Évora

“Of the centres of irradiation of my activity, only Évora overflowed with emotion for the keepsake. And as is Coimbra once again the music, the peasants choral raise it to the space of my commotion. I hear it even now, the choir of bitterness, streaked to the plain's infinity. Évora of the silence with bells on Sunday mornings, roads abandoned to the vertigo of distance, Oh unreal city, unique city, lost memory of me.”

— Vergílio Ferreira