Los rumores de la plaza quedan atrás y entro en la Biblioteca. De una manera casi física siento la gravitación de los libros, el ámbito sereno de un orden, el tiempo disecado y conservado mágicamente. A izquierda y derecha, absortos en su lúcido sueño, se perfilan los rostros momentáneos de los lectores, a la luz de las lámparas estudiosas, como en la hipálage de Milton. Recuerdo haber recordado ya esa figura, en este lugar, y después aquel otro epíteto que también define por el contorno, el árido camello del Lunario, y después aquel hexámetro de la Eneida, que maneja y supera el mismo artificio:
Ibant obscuri sola sub nocte per umbram.
Estas reflexiones me dejan en la puerta de su despacho. Entro; cambiamos unas cuantas convencionales y cordiales palabras y le doy este libro. Si no me engaño usted no me malquería, Lugones, y le hubiera gustado que le gustara algún trabajo mío. Ello no ocurrió nunca, pero esta vez usted vuelve las páginas y lee con aprobación algún verso, acaso porque en él ha reconocido su propia voz, acaso porque la práctica deficiente le importa menos que la sana teoría.
En este punto se deshace mi sueño, como el agua en el agua. la vasta Biblioteca que me rodea está en la calle México, no en la calle Rodriguez Peña, y usted, Lugones, se mató a principios del treinta y ocho. Mi vanidad y mi nostalgia han armado una escena imposible. Así será (me digo) pero mañana yo también habré muerto y se confundirán nuestros tiempos y la cronología se perderá en un orbe de símbolos y de algún modo será justo afirmar que yo le he traído este libro y que usted lo ha aceptado.
"It’s a perfectly valid description of a particular phenomenon. It’s that sad and depressed feeling you get when you realize that no matter how great and majestic and important something is at the time, in time it’s going to pass. Just like the poem - eventually, time kills everything. It’s…
“People are faced, in life, with choosing between reality and fantasy. And it’s very pleasant to choose fantasy but that way lies madness and you’re forced finally to choose reality. And reality always disappoints, always hurts you…”—Woody Allen (via thecolorgray)
“…I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a read yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”—Ulysses (1922) - James Joyce
“…he was watching me whenever he got an opportunity at the band on the Alameda esplanade when I was with father and captain Grove I looked up at the church first and then at the windows then down and our eyes met I felt something go through me like all needles my eyes were dancing I remember after when I looked at myself in the glass hardly recognised myself the change…”—Ulysses (1922) - James Joyce
“¡Oh, la tortura del primer amor, de la primera desilusión! ¡Cuando se lucha con el pasado, en lugar de olvidarlo! Así persistía yo antes en tender mi pecho blando, a los mismo recuerdos, a las mismas iras, a los mismos duelos.”—María Luisa Bombal — La amortajada (1938)
“Your wolves have more wit than your maester," the wildling woman said. "They know truths the grey man has forgotten." The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comment meant, she answered, "Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet.”—George R. R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
“First off, Ana stopped being home all the time, and Oscar found himself stacking messages on her machine: This is Oscar, a bear is chewing my legs off, please call me; This is Oscar, they want a million dollars or it’s over, please call me; This is Oscar, I’ve just spotted a strange meteorite and I’m going over to investigate. She always got back to him after a couple of days, and was pleasant about it, but still.”—Junot Díaz - The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
“All men lie when they are afraid. Some tell many lies, some but a few. Some have only one great lie they tell so often that they almost come to believe it … though some small part of them will always know that it is still a lie, and that will show upon their faces”—George R.R. Martin (The Kindly Man)- A Feast for Crows
Sometime in 1492, less than twenty years after the introduction of printing in Spain, Elio Antonio de Nebrija, historiographer royal to Queen Isabella, published in Salamanca a grammar of the Castilian language, the first such work ever compiled for a European vernacular. A grammar is a typical work of what one might call the encyclopedic mentality to which Renaissance Europe aspired and that was to sustain its vaunted scientific method: it is intended to be all-inclusive and exhaustive, neutral and nonjudgmental, ostensibly without political point of view or social purpose, and meant only to be a list, a catalogue, an inventory.
"What is it for?" Isabella is said to have asked, in a burst of practicality, when Nebrija’s bok was presented to her by a royal courtier.
"Your majesty," the courtier is reported to have answered, "language has always been the companion of empire".
”—Kirkpatrick Sale—Christopher Columbus and the Conquest of Paradise
“How they loved to promise heads, these men who would be king. “Your brother promised me the same. But if truth be told, I would sooner have my daughters back, and leave justice to the gods. Cersei still holds my Sansa, and of Arya there has been no word since the day of Robert’s death.”—George R. R. Martin (Catelyn Stark) A Clash of Kings
“Every night Arya would say their names. “Ser Gregor,” she’d whisper to her stone pillow. “Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.” Back in Winterfell, Arya had prayed with her mother in the sept and with her father in the godswood, but there were no gods on the road to Harrenhal, and her names were the only prayer she cared to remember.”—George R. R. Martin A Clash of Kings
“Oh, to be sure, there is much we do not understand. The years pass in their hundreds and their thousands, and what does any man see of life but a few summers, a few winters? We look at mountains and call them eternal, and so they seem . . . but in the course of time, mountains rise and fall, rivers change their courses, stars fall from the sky, and great cities sink beneath the sea. Even gods die, we think. Everything changes.”—George R. R. Martin (Maester Luwin) A Clash of Kings
“The islands were too small for awe, and a longship smaller still. If every captain was a king aboard his own ship, as was often said, it was small wonder they named the islands the land of ten thousand kings. And when you have seen your kings shit over the rail and turn green in a storm, it was hard to bend the knee and pretend they were gods.”—George R. R. Martin A Clash of Kings