to get married

from

An Ideal Husband by              Oscar Wilde

… sir, it is your duty to get married. You can’t be always living for pleasure. Every man of position is married nowadays. Bachelors are not fashionable any more. They are a damaged lot. Too much is known about them. You must get a wife, sir. Look where your friend Robert Chiltern has got to by probity, hard work, and a sensible marriage with a good woman. Why don’t you imitate him, sir? Why don’t you take him for your model?

LORD GORING. I think I shall, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. I wish you would, sir. Then I should be happy. At present I make your mother’s life miserable on your account. You are heartless, sir, quite heartless …

my first pleasure

from

The Enchanted Island of Yew by       L. Frank Baum

… my journey anew and on foot.

“That afternoon I stepped into a nest of wasps, but the thoughtless creatures flew away without stinging me. Then I met a fierce tiger, and my heart grew light and gay. ‘Surely this will cause me suffering!’ I cried, and advanced swiftly upon the brute. But the cowardly tiger turned tail and ran to hide in the bushes, leaving me unhurt!

“Of course, my many disappointments were some consolation; but not much. That night I slept on the bare ground, and hoped I should catch a severe cold; but no such joy was to be mine.

“Yet the next afternoon I experienced my first pleasure. The thieves caught me, stripped off all my fine clothes and jewels and beat me …

Vou até lá

de

A Obra Ao Negro de Marguerite Yourcenar

Há alguém à minha espera. Vou até lá.

E fez-se de novo ao caminho.

- Quem é? – perguntou Henrique Maximiliano, estupefacto. – O prior de Leão, esse desdentado?

Zenão virou-se:

- Hic Zeno – disse. – Eu mesmo.

passion for the infinite

from

The Girl with the Golden Eyes by Honore de Balzac

… never refuses. Paquita responded to that passion which is felt by all really great men for the infinite–that mysterious passion so dramatically expressed in Faust, so poetically translated in Manfred, and which urged Don Juan to search the heart of women, in his hope to find there that limitless thought in pursuit of which so many hunters after spectres have started, which wise men think to discover in science, and which mystics find in God alone. The hope of possessing at last the ideal being with whom the struggle could be constant and tireless ravished De Marsay, who, for the first time for long, opened his heart. His nerves expanded, his coldness was dissipated in the atmosphere of that ardent soul, his hard and fast theories melted …

a glimpse of my heels

from

The Varieties of Religious Experience by     William James

… foregone conclusion, and I am ever too late to understand it. But at the moment of recovery from anaesthesis, just then, BEFORE STARTING ON LIFE, I catch, so to speak, a glimpse of my heels, a glimpse of the eternal process just in the act of starting. The truth is that we travel on a journey that was accomplished before we set out; and the real end of philosophy is accomplished, not when we arrive at, but when we remain in, our destination (being already there)–which may occur vicariously in this life when we cease our intellectual questioning. That is why there is a smile upon the face of the revelation, as we view it. It tells us that we are forever half a second too late– that’s all. ‘You could …

um fragmento do livre universo

de

A Obra Ao Negro de Marguerite Yourcenar

A estrada plana, ladeada de choupos, apresentava à sua frente, um fragmento do livre universo. O aventureiro do poder e o aventureiro do saber caminhavam lado a lado.

– Vêde- prosseguiu Zenão. – Para lá desta aldeia, há outras aldeias, para lá desta abadia há outras abadias, para lá desta fortaleza há outras fortalezas. E no interior de cada castelo de ideias, de cada pardieiro de opiniões sobrepostas aos pardieiros de madeira e aos castelos de pedra, a vida empareda os loucos e abre uma fresta aos sábios. Para além dos Alpes, há a Itália. Para além dos Pirinéus, a Espanha….E, por toda a parte, vales onde se recolhem os simples, rochas onde se escondem os metais, cada um dos quais simboliza um momento da Grande Obra, engrimanços colocados entre os dentes dos mortos, deuses cada qual com a sua promessa pessoal, multidões em que cada homem se apresenta como centro do universo. Quem pode haver tão insensato que se deixe morrer sem ter dado, pelo menos uma volta à sua prisão?

A husband, never attains perfection

from

Study of a Woman by           Honore de Balzac

Eugene at last went to call upon the marquise; but, on attempting to pass into the house, the porter stopped him, saying that Madame la marquise was out. As he was getting back into his carriage the Marquis de Listomere came home.

“Come in, Eugene,” he said. “My wife is at home.”

Pray excuse the marquis. A husband, however good he may be, never attains perfection. As they went up the staircase Rastignac perceived at least a dozen blunders in worldly wisdom which had, unaccountably, slipped into this page of the glorious book of his life.

When Madame de Listomere saw her husband ushering in Eugene she could not help blushing. The young baron saw that sudden color …

à maneira de Petrarca

de

A Obra Ao Negro de       Marguerite Yourcenar:

Para fazer render o seu pecúlio, que se lhe escapava por entre os dedos mais depressa do que imaginara, comia juntamente com os carreteiros o toucinho rançoso e o grão dos albergues mais miseráveis e dormia à noite sobre a palha … . De vez em quando, nalguma quinta isolada, uma viúva caridosa oferecia-lhe do seu pão e do seu leito. Não esquecera os belos escritos: trazia os bolsos cheios de pequenos volumes forrados de pele de cabrito, sacados de antemão, à conta da futura herança da biblioteca de seu tio, o cónego Bartolomeu Campanus, que coleccionava livros. Ao meio-dia, estendido na relva, ria às gargalhadas com alguma facécia latina de Marcial, ou então, mais sonhador, cuspindo melancolicamente para uma poça estagnada, imaginava alguma discreta e recatada dama, a quem dedicar em sonetos, à maneira de Petrarca, toda a sua alma e a sua vida.

Something had changed

from

The House of Dust by             Conrad Aiken:

That horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breath Sucked out of him, and saw the tower flash by And the small tree swell beneath him . . . He patted his boy on the head, and kissed his wife, Looked quickly around the room, to remember it,– And so went out . . . For once, he forgot his pail.

Something had changed–but it was not the street– The street was just the same–it was himself. Puddles flashed in the sun. In the pawn-shop door The same old black cat winked green amber eyes; The butcher stood by his window tying his apron;

decerto frágil

De

A Obra Ao Negro de            Marguerite Yourcenar

Messer Alberico de’Numi não tardou a deixar-se prender por essa menina de seio pequenino e rosto afilado, vestida de rígidos veludos lavrados que pareciam mantê-la de pé, e enfeitada, nos dias de festa, com jóias que fariam inveja a uma imperatriz. Nas pálpebras nacaradas, quase róseas, engastavam-se uns pálidos olhos cinzentos; a boca, um pouco túmida, parecia prestes a exalar a toda a hora um suspiro ou a primeira palavra de um canto ou de uma oração. E talvez não se desejasse desnudá-la por ser difícil imaginá-la nua.
Numa noite de neve, que mais fazia sonhar com leitos aquecidos em quartos bem fechados, uma criada subornada introduziu Messer Alberico na estufa onde Hilzonda esfregava com centeio a longa e crespa cabeleira, que a cobria toda como se fosse um manto. Escondeu o rosto a menina, mas entregou sem luta aos olhos, aos lábios, às mãos do amante, o corpo alvo e limpo como uma amêndoa descascada. O jovem florentino bebeu, nessa noite, na fonte selada, aprisionou os dois cabritinhos gémeos, ensinou àquela boca os jogos e as doçuras do amor. Ao romper da alva, uma Hilzonda enfim conquistada entregou-se inteiramente, e, de manhã, raspando com a ponta da unha o vidro que o gelo embranquecera, nele gravou, com um anel de diamantes, as suas iniciais entrelaçadas com as do amante, deixando assim impressa a sua felicidade nessa substância delgada e transparente, decerto frágil, mas não muito mais do que a carne e o coração.