domingo, junho 24, 2007
Romain
'... too many beautiful tales, and with too great a talent, in those whispering hours at the dawn of life when a child's every fiber takes an indelible imprint [...]
My longing for perfection, my dream of dealing with life as if it were literature, made me attack with impatient hands a shapeless lump of clay which no human determination can ever mould, but which has itself the frightening power insidiously to shape a human being according to its will [...]
I have wandered in pursuit of something for which art had given me a thirst but which life could not quench [...]
if I still dream of transforming the world into a happy garden, I know now that it is not so much because I love my fellow men as because I love gardens.
And I have also learned that if, for me, there is no beauty without justice, yet life cares little for logic, and can be beautiful without being just'.
0 comments
My longing for perfection, my dream of dealing with life as if it were literature, made me attack with impatient hands a shapeless lump of clay which no human determination can ever mould, but which has itself the frightening power insidiously to shape a human being according to its will [...]
I have wandered in pursuit of something for which art had given me a thirst but which life could not quench [...]
if I still dream of transforming the world into a happy garden, I know now that it is not so much because I love my fellow men as because I love gardens.
And I have also learned that if, for me, there is no beauty without justice, yet life cares little for logic, and can be beautiful without being just'.
