miércoles, 17 de junio de 2015

“... Sólo yo doy cabida a la duda, no copiando lo que otros hacen, como un recién nacido que aún no sabe sonreír. Como quien no sabe a dónde dirigirse, como quien no tiene hogar. Todo el mundo vive en la abundancia, sólo yo parezco desprovisto. Consideran mi mente como la de un loco por sentir umbrías confusiones y críticas. Todo el mundo brilla porque solo las luces buscan, sólo yo me atrevo a transitar por las tinieblas. Todo el mundo se conforma con su felicidad, sólo yo me adentro en mi depresión. Soy como quien deriva en alta mar, voy contra la corriente sin un rumbo predestinado. Todo el mundo es puesto en algún uso; sólo yo soy un ermitaño intratable y aburrido. Sólo yo soy diferente a todos los demás..." Tao Te King (fragmento).

sábado, 6 de junio de 2015


"... Onyegin did not even understand Tatiana when he met her for the first time, in a remote place, under the modest guise of a pure, innocent girl, who was at first so shy of him. He could not see the completeness and perfection of the poor girl, and perhaps he really took her for a ‘moral embryo’. She, the embryo! She, after her letter to Onyegin! If there is a moral embryo in the poem, it is he himself, Onyegin, beyond all debate. And he could not comprehend her. Does he know the human soul? He has been an abstract person, a restless dreamer, all his life long. Nor does he comprehend her later in Petersburg, as a grand lady, when in the words of his own letter to her ‘he in his soul understood all her perfections’. But these are only words. She passed through his life unrecognized by him and unappreciated: therein is the tragedy of their love. But if at his first meeting with her in the village Childe Harold had arrived from England, or even, by a miracle, Lord Byron himself, and had noticed her timid, modest beauty and pointed her out to him, oh, Onyegin would have been instantly struck with admiration [...] This Tatiana understood. In the immortal lines of the romance the poet represented her coming to see the house of the man who is so wonderful and still so incomprehensible to her. I do not speak of the unattainable artistic beauty and profundity of the lines. She is in his study; she looks at his books and possessions; she tries through them to understand his soul, to solve her enigma, and ‘the moral embryo’ at last pauses thoughtfully, with a foreboding that her riddle is solved, and gently whispers: "Perhaps he is only a parody?" Yes, she had to whisper this; she had divined him. Later, long afterwards in Petersburg, when they meet again, she knows him perfectly."

Dostoievski, en Discurso Sobre Pushkin.