What Louis Knew
Marco Frisina - Traccia Audio 07
Don Bosco (Verso la gioia), by Marco Frisina.
”Se em certa altura
Tivesse voltado para a esquerda em vez da direita;
Se em certo momento
Tivesse dito sim em vez de não ou não em vez de sim;
Se em certa conversa
Tivesse dito as frases que só agora, no meio do sono elaboro –
Se tudo isso tivesse sido assim,
Seria outro hoje, e talvez o universo inteiro
Seria insensivelmente outro também.”(Fernando Pessoa e o Efeito Borboleta)
- Talvez você a tenha beijado e ela interpretou o gesto equivocadamente.
- Eu só troco um aperto de mãos com as mulheres. Principalmente quando bebo. Caso contrário, meus lábios tendem a estalar pelo rosto inteiro delas. Será que eu poderia ter tido um caso de amor com ela sem perceber?
- Você não é louco.
A afirmação abalou Virgile. De repente, sem nenhuma preparação, sua psicanalista, uma mulher com quem se encontrava três vezes por semana havia cinco anos, apagava uma de suas angústias.
- Não está dizendo isso só para me acalmar?
- Você me paga pela minha objetividade.
“Talvez uma história de amor”, Martin Page.
- The Consolations of Philosophy (Alain de Botton)
(Source: coffeeislovely)
An immortal instinct deep within the spirit of man is thus plainly a sense of the Beautiful. This it is which administers to his delight in the manifold forms, and sounds, and odors and sentiments amid which he exists. And just as the lily is repeated in the lake, or the eyes of Amaryllis in the mirror, so is the mere oral or written repetition of these forms, and sounds, and colors, and odors, and sentiments a duplicate source of delight. But this mere repetition is not poetry. He who shall simply sing, with however glowing enthusiasm, or with however vivid a truth of description, of the sights, and sounds, and odors, and colors, and sentiments which greet him in common with all mankind- he, I say, has yet faded to prove his divine title. There is still a something in the distance which he has been unable to attain. We have still a thirst unquenchable, to allay which he has not shown us the crystal springs. This thirst belongs to the immortality of Man. It is at once a consequence and an indication of his perennial existence. It is the desire of the moth for the star. It is no mere appreciation of the Beauty before us, but a wild effort to reach the Beauty above. Inspired by an ecstatic prescience of the glories beyond the grave, we struggle by multiform combinations among the things and thoughts of Time to attain a portion of that Loveliness whose very elements perhaps appertain to eternity alone. And thus when by Poetry, or when by Music, the most entrancing of the poetic moods, we find ourselves melted into tears, we weep then, not as the Abbate Gravina supposes, through excess of pleasure, but through a certain petulant, impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp now, wholly, here on earth, at once and for ever, those divine and rapturous joys of which through the poem, or through the music, we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses.
“The Poetic Principle” (1850), Edgar Allan Poe.
