Dada Quotes

I speak only of myself since I do not wish to convince, I have no right to drag others into my river, I oblige no one to follow me and everybody practices his art in his own way." - Tristan Tzara "Dada Manifesto 1918

No es que haya que vivir, puesto que la vida nos es fatalmente dada... la vida se vive a sí misma, nos guste o no.

Dada is like your hopes: nothing like your paradise: nothing like your idols: nothing like your heroes: nothing like your artists: nothing like your religions: nothing

To all appearances, the artist acts like a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.

En suma, desde pequeño, mi relación con las palabras, con la escritura, no se diferencia de mi relación con el mundo en general. Yo parezco haber nacido para no aceptar las cosas tal como me son dadas.

That's a beautiful speech, but nobody's listening. Let's go.

Dada is not modern at all, it is rather a return to a quasi-Buddhist religion of indifference. Dada puts an artificial sweetness onto things, a snow of butterflies coming out of a conjurer's skull. Dada is stillness and does not understand the passions.

Look at us! Are we not proof that there is no good, no evil, no truth, no reason? Are we not proof that the universe is a drooling idiot with no fashion sense - Mr Nobody on the fundamental philosophy of the Brotherhood of DADA

Apa yang tersimpan dalam dada, tak mampu dijangkau oleh mata. Karenanya lisan menjadi penanda, wajar orang menilai lewat kata.

Tentei não fazer nada na minha vida que envergonhasse a criança que fui. Quando me for deste mundo, partirão duas pessoas. Sairei de mão dada, com essa criança que fui.

The summit sings what is being spoken in the depths.

Dadas las circunstancias hice lo que cualquier otro simple mortal haría en mi lugar...toqué el timbre.

Dan dengan tidak terasa umur manusia pun lenyap sedetik demi sedetik ditelan siang dan malam. Tapi masalah-masalah manusia tetap muda seperti waktu, Di mana pun juga dia menyerbu ke dalam kepala dan dada manusia, kadang-kadang ia pergi lagi dan di tinggalkannya kepala dan dada itu kosong seperti langit. (Bukan Pasar Malam, 68)

Eternity is the best policy.

Every word that is spoken and sung here (the Cabaret Voltaire) represents at least this one thing: that this humiliating age has not succeeded in winning our respect.

Every page should explode, either because of its staggering absurdity, the enthusiasm of its principles, or its typography.

Tiada hari tanpa berbagi harus jadi prinsip. Merasa tak punya yg harus dibagi? Senyum dan lapangkan dada serta jalan orang lain.

Não perturbes a paz que me foi dada. Ouvir de novo a tua voz seria matar a sede com água salgada.

An original is a creation motivated by desire. Any reproduction of an originals motivated be necessity. It is marvelous that we are the only species that creates gratuitous forms. To create is divine, to reproduce is human.

True love is sacrifice. It is in giving, not in getting; in losing, not in gaining; in realizing, not in possessing, that we love!

Suatu pagi nanti, saya dan kamu akan berbagi telur dadar. Dengan dada berdebar, dan cinta yang berpendar.

Mama does everything for the baby, who responds by saying Dada first.

Tidak menanti untuk dicinta. Ada yang tak terucap di bibir, cuma separuh nyeri di dada. Demikianlah; awan mendung sarat hujan, kilat menyambar di kejauhan, kabut lindap di malam sunyi.

butuh berapa sayatan untuk memusnahkan cinta dari jiwa? butuh berapa tusukan untuk membunuh rindu yg memenjara dalam dada? sekalian kau kuliti saja namamu dari kulit jantung ini, agar terlepas semua tentangmu, dan aku tak mengenangmu lagi suatu waktu

A superstição perniciosa generalizada é que é preciso deletar o anterior, para aceitar o novo. Que pobreza, que pobreza, que pobreza, que atraso! Se a memória aceita, se o perfil confere, se a senha foi dada, roda os dois programas ao mesmo tempo, roda os três, roda os vinte, porra!

...se decidió contra el amor y a favor de la vida. Dadas las circunstancias, ésta solo era posible sin aquél, y si él hubiera exigido ambas cosas, no cabe duda que habría parecido sin tardanza.

Nosferatu is the daddy of modern American sex.

You get my idea. Nothing of "artistic" literature about it, just straight medicine, a universal panacea, a fetish in a sense: if you have a toothache go to your dentist and ask him if he is Dada.

Maaf…” kata Sarah pelan. Nabil mengusap pipi Sarah. “Jangan nangis…” bisiknya. Sarah memeluknya. Dia terisak di dada Nabil. Air matanya terus mengalir seiring hujan yang semakin deras. Nabil ikut memeluknya erat, tidak sanggup melihat ini. “Jangan nangis, Sarah…” bisiknya lagi.

When the ball that was my heart ws broken,... laughter fell out".

Sungguh ganjil rasa cemburu, sungguh berbeda rasa sakitnya. Di kepala, rasanya seperti disiram seember air es. Di mulut, rasanya seperti digigit semut rambutan. Di dada, rasanya menggeletar. Cemburu adalah perahu Nabi Nuh yang tergenang di dalam hati yang karam. Lalu, naiklah ke geladak perahu itu, binatang yang berpasang-pasangan yakni perasaan tak berdaya-ingin mengalahkan, rencana-rencana jahat-penyesalan, kesedihan-gengsi, kemarahan-keputusasaan, dan ketidakadilah-mengasihani diri.

Art needs an operation

Andando de mãos dadas com as estrelas, lembra-se que também ela tem o direito de brilhar

Life, of course, never gets anyone's entire attention. Death always remains interesting, pulls us, draws us. As sleep is necessary to our physiology, so depression seems necessary to our psychic economy. In some secret way, Thanatos nourishes Eros as well as opposes it. The two principles work in covert concert; though in most of us Eros dominates, in none of us is Thanatos completely subdued. However-and this is the paradox of suicide-to take one's life is to behave in a more active, assertive, "erotic" way than to helplessly watch as one's life is taken away from one by inevitable mortality. Suicide thus engages with both the death-hating and the death-loving parts of us: on some level, perhaps, we may envy the suicide even as we pity him. It has frequently been asked whether the poetry of Plath would have so aroused the attention of the world if Plath had not killed herself. I would agree with those who say no. The death-ridden poems move us and electrify us because of our knowledge of what happened. Alvarez has observed that the late poems read as if they were written posthumously, but they do so only because a death actually took place. "When I am talking about the weather / I know what I am talking about," Kurt Schwitters writes in a Dada poem (which I have quoted in its entirety). When Plath is talking about the death wish, she knows what she is talking about. In 1966, Anne Sexton, who committed suicide eleven years after Plath, wrote a poem entitled "Wanting to Die," in which these startlingly informative lines appear: But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. When, in the opening of "Lady Lazarus," Plath triumphantly exclaims, "I have done it again," and, later in the poem, writes, Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call, we can only share her elation. We know we are in the presence of a master builder.

La vida humana acontece sólo una vez y por eso nunca podremos averiguar cuáles de nuestras decisiones fueron correctas y cuáles fueron incorrectas. En la situación dada sólo hemos podido decidir una vez y no nos ha sido dada una segunda, una tercera, una cuarta vida para comparar las distintas decisiones.

That’s the chain of thinking: D-A-D-A. Getting data leads to analysis. Analysis leads to a decision. A decision leads to an action. Simple. That’s how thinking works.

Greater than atomic power is the power of love. Alas, we use it so sparingly!

Da-da chum da-da che, not to worry you've got the key!

Where the Self [Soul] is forgotten; that place is not ours.

This shift from automatic living to awakening parallels Carl Jung's Individuation, Dada Bhagwan's Self-realization, Dr. Abraham Mazlow's Self-Actualization, G.I. Gurdjieff's Self-Work and other related approaches to differentiating the innate being from the unconscious complexes we have mistaken for identity.

Ben nodded then opened a toothy grin of his own. “Unca Wanwo!” “Hey, little starfighter,” Lando said. “All right,” Leia said. “I’ll let you guys go. Be safe out there.” She blew Han a kiss and waved at the other two. “Say bye, Ben.” “Come back, Dada,” Ben said, articulating each word carefully.

Punctuality can go to the devil.

With the sound of gusting wind in the branches of the language trees of Babel, the words gave way like leaves, and every reader glimpsed another reality hidden in the foilage.

The peasants of all lands recognize power and they salute it, whether it's good or evil.

Knowing that there is no future that is possible or desirable, I experience the solace one feels on going back to sleep when the alarm clock has sounded.

The prayer of a pure heart never goes in vain!

Dadas dos obras de majestuosidad artística, sopesadas por igual, daremos más valor a quien la hizo primero. No importa lo que crees. Importa que crees antes que nadie.

Perempuan ini memang berpikiran cepat dan tajam, langsung dapat mengetahui apa yang hidup di dalam dada. Barangkali di situ letak kekuatannya yang mencekam orang dalam genggamannya, dan mampu pula mensihir orang dari kejauhan. Apalagi dari dekat.

The activities of these parasites and degenerates gave rise to Cubism, Fauvism, Futurism, Pointillism, Constructivism, Orphism, Surrealism, Dada, and also Impossibleism, Supersurrealism, Dynamic Double-Dog Realism, Ishkabibbleism, and Mama, which is like Dada only nicer.

Porque todavía no había llegado el momento de comprender que la costumbre es falaz y que nuestros pasos mecánicos no nos conducen siempre a la misma realidad; porque ignoraba todavía que la realidad es sorpresiva y, dada la naturaleza de los hombres, a la larga, trágica.

dengan seberkas kunci di tangan kubuka seribu liang luka yang sekian lama tertutup kubiarkan seribu gabus duka yang mengapung di dalam dada berkumpul di depan matamu agar kau mengerti: makna makmur di tengah lapar makna harmoni di tengah inflasi makna mewah di tengah gundah (kunci)

Take a newspaper. Take some scissors. Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem. Cut out the article. Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag. Shake gently. Next take out each cutting one after the other. Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag. The poem will resemble you. And there you are -- an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.

How long will you wait for the right time to come? The right time is now and the right place is here.

Why can't a tree be called Pluplusch?

Harsh words can cause more wounds than sticks and stones.

How long will you carry the load of possessions on your head. When will you realise that nothing, no one belongs to you, that you belong to the Lord?

Wealth does not count; words do not count; actions count!

And that is why all of us with one voice call one God differently as Paramatma, Ishwara, Shiva, Vishnu, Rama, Allah, Khuda, Dada Hormuzda, Jehova, God, and an infinite variety of names. He is one and yet many; He is smaller than an atom, and bigger than the Himalayas. He is contained even in a drop of the ocean, and yet not even the seven seas can compass Him. Reason is powerless to know Him. He is beyond the reach or grasp of reason.

Dua hal aku benci dalam hidup: September dan pohon mangga. September tidak pernah mau beranjak dari rumah. Betah. Ia sibuk meletakkan neraka di seluruh penjuru. Di ruang tamu. Di ranjang. Di meja makan. Bahkan di dada. Batang pohon mangga tetap selutut persis prasasti batu. Ia berdiri mengekalkan dosa-dosa dan dosa adalah pemimpin yang baik bagi penyesalan-penyesalan.

Dan pancaran matamu adalah syair ribuan hari yang menyihir airmata jadi kuntumkuntum asa. Tubuh kita menjelma rumahrumah pasi di dada jalan yang selalu setia menampung sejarah, kenangan atas perjumpaan dan perpisahan berkali kali

Self discipline, punctuality and time management are very important - for life is short, and every resource you have must be well utilized so that you find enlightenment and liberation - your ultimate goal.

He llegado a la conclusión de que no hay reglas fijas en la vida. Haz lo que tengas que hacer para sobrevivir. Si eso significa huir del amor de tu vida para preservar tu salud mental, hazlo. Si eso significa romper el corazón de alguien para no romper el tuyo; hazlo. La vida es complicada, demasiado para que haya absolutos. Estamos todos tan rotos. Escoge una persona, sacúdelos y escucharás el ruido de sus pedazos rotos. Piezas que nuestros padres rompieron, o nuestras madres o nuestros amigos, desconocidos, o nuestros amores. Olivia ha dejado de sonar tanto como solía hacerlo. El amor es una herramienta dada por Dios, me dice. Atornilla las cosas en el lugar que están sueltas, y realizas limpieza de todas las piezas rotas que no necesitas más.

..Pakaian kita patutlah sepadan dengan pencaharian kita. Kalau kita telah bersepatu, hendaknya di rumah pun duduk di atas kursi atau di atas tikar permadani, tidur di atas katil, makan cukup, gulai jangan sambal terasi berganti dengan sambal belacan sahaja. Aku ini, itulah sebabnya maka tak sepakat dengan kelakuan kebanyakan orang zaman sekarang. Dasi berjela-jela setengah meter, uang pun kuntal kantil di dada, tetapi kantung melayang ditiup angin. Sampai di rumah mulut disempal dengan daun ubi campur sambal terasi.

Triumph belongs to thought. Change your thinking and you change your life! You become new!

If you wish to live in harmony, you must respect every person and, in non-essential matters, yield!

This world is not at fault, the world is beautiful. If your understanding is wrong, what can the world do?

That which frees one from bondage is the right religion.

Una obra de arte jamás es bella, por decreto, objetivamente, para todos.

From the moment you realize, ‘I am the most worthless person in this world’; you become valuable.

The world is our own reflection. As long as there is deceit in you, others will deceive you.

In this world, it is not worth finding anyone’s faults. One becomes bound (by karma) by finding faults.

Don’t be scared of anything. Trust in the Lord and face the battle of life. There is no power on earth that can lay you low.

Poetic Terrorism WEIRD DANCING IN ALL-NIGHT computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earth-works as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Kidnap someone & make them happy. Pick someone at random & convince them they're the heir to an enormous, useless & amazing fortune--say 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical mss. ... Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience, etc. Go naked for a sign. Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty. Graffiti-art loaned some grace to ugly subways & rigid public monuments--PT-art can also be created for public places: poems scrawled in courthouse lavatories, small fetishes abandoned in parks & restaurants, Xerox-art under windshield-wipers of parked cars, Big Character Slogans pasted on playground walls, anonymous letters mailed to random or chosen recipients (mail fraud), pirate radio transmissions, wet cement... The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by PT ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror-- powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst--no matter whether the PT is aimed at one person or many, no matter whether it is "signed" or anonymous, if it does not change someone's life (aside from the artist) it fails. PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater are perhaps too well known & expected now. An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life--may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE. Don't do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don't stick around to argue, don't be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives--but don't be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you. Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don't get caught. Art as crime; crime as art.

What is the difference between disrespect (avinay) and despise (viradhana)? Disrespect (avinay) means one shows lack of respect and to despise (viradhana) means one becomes an adversary (opponent).

Mengapa kau tanam mawar itu di pinggir jalan Kay? Apakah sengaja, agar semua orang bisa memungut atau pura pura mencintainya? Tapi bukankah kau tahu, tak ada rasa kagum semurah itu?  Seperti semua harapan palsu yang kau tabur di atas ranjangmu. Bunga mawar merah jambu yang mekar sejenak sebelum kemudian layu dibakar waktu. Masih banyak cinta yang sesungguhnya tak kau mengerti, Kay. Apakah cuma itu satu satunya cara untuk membunuh kesendirian dan rasa sepi? Luka parut di dada dan jantung yang perlahan hilang detaknya. Sudah berapa lama engkau merasa jemu dengan rutinitas yang itu itu juga, Kay?  Seperti juga pikiran pikiran dangkal yang akan terus menghantui kita dengan potongan potongan kata dusta. Apakah kesedihan semacam ini yang ingin engkau abadikan? Dari satu frame ke frame yang lain. Dari satu video ke video berikutnya. Cuma untuk menampilkan ingatan yang sudah kau hafal di luar kepala dan senyum getir yang susah payah kau sembunyikan dari dunia. Atau barangkali, itulah caramu untuk mengejek dan mencemooh kami, karena terlanjur terjebak dalam ritual yang menghinakan ini. Ritual memuja ego dan menipu diri sendiri. Sebab harus kami akui, sesungguhnya cuma engkau yang paling murni di antara kita. Cuma engkau satu satunya yang telanjang dan tidak menutup diri dengan topeng kemunafikan.

If you educate a man, you educate an individual; education contributes to his individual growth; it becomes his ‘private property’, as it were. But when you educate a woman, you educate the entire family!

Franz Schulze’s book “Fantastic Images” had a lot of impact on me. Mark Pascale turned me on to that book when I was twenty years old. It was really interesting to see all this art in one place and to have somebody articulate a theory of Chicago art since I already had a real predilection towards Dada and Surrealism. Chicago is just teeming with kooky, whacked-out artists, and I’m one of them in my own sedate way.

There is one type of gambling which should always be encouraged. It is betting on goodness. When a person has wronged you, be good to him. If he adds insult to injury, double the bet. And keep on doubling it. You will surely win!

We’ win over ‘negative’ with ‘positive’.

Difference of opinion is a clash, and to clash is a ‘weakness’.

The Knower of the Soul is considered Self Realized (The Enlightened one). The knower of all the eternal elements is known as Omniscient (sarvagna).

Ego will always conduct itself to make sure that it does not appear bad.

When others try to provoke (instigate) you and you don’t get provoked, it is known as a spiritual victory.

Who can go beyond the mind? The one who has conquered the mind.

Enthusiasm is the greatest asset you can possess, for it can take you further than money, power or influence.

There are two things in the world: feeding the ego or breaking it. Everyone’s ego is either being fed or being shattered in this world; nothing else happens apart from these two.

Ser padre es muy distinto a la maternidad. A las mujeres les crece dentro el hijo, las antoja, les duele, les da náuseas, los patea por dentro. En cambio, ser padre es que los demás digan: 'este es tu hijo'. Es si acaso, una patada por fuera. Es una palabra. Es algo a lo que se puede uno acostumbrar o rechazar. Esa lejanía, esa posibilidad de tomar distancia. La madre no puede hacer eso. Es lo cercano, lo que envuelve, lo que cuida. El padre puede desatenderse, evadir, quedarse callado. Ser hijo de un padre es mucho más complejo que serlo de una madre. Al padre se le idealiza cuando está ausente, y cuando no, se le perdona tras una visita, una caricia tosca en el cabello, una palmada mal dada. Ser hijo es una tarea de abandono

Long live transfinite mountains, the hollow earth, time machines, fractal writing, aliens, dada, telepathy, flying saucers, warped space, teleportation, artificial reality, robots, pod people, hylozoism, endless shrinking, intelligent goo, antigravity, surrealism, software highs, two-dimensional time, gnarly computation, the art of photo composition, pleasure zappers, nanomachines, mind viruses, hyperspace, monsters from the deep and, of course, always and forever, the attack of the giant ants!

This world is a museum. In a museum you have to see and know; you can eat and drink but you cannot take anything out of it. Do not get attached. Enjoy everything, but if you take anything away from it, you will have to come back to the ‘museum’ (this world).

Quién sabe, quizá te hayas convencido, dada tu progresiva y alarmante tendencia a vivir cada vez con menos, de que no necesitás ni grandes aviones ni obras maestras en tu vida. Cézanne decía: "Lo grandioso acaba por cansar. Hay montañas que, cuando uno está delante, te hacen gritar ¡me cago en Dios! Pero para el día a día con un simple cerro hay de sobra". Tu ciudad es una llanura gris pero cada tanto las nubes se corren y algo emerge en medio de la nada. Hay días de cielo límpido, como hoy, en que lo alcanzás a ver desde tu ventana. Es un cerro pequeño con un nimbo detrás.

I miss Cindy McCain - she seemed so life-like. I'm a moderate lesbian - I only hold a grudge for six generations. Step away from your e-vehicle. Email is a depressant. The patriarchy is so Dada. We've got homomentum! America was built by affirmative action - for white men. If they want gay people to stop having sex, let them get married. I'm on a single prayer health plan: please god, don't let me get sick. Taser them with love.

This world is a museum. You can see and know, eat and drink, but you cannot take anything out of it. Do not get attached. Enjoy everything, but if you take anything with you, you will have to come back to the 'museum' (this world).

...for example, if Freud is wrong, as i and many others believe, where does that leave any number of novels and virtually the entire corpus of surrealism, Dada, and certain major forms of expressionism and abstraction, not to mention Richard Strauss' 'Freudian' operas such as Salome and Elektra, and the iconic novels of numerous writers such as D.H. Lawrence, Franz Kafka, Thomas Mann and Virginia Woolf? It doesn't render these works less beautiful or pleasurable, necessarily, but it surely dilutes their meaning. They don't owe their entire existence to psychoanalysis. But if they are robbed of a large part of their meaning, can they retain their intellectual importance and validity? Or do they become period pieces? I stress the point because the novels, paintings and operas referred to above have helped to popularise and legitimise a certain view of human nature, one that is, all evidence to the contrary lacking, wrong.

Dad, why is life so hard?" I ask, flopping onto her pillows. She squeezes my ankle. "Your Dada used to ask me the same thing." "Did you have an answer for him?" My grandma laughs lightly and looks at her bedside table. A photo of her, Dada, and the rest of our family is framed there. "Of course not. I don't think he was ever genuinely asking. Life is hard because it is. There's no easy answer. It's just a matter whether we're willing to face the hardships. Even when life was hard, your grandpa was always willing to face it with me.

The facts were strongly behind his client. But the legal battle could be drawn out for months; no one stood to gain except the lawyers. Ghandi was not interested in making a profit out of legal briefs and empty arguments. He was determined to serve the best interests of both sides. Dada Abdulla and his opponent were blood relations, and every day the case dragged on only drove in deeper the wedge that was splitting their family in two. With much talking Ghandi persuaded both sides to submit to arbitration and settle out of court. Even more talking was necessary to get Dada Abdulla to agree on terms which would not bankrupt the loser, but in the end both sides were satisfied. Ghandi was ecstatic. "I had learnt," he exclaimed, "the true practice of law. I had learnt to find out the better side of human nature and to enter men's hearts. I realized that the true function of a lawyer was to unite parties riven asunder.

Meu caro amigo (...), a vida é infinitamente mais estranha que qualquer coisa que a mente do homem possa inventar. Não nos atreveríamos a conceber coisas que são, afinal, lugares-comuns da existência. Se pudéssemos sair a voar de mão dada por aquela janela, pairar sobre esta cidade, tirar cuidadosamente os telhados e espreitar as coisas esquisitas que estão a passar-se , as estranhas coincidências, as maquinações, os objectivos cruzados, as maravilhosas cadeias de acontecimentos que vão funcionando durante gerações e levam aos resultados mais outrés, a ficção tornar-se-ia, com os seus convencionalismos e conclusões previstas, muito cediça e sem interesse.

Yo creía que el alma me había sido dada para gozar de las bellezas del mundo, la luz de la luna sobre la anaranjada cresta de una nube, y la gota de rocío temblando encima de una rosa. Mas, cuando fui pequeño creí siempre que la vida reservaba para mí un acontecimiento sublime y hermoso. Pero a medida que examinaba la vida de los otros hombres, descubrí que vivían aburridos, como si habitaran en un país siempre lluvioso, donde los rayos de la lluvia les dejaran en el fondo de las pupilas tabiques de agua que les deformaban la visión de las cosas. Y comprendí que las almas se movían como los peces prisioneros en un acuario. Al otro lado de los verdinosos muros de vidrio estaba la hermosa vida cantante y altísima, donde todo sería distinto, fuerte y múltiple, y donde los seres nuevos de una creación más perfecta, con sus bellos cuerpos saltarían en una atmósfera elástica- Es inútil, tengo que escaparme de la tierra.

Porque posee usted la más maravillosa juventud, y la juventud es lo más precioso que se puede poseer. –No lo siento yo así, lord Henry. –No; no lo siente ahora. Pero algún día, cuando sea viejo y feo y esté lleno de arrugas, cuando los pensamientos le hayan marcado la frente con sus pliegues y la pasión le haya quemado los labios con sus odiosas brasas, lo sentirá, y lo sentirá terriblemente. Ahora, dondequiera que vaya, seduce a todo el mundo. ¿Será siempre así?… Posee usted un rostro extraordinariamente agraciado, señor Gray. No frunza el ceño. Es cierto. Y la belleza es una manifestación de genio; está incluso por encima del genio, puesto que no necesita explicación. Es uno de los grandes dones de la naturaleza, como la luz del sol, o la primavera, o el reflejo en aguas oscuras de esa concha de plata a la que llamamos luna. No admite discusión. Tiene un derecho divino de soberanía. Convierte en príncipes a quienes la poseen. ¿Se sonríe? ¡Ah! Cuando la haya perdido no sonreirá… La gente dice a veces que la belleza es sólo superficial. Tal vez. Pero, al menos, no es tan superficial como el pensamiento. Para mí la belleza es la maravilla de las maravillas. Tan sólo las personas superficiales no juzgan por las apariencias. El verdadero misterio del mundo es lo visible, no lo que no se ve… Sí, señor Gray, los dioses han sido buenos con usted. Pero lo que los dioses dan, también lo quitan, y muy pronto. Sólo dispone de unos pocos años en los que vivir de verdad, perfectamente y con plenitud. Cuando se le acabe la juventud desaparecerá la belleza, y entonces descubrirá de repente que ya no le quedan más triunfos, o habrá de contentarse con unos triunfos insignificantes que el recuerdo de su pasado esplendor hará más amargos que las derrotas. Cada mes que expira lo acerca un poco más a algo terrible. El tiempo tiene celos de usted, y lucha contra sus lirios y sus rosas. Se volverá cetrino, se le hundirán las mejillas y sus ojos perderán el brillo. Sufrirá horriblemente… ¡Ah! Disfrute plenamente de la juventud mientras la posee. No despilfarre el oro de sus días escuchando a gente aburrida, tratando de redimir a los fracasados sin esperanza, ni entregando su vida a los ignorantes, los anodinos y los vulgares. Ésos son los objetivos enfermizos, las falsas ideas de nuestra época. ¡Viva! ¡Viva la vida maravillosa que le pertenece! No deje que nada se pierda. Esté siempre a la busca de nuevas sensaciones. No tenga miedo de nada… Un nuevo hedonismo: eso es lo que nuestro siglo necesita. Usted puede ser su símbolo visible. Dada su personalidad, no hay nada que no pueda hacer. El mundo le pertenece durante una temporada… En el momento en que lo he visto he comprendido que no se daba usted cuenta en absoluto de lo que realmente es, de lo que realmente puede ser. Había en usted tantas cosas que me encantaban que he sentido la necesidad de hablarle un poco de usted. He pensado en la tragedia que sería malgastar lo que posee. Porque su juventud no durará mucho, demasiado poco, a decir verdad. Las flores sencillas del campo se marchitan, pero florecen de nuevo. Las flores del codeso serán tan amarillas el próximo junio como ahora. Dentro de un mes habrá estrellas moradas en las clemátides y, año tras año, la verde noche de sus hojas sostendrá sus flores moradas. Pero nosotros nunca recuperamos nuestra juventud. El pulso alegre que late en nosotros cuando tenemos veinte años se vuelve perezoso con el paso del tiempo. Nos fallan las extremidades, nuestros sentidos se deterioran. Nos convertimos en espantosas marionetas, obsesionados por el recuerdo de las pasiones que nos asustaron en demasía, y el de las exquisitas tentaciones a las que no tuvimos el valor de sucumbir. ¡Juventud! ¡Juventud! ¡No hay absolutamente nada en el mundo excepto la juventud!

Eu espero alguém que não desista de mim mesmo quando já não tem interesse. Espero alguém que não me torture com promessas de envelhecer comigo, mas sim que realmente envelheça comigo. Espero alguém que se orgulhe do que escrevo, que me faça ser mais amigo dos meus amigos e mais irmão do meu irmão. Espero alguém que não tenha medo do escândalo, mas tenha medo da indiferença. Espero alguém que ponha bilhetinhos dentro daqueles livros que vou ler até o fim. Espero alguém que se arrependa rápido de suas grosserias e me perdoe sem querer. Espero alguém que me avise que estou repetindo a roupa na semana. Espero alguém que nunca abandone a conversa quando não sei mais o que falar. Espero alguém que, nos jantares entre os amigos, dispute comigo para contar primeiro como nos conhecemos. Espero alguém que goste de dirigir para nos revezarmos em longas viagens. Espero alguém disposto a conferir se a porta está fechada e o fogão desligado, se meu rosto está aborrecido ou esperançoso. Espero alguém que prove que amar não é contrato, que o amor não termina com nossos erros. Espero alguém que não se irrite com a minha ansiedade. Espero alguém que possa criar toda uma linguagem cifrada para que ninguém nos recrimine. Espero alguém que arrume ingressos de teatro de repente, que me sequestre ao cinema, que cheire meu corpo suado depois de uma corrida como se ainda fosse perfume. Espero alguém que não largue as mãos dadas nem para coçar o rosto. Espero alguém que me olhe demoradamente quando estou distraído, que me telefone para narrar como foi seu dia. Espero alguém que procure um espaço acolchoado em meu peito. Espero alguém que minta que cozinha e só diga a verdade depois que comi. Espero alguém que leia uma notícia, veja que haverá um show de minha banda predileta, e corra para me adiantar por e-mail. Espero alguém que ame meus filhos como se estivesse reencontrando minha infância e adolescência fora de mim. Espero alguém que fique me chamando para dormir, que fique me chamando para despertar, que não precise me chamar para amar. Espero alguém com uma vocação pela metade, uma frustração antiga, um desejo de ser algo que não se cumpriu, uma melancolia discreta, para nunca ser prepotente. Espero alguém que tenha uma risada tão bonita que terei sempre vontade de ser engraçado. Espero alguém que comente sua dor com respeito e ouça minha dor com interesse. Espero alguém que prepare minha festa de aniversário em segredo e crie conspiração dos amigos para me ajudar. Espero alguém que pinte o muro onde passo, que não se perturbe com o que as pessoas pensam a nosso respeito. Espero alguém que vire cínico no desespero e doce na tristeza. Espero alguém que curta o domingo em casa, acordar tarde e andar de chinelos, e que me pergunte o tempo antes de olhar para as janelas. Espero alguém que me ensine a me amar porque a separação apenas vem me ensinando a me destruir. Espero alguém que tenha pressa de mim, eternidade de mim, que chegue logo, que apareça hoje, que largue o casaco no sofá e não seja educada a ponto de estendê-lo no cabide. Espero encontrar uma mulher que me torne novamente necessário.

Hoje é o último dia do ano. Em todo o mundo que este calendário rege andam as pessoas entretidas a debates consigo mesmas as boas ações que tencionam praticar no ano que entra, jurando que vão ser retas, justas e equânimes, que da sua emendada boca não voltará a sair uma palavra má, uma mentira, uma insidia, ainda que as merecesse o inimigo, claro que é das pessoas vulgar que estamos falando, as outras, as de exceção, as incomuns, regulam-se por razões suas próprias para serem e fazerem o contrário sempre que lhes apetece ou aproveite, essas são as que não se deixam iludir, chegam a rir-se de nós e das boas intenções que mostramos, mas, enfim, vamos aprendendo com a experiencia, logo nos primeiros dias de Janeiro teremos esquecido metade do que havíamos prometido, e, tendo esquecido tanto, não há realmente motivo para cumprir o resto, é como um castelo de cartas, se já lhe faltam as obras superiores, melhor é que caia tudo e se confundam os naipes. Por isso é duvidoso ter-se despedido Cristo da vida com as palavras da escritura, as de Mateus e Marcos, Deus meu, Deus meu, por que me desamparaste, ou as de Lucas, Pai, nas tuas mãos entrego o meu espirito, ou as de João, Tudo está cumprido, o que Cristo disse foi, palavra de honra, qualquer pessoa popular sabe que esta é a verdade, Adeus mundo, cada vez a pior. Mas os deuses de Ricardo Reis são outros, silenciosas entidades que nos olham indiferentes, para quem o mal e o bem são menos que palavras, por as não dizerem eles nunca, e como as diriam, se mesmo entre o bem e o mal não sabem distinguir, indo como nós vamos no rio das coisas, só ditamos. Esta lição nos foi dada para que não nos afadiguemos a jurar novas e melhores intenções para o ano que tem, por elas não nos julgarão os deuses, pelas obras, também não, só juízes humanos ousam julgar, os deuses nunca, porque se supõe saberem tudo, salvo se tudo isto é falso, se justamente não é sua ocupação única esquecerem em cada momento o que do cada momento lhes vão ensinando os atos dos homens, os bons como os maus, iguais derradeiramente para os deuses, porque inúteis lhes são. Não digamos Amanhã farei, porque o mais certo é estarmos cansados amanhã, digamos antes, Depois de amanhã, sempre teremos um dia de intervalo para mudar de opinião e projeto, porém ainda mais prudente seria dizer, Um dia decidirei quando será o dia de dizer depois de amanhã, e talvez nem seja preciso, se a morte definidora vier antes desobrigar-me do compromisso, liberdade que a nós próprios negamos.