Arquivo de literature | Page 89 of 111

I Would Be Infinitely Happier If I Were a Tree

I would be infinitely happier if I were a tree. I correct: a stone—today trees are embraced…—Stones do not listen, they are not bothered, they are not asked, they do not pay taxes and, that is exactly the word, they live in peace. If not as components of the landscape, they are invisible. And who can tell the limits of their inner universe? The incapacity to listen—I presume; because if they listen, they never react…—is something really enviable and superior. The weak human mind, so vulnerable to terrible disturbances coming from noise, which submit it and silence it in extreme ease, has only to envy the placidity of the life of this noble rocky being…

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The Word “Study”

The word “study,” in common sense, refers to acquiring training for the performance of a professional function. The “study,” if taken as the search for the answer to questions of a personal, existential nature or as the mere investigation of existence, is no longer “study,” but a hobby. That is to say: if not destined to a practical purpose, the effort is less noble, dispensable. That, of course, is what the pragmatism of these days thinks, the pragmatism that dimensions its own old sagacity agonizing on a hospital bed.

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Regional Literature Fails for Having Narrow Vision

A literature that pretends to be regional fails, from the beginning, for having narrow vision. What are the particularities, if not aggravating? And how can the central problem of a work be relevant if not universal? The obsession with regional affirmation produces, if at all, works of inferior quality: they lower the described region if they involve it in banalities and deprive it of comprehensive issues. When a real problem, if exploited by a great artist, will naturally elevate his people by placing them in a context that arouses empathy and universal respect.

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Manifesto of Emigrating Interest

I do not know if Providence will allow me to watch, alive, the world led by those of my generation. I can imagine, of course: my imagination is capable of everything. So I address myself to some alien who—one never knows…—may be monitoring these lines. Is there, dear friend, an interplanetary immigration program in progress on your noble planet? Please do not hesitate to inform me through the contact form on this site. I am open to negotiations.

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