Music in Lisbon : photo by RF

summer 2009

uma outra forma de bênção

de

A Obra Ao Negro de          Marguerite Yourcenar

Apesar da sua aversão às cerimónias da Igreja, acedeu Simão em que a boda fosse celebrada com uma certa pompa, pois tal era o inesperado desejo de Hilzonda. Mas à noite, secretamente, quando os esposos se retiraram para o quarto nupcial, ele readministrou, a seu modo, o sacramento, partindo o pão e bebendo o vinho, juntamente com aquela a quem escolhera. Hilzonda revivia, ao contacto com aquele homem, como uma barca naufragada que a maré cheia de novo arrasta para o largo. Saboreava à vontade o mistério daqueles lícitos prazeres, e a maneira como o ancião, curvando-se sobre o seu ombro, lhe acariciava os seios, como se fazer amor fosse uma outra forma de bênção.

O homem não foi feito para ver a luz, mas para ver apenas as coisas iluminadas pela luz.

Goethe

phantoms of the mind

from

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

… window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many …

Há pessoas que vivem em solidão, porque construíram pontes em torno de si, ao invés de pontes ligando-as a outros.

Joseph Newton

a mortal’s grief

Bucolics by           Virgil

O’er rocks, through echoing groves, and joy to launch Cydonian arrows from a Parthian bow.- As if my madness could find healing thus, Or that god soften at a mortal’s grief! Now neither Hamadryads, no, nor songs Delight me more: ye woods, away with you! No pangs of ours can change him; not though we In the mid-frost should drink of Hebrus’ stream, And in wet winters face Sithonian snows, Or, when the bark of the tall elm-tree bole Of drought is dying, should, under Cancer’s Sign,

La vita non ha senso a priori. Prima che voi la viviate, la vita di per sé non è nulla; sta a voi darle un senso, e il valore non è altro che il senso che scegliere.

Jean-Paul Sartre

late-medieval artwork

a little boy

from

Just Folks by          Edgar A. Guest

I had my first long trousers on, and wore a derby too, But I was still a little boy to everyone I knew. I dressed in manly fashion, and I tried to act the part, But I felt that I was awkward and lacked the manly art. And then that kindly stranger spoke my name and set me free; I was sure I’d come to manhood on the day he “mistered” me.

I never shall forget the joy that suddenly was mine, The sweetness of the thrill that seemed to dance along my spine, The pride that swelled within me, as he shook my youthful hand And treated me as big enough with grown up men to stand. I felt my body straighten and a stiffening at each knee,

I forti fanno ciò che devono fare, e i deboli accettano ciò che devono accettare.
Tucidide