller than criticism, and the inclusion of some amusing monstrosities might have offered some light relief. Thus, while I do not claim that all the works illustrated represent the highest standard of perfection, I did make an effort not to include anything which I considered to be without a peculiar merit of its own.

A second rule also demanded a little self-denial. I vowed to resist any temptation to be original in my selection, lest the well-known masterpieces be crowded out by my own personal favourites. This book, after all, is not intended merely as an anthology of beautiful things; it is meant for those who look for bearings in a new field, and for them the familiar appearance of apparently ‘hackneyed’ examples may serve as welcome landmarks.

One more rule I have followed. When in doubt I have always preferred to discuss a work which I had seen in the original rather than one I knew only from photographs. I should have liked to make this an absolute rule, but I did not want the reader to be penalized by the accidents of travel restrictions which sometimes dog the life of the art-lover.

E. H. Gombrich. The Story of Art. Phaidon, New York – London: 1995, p. 7-8 (adapted).

This book wants to show the newcomer the lie of the land without confusing him with details. In writing it I thought first and foremost of readers in their teens. But I have never believed that books for young people should differ from books for adults except for the fact that they must reckon with the most exacting class of critics, critics who are quick to detect and resent any trace of pretentious jargon or bogus sentiment. I know from experience that these are the vices which may render people suspicious of all writings. I have striven to use plain language even at the risk of sounding casual or unprofessional. I hope that no reader will attribute my decision to get along with a minimum of the art historian’s conventional terms to any desire on my part of ‘talking down’ to him. Apart from this decision, I have tried to follow a number of more specific self-imposed rules, such as limiting myself to real works of art and cutting out anything which might merely be interesting as a specimen of taste or fashion. This decision entailed a considerable sacrifice of literary effects. Praise is so much duller than criticism, and the inclusion of some amusing monstrosities might have offered some light relief. Thus, while I do not claim that all the works illustrated represent the highest standard of perfection, I did make an effort not to include anything which I considered to be without a peculiar merit of its own.

A second rule also demanded a little self-denial. I vowed to resist any temptation to be original in my selection, lest the well-known masterpieces be crowded out by my own personal favourites. This book, after all, is not intended merely as an anthology of beautiful things; it is meant for those who look for bearings in a new field, and for them the familiar appearance of apparently ‘hackneyed’ examples may serve as welcome landmarks.

One more rule I have followed. When in doubt I have always preferred to discuss a work which I had seen in the original rather than one I knew only from photographs. I should have liked to make this an absolute rule, but I did not want the reader to be penalized by the accidents of travel restrictions which sometimes dog the life of the art-lover.

E. H. Gombrich. The Story of Art. Phaidon, New York – London: 1995, p. 7-8 (adapted).

This book wants to show the newcomer the lie of the land without confusing him with details. In writing it I thought first and foremost of readers in their teens. But I have never believed that books for young people should differ from books for adults except for the fact that they must reckon with the most exacting class of critics, critics who are quick to detect and resent any trace of pretentious jargon or bogus sentiment. I know from experience that these are the vices which may render people suspicious of all writings. I have striven to use plain language even at the risk of sounding casual or unprofessional. I hope that no reader will attribute my decision to get along with a minimum of the art historian’s conventional terms to any desire on my part of ‘talking down’ to him. Apart from this decision, I have tried to follow a number of more specific self-imposed rules, such as limiting myself to real works of art and cutting out anything which might merely be interesting as a specimen of taste or fashion. This decision entailed a considerable sacrifice of literary effects. Praise is so much duller than criticism, and the inclusion of some amusing monstrosities might have offered some light relief. Thus, while I do not claim that all the works illustrated represent the highest standard of perfection, I did make an effort not to include anything which I considered to be without a peculiar merit of its own.

A second rule also demanded a little self-denial. I vowed to resist any temptation to be original in my selection, lest the well-known masterpieces be crowded out by my own personal favourites. This book, after all, is not intended merely as an anthology of beautiful things; it is meant for those who look for bearings in a new field, and for them the familiar appearance of apparently ‘hackneyed’ examples may serve as welcome landmarks.

One more rule I have followed. When in doubt I have always preferred to discuss a work which I had seen in the original rather than one I knew only from photographs. I should have liked to make this an absolute rule, but I did not want the reader to be penalized by the accidents of travel restrictions which sometimes dog the life of the art-lover.

E. H. Gombrich. The Story of Art. Phaidon, New York – London: 1995, p. 7-8 (adapted).

In the middle of July, Roger was making his first ministerial speech. I did not need reminding, having drafted enough of them, how much speeches mattered — to parliamentary bosses, to any kind of tycoon. Draft after draft: the search for the supreme, the impossible, the more than Flaubertian perfection; the scrutiny for any phrase that said more than it ought to say, so that each speech at the end was bound, by the law of official inexplicitness, to be more porridge-like than when it started out in its first draft. I had always hated writing drafts for other people, and nowadays got out of it. To Hector, to Douglas, it was part of the job, which they took with their usual patience, their usual lack of egotism: when a minister crossed out their sharp, clear English and went in for a literary composition of his own, they gave a wintry smile and let it stand.

C. P. Snow. Corridors of Power. London: Penguin Books, 1972, p. 31.

Urbanization is one of the defining trends of this century and a key driver of development. By 2050, around 70% of the world’s population will be living in cities and towns. Asia and Africa will collectively account for a significant majority of the urban growth rate, a development that reflects the growth of both ‘megacities’ and smaller urban settlements in both regions over the past three decades. Today, cities produce around 80% of the global GDP and this importance is likely to continue. Cities also use 75% of global energy and are responsible for 70% of global carbon emissions. Accompanying the pace and extent of urbanization are a number of positive and negative trends — from increased economic opportunities and improvements in lives and livelihoods, through to the potential for greater urban-rural disparity, lower quality of life, and conflict. One thing is clear, cities across the world play a critical role in driving sustainable development.

However, cities today face numerous vulnerabilities and threats. Without proper planning, policies, and support, urbanization often leads to unnecessary risks and costs, preventing cities from reaching their full potential. Cases such as urban sprawls and the proliferation of informal settlements are increasing, and the communities who reside in such areas often suffer from the poor provision of public services (or lack of) such as healthcare or waste management systems. As their population grows, cities also become more complex, making long-term planning and city management a challenge. Amongst the numerous challenges that policymakers must tackle include those that are environmental, those pertaining to resource allocation, and even social challenges such as reducing intra-city inequalities.

Cities are providing a wide range of opportunities and possibilities for its citizens and, in order for them to be fully harnessed, cities should be built for and together with its citizens to fully unlock their potential. This includes taking into account the various needs and aspirations of people, making sure that everyone can have equal and inclusive access to services and create urban spaces and environments to enhance livability.

Internet: <www.undp.org (adapted)