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Ум любит неизвестность, он любит образы, смысл которых неизвестен, так как смысл самого ума – неизвестность. Пустота является единственной тайной, оставленной для человека.

Рене Магритт, "Письма"



И ОТГАДКА )
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'We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars'.
Oscar Wilde

2014-06June-20 (46)gr-f-ing-s
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"Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see, somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash!..."
"...Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is Virtue:—begin!"
"If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!"
"Then Virtue is nothing."
"Not that!"
"Then Vice?"
"Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing; these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice."
"Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?"
"It is the law."
"What?"
"That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all a dream—we dream that we dreamed we dream."
"Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me; but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,—now, when thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps—now doth poor ignorant Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine, Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it is all a dream!"
Swiftly he caught her in his arms:—"From nothing proceeds nothing, Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?"
"First what is sin, Pierre?"
"Another name for the other name, Isabel."
"For Virtue, Pierre?"
"No, for Vice."

Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville
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The intensest light of reason and revelation combined, can not shed such blazonings upon the deeper truths in man, as will sometimes proceed from his own profoundest gloom. Utter darkness is then his light, and cat-like he distinctly sees all objects through a medium which is mere blindness to common vision. Wherefore have Gloom and Grief been celebrated of old as the selectest chamberlains to knowledge? Wherefore is it, that not to know Gloom and Grief is not to know aught that an heroic man should learn?

Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville
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But man does never give himself up thus, a doorless and shutterless house for the four loosened winds of heaven to howl through, without still additional dilapidations. Much oftener than before, Pierre laid back in his chair with the deadly feeling of faintness. Much oftener than before, came staggering home from his evening walk, and from sheer bodily exhaustion economized the breath that answered the anxious inquiries as to what might be done for him. And as if all the leagued spiritual inveteracies and malices, combined with his general bodily exhaustion, were not enough, a special corporeal affliction now descended like a sky-hawk upon him. His incessant application told upon his eyes. They became so affected, that some days he wrote with the lids nearly closed, fearful of opening them wide to the light. Through the lashes he peered upon the paper, which so seemed fretted with wires. Sometimes he blindly wrote with his eyes turned away from the paper;—thus unconsciously symbolizing the hostile necessity and distaste, the former whereof made of him this most unwilling states-prisoner of letters.

Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville
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AMONG the various conflicting modes of writing history, there would seem to be two grand practical distinctions, under which all the rest must subordinately range. By the one mode, all contemporaneous circumstances, facts, and events must be set down contemporaneously; by the other, they are only to be set down as the general stream of the narrative shall dictate; for matters which are kindred in time, may be very irrelative in themselves. I elect neither of these; I am careless of either; both are well enough in their way; I write precisely as I please.

<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34970/34970-h/34970-h.htm">Pierre; or The Ambiguities, by Herman Melville</a>
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“I may be very abject, but I do take an interest in the American novel,” Alfred rejoined.

“I hate such expressions: there’s no such thing as the American novel.”

“Is there by chance any such thing as the French?”

“Pas davantage – for the artist himself : how can you ask? I don’t know what is meant by French art and English art and American art: those seem to me mere cataloguers’ and reviewers’ and tradesmen’s names, representing preoccupations utterly foreign to the artist. Art is art in every country, and the novel (since Bonus mentions that) is the novel in every tongue, and hard enough work they have to live up to that privilege, without our adding another muddle to the problem. The reader, the consumer may call things as he likes, but we leave him to his little amusements.” I suggested that we were all readers and consumers; which only made Vendemer continue: “Yes, and only a small handful of us have the ghost of a palate. But you and I and Bonus are of the handful.”

“What do you mean by the handful?” Bonus inquired.

Vendemer hesitated a moment. “I mean the few intelligent people, and even the few people who are not—” He paused again an instant, long enough for me to request him not to say what they were ‘not’, and then went on: “People in a word who have the honour to live in the only country worth living in.”

“And pray what country is that?”

“The land of dreams – the country of art.”

“Oh, the land of dreams! I live in the land of realities!” Bonus exclaimed. “What do you all mean then by chattering so about le roman russe?”

“It’s a convenience – to identify the work of three or four, là-bas, because we’re so far from it. But do you see them writing ‘le roman russe’?”

“I happen to know that that’s exactly what they want to do, some of them,” said Bonus.

“Some of the idiots, then! There are plenty of those every where. Anything born under that silly star is sure not to count.”

Read more... )

Henry James. Collaboration (1893)
crivelli: (goldfinch)
Для Мблы:

The morning being extremely cold, he contrived to be seated as near the fire as was consistent with his other object of having a perfect command of the table and its apparatus; which consisted not only of the ordinary comforts of tea and toast, but of a delicious supply of newlaid eggs, and a magnificent round of beef; against which Mr Escot immediately pointed all the artillery of his eloquence, declaring the use of animal food, conjointly with that of fire, to be one of the principal causes of the present degeneracy of mankind. Read more... )

Thomas Love Peacock. Headlong Hall
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For [livejournal.com profile] gasterea

"PALESTINE SOUP!" said the Reverend Doctor Opimian, dining with his friend Squire Gryll; "a curiously complicated misnomer. We have an excellent old vegetable, the artichoke, of which we eat the head; we have another of subsequent introduction, of which we eat the root, and which we also call artichoke, because it resembles the first in flavour, although, me judice, a very inferior affair. This last is a species of the helianthus, or sunflower genus of the Syungenesia frustranea class of plants. It is therefore a girasol, or turn-to-the-sun. From this girasol we have made Jerusalem, and from the Jerusalem artichoke we make Palestine soup."

[............................]

MR. GRYLL.
Whatever ground we take, Doctor, there is one point common to most of these cases: the word presents an idea, which does not belong to the subject, critically considered. Palestine Soup is not more remote from the true Jerusalem, than many an honourable friend from public honesty and honour. However, Doctor, what say you to a glass of old Madeira, which I really believe is what it is called?

"Gryll Grange" by Thomas Love Peacock
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Дорогая [livejournal.com profile] egmg,
прошу Вас, не забывайте, что история с расчленёнкой лежит в самых истоках нашей культуры.

9 Господь сказал ему: возьми Мне трехлетнюю телицу, трехлетнюю козу, трехлетнего овна, горлицу и молодого голубя.
10 Он взял всех их, рассек их пополам и положил одну часть против другой; только птиц не рассек. (Иер. 34, 18.)
17 Когда зашло солнце и наступила тьма, вот, дым как бы из печи и пламя огня прошли между рассеченными животными. (Иер. 34, 18.)
18 В этот день заключил Господь завет с Аврамом…

(Быт. 15)
crivelli: (monster)
This green thing is so like religion I seriously doubt if organic food can possibly be kosher.
Очень изящно изложено.
Я бы, пожалуй, распространила и на многие другие "убеждения" и "провиденья" нашего времени.

И ещё пара ссылок вдогонку. Под шапкой "Философия сегодня":

Машинистка перепечатывает рукопись одного кантоведа: Еще раз о вещах в себе и нацменах.

Ворд уверен, что мой пятистраничный конспект главы из Гуссерля первый и единственный раз был напечатан первого января 2113 года.
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К слову.
Из переписки Цветаевой с Рильке:
"Поэтическое творчество - это и есть перевод, с родного языка на другой язык, все равно французский или немецкий. Ни
один язык не является родным языком. Сочинять - это переводить. Поэтому непонятно, когда говорят о французских или русских и т.д. поэтах. Поэт может писать по-французски, но не может быть французским поэтом. Это смешно.
Я не русский поэт и всегда удивляюсь, когда меня считают таковым и смотрят на меня как на русского поэта. Человек становится поэтом (если им вообще можно стать, если не быть поэтом с самого начала!), чтобы не быть французом, русским и т.д., чтобы быть всем. (Или: ты поэт, потому что ты не француз.) Национальность - это замкнутость и заключенность. Орфей разрушает национальность, или же растягивает ее до таких пределов, что все (бывшие и сущие) в нее вмещаются".
crivelli: (monster)
Запостила как-то под глазком некоторые высказывания Эмерсона, на память.
А теперь думаю, чего нам скрывать, читайте на здоровье:

There is a crack in everything God has made.

Here is the world, sound as a nut, perfect, not the smallest piece of chaos left, never a stitch nor an end, not a mark of haste, or botching, or second thought; but the theory of the world is a thing of shreds and patches.

People wish to be settled: only as far as they are unsettled is there any hope for them.

All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.

Let us treat men and women well; treat them as if they were real. Perhaps they are.

Reality, however has a sliding floor.

Deal so plainly with man and woman, as to constrain the utmost sincerity, and destroy all hope of trifling with you. It is the highest compliment you can pay.

Sydney Smith found, as he grew older, that the people are better and foolisher than he had believed.

The only way to have a friend is to be one.

Go oft to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path.

Make yourself necessary to someone.

Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.

There is then creative reading as well as creative writing.

We read often with as much talent as we write.

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. No man has learned anything rightly, until he knows that every day is Doomsday.

The worst day is good for something. All that is not love, is knowledge, and all that is not good today, is a store laid up for the wants of distant days.

Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.
crivelli: (rose)
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Я всё же не могу выдержать характер и оставить вас без прозаической жимолости, тем более, что и прозаической-то её не назовёшь.
Вот например, Н.С.Лесков:

А, может быть, эта жимолость увидит и с ушами оторвет.
Молодой человек вспыхнул.
- Какая "жимолость"? - вскричал он.
- Да старуха-то эта... ваша Камчатка... Ведь она... жимолостная...
("Зимний день")

Read more... )
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Венедикт Ерофеев. Москва - Петушки

Но если человек не хочет зря топтать мироздание, пусть он пошлет к свиньям и "Ханаанский бальзам", и "Дух Женевы". А лучше пусть он сядет за стол и приготовит себе "Слезу комсомолки". Пахуч и странен этот коктейль. Почему пахуч, вы узнаете потом. Я вначале объясню, чем он странен.

Пьющий просто водку сохраняет и здравый ум, и твердую память или, наоборот, теряет разом и то, и другое. А в случае со "Слезой комсомолки" просто смешно: выпьешь ее сто грамм, этой слезы, - память твердая, а здравого ума как не бывало. Выпьешь еще сто грамм - и сам себе удивляешься: откуда взялось столько здравого ума? и куда девалась вся твердая память?

Даже сам рецепт "Слезы" благовонен. А от готового коктейля, от его пахучести, можно на минуту лишиться чувств и сознания. Я, например, - лишился.

Лаванда - 15 г
Вербена - 15 г
Лесная вода - 30 г
Лак для ногтей - 2 г
Зубной эликсир - 150 г
Лимонад - 150 г

Приготовляемую таким образом смесь надо двадцать минут помешивать веткой жимолости. Иные, правда, утверждают, что в случае необходимости можно жимолость заменить повиликой. Это неверно и преступно. Режьте меня вдоль и поперек - но вы меня не заставите помешивать повиликой "Слезу комсомолки", я буду помешивать ее жимолостью. Я просто разрываюсь на части от смеха, когда вижу, как при мне помешивают "Слезу" не жимолостью, а повиликой...

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Начало
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Бедняга [personal profile] singolare отправляется сегодня к зубному, так что в честь этого события устрою-ка я небольшой сеанс белой магии.
[personal profile] sutasu, выбравший жасмин, и выбравшая сеанс магии dr_le не будут в обиде.

Все рисунки Yvonne Jean Haffen:




...and this broadly smiling season, with red Ashoka flowers as its lips and with delightful and sparkly whitish new jasmine buds as its teeth

From Kalidasa. Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 03 - Pre Autumn

НачалоII, III, IV
(продолжение следует)
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1. TorMozilla
2. Объявление на столбе:
Romantically Perplexed?!
Join Dr. Lisa Aiken for an evening focused on interpersonal relationships
Dr. Lisa Aiken, Ph.D. has authored numerous books, is an international lecturer, and a mother.

Почему то больше всего тронуло authored numerous books, впрочем, вопрос всё побивает.
3. 'Lord Frederic's brother, the late Duke of Abercorn, also had a fund of good stories, but they were usually a little broader than Frederic's, and I once heard him tell one to Lady Byron (afterwards Lady Houston) who showed from her expression that she didn't quite like it. "Never look shocked; it is so dreadfully second-rate," said the Duke with a laugh, and then Lady Byron laughed too, for the story was really funny, in spite of being a little vulgar.'
(p.76)
I liked the life I lived
Some reminiscences by Eveleigh NASH
London, 1941

Значит ли, что именно из сего источника Нэнси Митфорд позаимствовала эту формулу для своего романа (одного из) или это был расхожий принцип?
4. Подобрала брошюрку "Bourton on the Water Model Village. The Ninth Wonder of the World".



Не эта ли деревенька послужила прототипом Little Fordham из The Borrowers Aloft & The Borrowers Avenged by Mary Norton?

a little more )
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вослед сегодняшнему опросу и давнишним обсуждением ограниченности нашего словаря суперлативов, а также средств для пробуждения выражения добрых чуйств.

Among men of letters I have known, Henry James was probably the greatest detester of the obvious in writing, and it was rarely, even after some delay, that he did not find the best or least over-worked word; but there was an occasion when I think he failed to do so. it was after one of his plays had been produced and while he was sitting at dinner next a lady who said to him, "I hope, Mr.James, that your play is a huge success." "My dear lady," he replied, "huge is not exactly the adjective, good as it is, that best describes the reception accorded my play; but, if I may, I will let you know the appropriate one later". After dinner she said to a friend of mine, Charles Boyd Robertson, of Foreign Office, "Henry James is most amusing to-night, although he doesn't know it; he's searching for an adjective." At last, James came up to her and solemnly boomed in her ear, "The word is wonderful"
p.52

I liked the life I lived
Some reminiscences by Eveleigh NASH
London, 1941

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