Argentine Short-Story Writer, Essayist, Poet
Argentine Short-Story Writer, Essayist, Poet
Perhaps universal history is the history of the diverse intonation of some metaphors.
Rumors of the square left behind and entered the library. In an almost physical way I feel the gravity of the books, the serene area of an order, the desiccated time and magically preserved. To the left and right, absorbed in his lucid dream, the momentary faces of readers are foreseen, in the light of the studious lamps, as in Milton hypallage. I remember already recalled that figure, in this place, and after that other epithet that also defines the outline, the arid camel Lunario, then that hexameter from the Aeneid, which manages and overcomes the same artifice: These reflections let me in the door of his office. I enter; conventional and change a few kind words and I give this book. If I am not mistaken, you do not malquer¡a me, Lugones, and would have liked he liked any of my work. This never happened, but this time you turn the pages and read approvingly a verse, perhaps because he has recognized his own voice, perhaps because the poor practice cares unless the sound theory. At this point melts my dream, as the water in the water. The vast library that surrounds me is on Mexico Street, not on the street Rodr¡guez Pe¤a, and you, Lugones, was killed early thirty-eight. My vanity and my nostalgia have armed an impossible scene. So it will (I tell myself) but tomorrow I also have died and our times confused and chronology will be lost in an orb of symbols and somehow be fair to say that I have brought you this book and that you have accepted it .
Sometimes a few birds, a horse, have saved the ruins of an amphitheater.
The aesthetic event is something as evident, as immediate, as indefinable as love, the taste of fruit, as water. We feel poetry as we feel the closeness of a woman, or as we feel a mountain or a bay. If we feel it immediately, why dilute it further with words, which no doubt will be weaker than our feelings?
The dictionary is based on the hypothesis -- obviously an unproven one -- that languages are made up of equivalent synonyms.
The fact is that I am unique. I do not care what a man can communicate to other people, as well as the philosopher I think that the art of writing nothing can be transferred. For boring and free trinkets have no place in my spirit, which is destined for great things.
The history of the universe... is the handwriting produced by a minor god in order to communicate with a demon.
The mightiest love was granted him
The secret eternal laws, the harmony of the world - all of them or their remembrance, located here amid the books that I keep in this tower.
The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surrounded by very low railings.
Then I feel a contentment in defeat, I reflected, simply because defeat has come, because it is infinitely connected to all the acts that are, that were, and that shall be, because to censure or deplore a single real act is to blaspheme against the universe.
There is a labyrinth which is a straight line.
There is nothing less material than money, since any coin (a twenty cents, say) is, strictly speaking, a repertoire of possible futures. Money is abstract, I repeated, money is future time. It can be an evening outside, it can be music of Brahms, it can be maps, can be chess, can be coffee, you can be the words of Epictetus, which teach contempt of gold; It is a more versatile than the island of Pharos Proteus. Unpredictable weather, time of Bergson, not Islam or hard time Gantry.
This felicitous supposition declared that there is only one Individual, and that this indivisible Individual is every one of the separate beings in the universe, and that these beings are the instruments and masks of divinity itself.
Time is living me.
To speak is to fall into tautology.
Mirrors and copulation are obscene, for they increase the numbers of mankind.
My memory sometimes seems too forgotten.
Nowadays we are fond of literal translations...That would have seemed a crime to translators in ages past...They wanted to prove that the vernacular was as capable of a great poem as the original.
Once your late father told us that you cannot measure time by days, as money for pennies or weights because the weights are equal and each day is different and maybe every hour. I did not understand very well what he said, but the phrase stuck with me.
Only last in time things that were not time.
Personally, I am a hedonistic reader; I have never read a book merely because it was ancient. I read books for the aesthetic emotions they offer me, and I ignore the commentaries and criticism.
Russell supposes that the planet was created a few minutes ago, provided with a humanity that remembers an illusory past.
Sometimes I wish I was dead. As the beach stretches the sun, relax on the warm sand, I would sand. I'd like to forget about, like I've ever experienced. I also forget, I were to disappear.
The angel told me that the rams were not the color of tigers, Satan told me that the Almighty wanted him to go and was using my cunning and my purple. Now I know that the Angel and Satan roamed the truth and full color is abhorrent.