Novamente o percorreu um sentimento de felicidade, de calma e segurança do coração, maravilhoso e cheio de delícias para quem sabia o que era angústia e pavor. Lebrava-se de uma frase da sua infância. Falava-se, entre companheiros de escola, do segredo dos acrobatas, que sabiam andar sem medo e firmemente sobre o arame. E um de entre os rapazes dissera: «se fizeres no teu quarto um risco a giz, terás tanta dificuldade em andar sobre ele como sobre o mais fino arame. E, contudo, pisamo-lo seguramente porque não há perigo. Se imaginares que o arame é um risco de giz e o ar de ambos os lados é o chão, podes andar sobre qualquer fio.» Viera-lhe esta frase à mente. Como era bela! Não se teria passado, com ele, justamente o contrário? Isto é, não poder andar seguro e firme sobre o chão plano, porque o tomava por um fio de arame?
«Ele e o Outro» («Klein und Wagner»). Hermann Hesse. Guimarães & C.ª Editores. 1979.
Porque o mundo me empurrou,
Caí na lama, e então
Tomei-lhe a cor, mas não sou
A lama que muitos são.
“Este Livro Que Vos Deixo… – Livro 1”. António Aleixo. Casa das Letras. 2015.
LAUDISI [wanders round the study for a little while, grinning to himself and shaking his head. Then he stops in front of the large mirror which rests on the mantelpiece, looks at his own reflection and starts talking to it.]: Ah, there you are! [He gives his reflection a mock salute with a couple of fingers, winks one eye cunningly, and grins at it.]: Well, my dear fellow! Now which of us two is mad? [He raises his hand, pointing the forefinger at its reflection, which, in turn, points its forefinger at him. He grins again, then] Ah yes, I know! I say you and you point at me! Dear me! Dear me! Between you and me and the gatepost we know one another pretty well, you and I! But what an awful fix you’re in, old chap! Other people don’t see you the way I see you! So what do you become? I can say that, as far as I’m concerned, standing in front of you as I am now, I’m able to see myself and touch myself. But as for you, when it’s a question of how other people see you, what happens to you? You become a phantom, my dear fellow, a creature of fantasy! And yet, do you see what these lunatics are up to? Without taking the slightest notice of their own phantom, the phantom that is implicit within them, they go haring about, frantic with curiosity, chasing after other people’s phantoms! And they believe they’re doing something quite quite different.
[The BUTLER enters and is rather taken aback as he hears LAUDISI’S last words to the mirror. Then he says]:
“Right You Are! (If you Think So)” – “Cosí è (se vi pare)” – Act I, Luigi Pirandello. Penguin Books. 1962.
(B11) Both Homer and Hesiod have ascribed to the gods all deeds
which among men are matters of reproach and blame:
thieving, adultery, and deceiving one another.
(Sextus Empiricus, Against the Mathematicians 9.193)
(B12) … as they sang of many illicit acts of the gods thieving, adultery, and deceiving one another.
(Sextus Empiricus, Against the Mathematicians 1.289; tpc)
(B14) But mortals suppose that the gods are born,
have human clothing, and voice, and bodily form.
(Clement, Miscellanies 5.109)
(B15) If horses had hands, or oxen or lions,
or if they could draw with their hands and produce works as men do,
then horses would draw figures of gods like horses, and oxen like oxen,
and each would render the bodies
to be of the same frame that each of them have.
(Clement, Miscellanies 5.110; tpc)
(B16) Ethiopians say that their gods are snub-nosed and dark, Thracians, that theirs are grey-eyed and red-haired.
(Clement, Miscellanies 7.22; tpc)
Xenophanes of Colophon (fragments), “A Presocratics reader : selected fragments and testimonia / edited, with introduction, by Patricia Curd ; translations by Richard D. McKirahan. — 2nd ed.”. 2001.
XXI. This tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he really was; for once, when Damocles, one of his flatterers, was dilating in conversation on his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no one was ever happier, “Have you an inclination,” said he, “Damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, and to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me?” And when he said that he should like it extremely, Dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of gold with the most beautiful covering, embroidered and wrought with the most exquisite work, and he dressed out a great many sideboards with silver and embossed gold. He then ordered some youths, distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at his table, and to observe his nod, in order to serve him with what he wanted. There were ointments and garlands; perfumes were burned; tables provided with the most exquisite meats. Damocles thought himself very happy. In the midst of this apparatus, Dionysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the ceiling, suspended by a single horse-hair, so as to hang over the head of that happy man. After which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on the well-wrought plate; nor touched any of the provisions: presently the garlands fell to pieces. At last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no desire to be happy. Does not Dionysius, then, seem to have declared there can be no happiness for one who is under constant apprehensions? But it was not now in his power to return to justice, and restore his citizens their rights and privileges; for, by the indiscretion of youth, he had engaged in so many wrong steps and committed such extravagances, that, had he attempted to have returned to a right way of thinking, he must have endangered his life.
Cicero, Tusculanae Disputationes, Book V. Whether Virtue Alone Be Sufficient For a Happy Life, V.21. Translated by C. D. Yonge, 1877.
Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak & bare,
And their ways are fill’d with thorns
It is eternal winter there.
For where-‘er the sun does shine,
And where-‘er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
William Blake, Songs of Innocence and of Experience, Oxford University Press, 1977.