Giacomo Leopardi Quotes

The surest way of concealing from others the boundaries of one's own knowledge is not to overstep them.

Real misanthropes are not found in solitude, but in the world; since it is experience of life, and not philosophy, which produces real hatred of mankind.

Children find everything in nothing, men find nothing in everything.

Freedom is the dream you dream While putting thought in chains again --

Death is not an evil, because it frees us from all evils, and while it takes away good things, it takes away also the desire for them. Old age is the supreme evil, because it deprives us of all pleasures, leaving us only the appetite for them, and it brings with it all sufferings. Nevertheless, we fear death, and we desire old age.

Amami, per Dio. Ho bisogno d'amore, amore, amore, fuoco, entusiasmo, vita

Rest forever, tired heart. The final illusion has perished. The one we believed eternal is gone. Just like that. Out the door desire follows hope. Rest forever. Enough throbbing. Nothing deserves your attention nor is the earth worth a sigh. Bitterness and boredom is life, nothing else ever, and the world is mud. Quiet now. Despair for the last time. Fate gives us dying as a gift. Now turn from the hills, the ugly hidden power which rules for the common evil and the infinite vanity of it all.

To that creature, being born, Its birthday is a day to mourn

Seated here in contemplations lost, my thought discovers vaster space beyond, supernal silence and unfathomed peace

Boredom is the most sublime of all human emotions because it expresses the fact that the human spirit, in a certain sense, is greater than the entire universe. Boredom is an expression of a profound despair at not finding anything that can satisfy the soul's boundless needs

He who travels much has this advantage over others – that the things he remembers soon become remote, so that in a short time they acquire the vague and poetical quality which is only given to other things by time. He who has not traveled at all has this disadvantage – that all his memories are of things present somewhere, since the places with which all his memories are concerned are present.

Everything since Homer has improved, except poetry.

Being asked for what purpose he thought men were bom, he laughingly replied “ To realise how much better it were not to be born.

E' curioso a vedere che quasi tutti gli uomini che valgono molto hanno le maniere semplici; e che quasi sempre le maniere semplici sono prese per indizio di poco valore.

عند الناس اهتمام أكبر، أو بالأحرى رغبة أكبر، في أن يكونوا مقدرين من أن يكونوا محبوبين

This solitary hill has always been dear to me And this hedge, which prevents me from seeing most of The endless horizon. But when I sit and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughts Endless spaces beyond the hedge, An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet, To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed. And when I hear the wind rustling through the trees I compare its voice to the infinite silence. And eternity occurs to me, and all the ages past, And the present time, and its sound. Amidst this immensity my thought drowns: And to founder in this sea is sweet to me.

L'uomo è infelice perchè è incontentabile.

Times of trouble demand not tears but counsel.]

Io non ho bisogno di stima, né di gloria, né di altre cose simili; ma ho bisogno d'amore.

السبيل الأضمن لتخفي عن الآخرين حدود علمك، هو ألا تتخطاها

Men are wretched by necessity, and determined to believe themselves wretched by accident.

My thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet to me in this sea.

All is mystery except our pain.

In the old days, books had awful covers and marvelous content; nowadays, the opposite happens.

Sono un mirabile incrocio tra Tarzan e Giacomo Leopardi. In me convivono tutte le doti intellettuali di Tarzan e tutta la prestanza fisica di Giacomo Leopardi.

....Then from anguish, wishing to cry out and trembling, eyes full of doleful tears, I tore myself from sleep. But in my mind remained his vivid image. And in the uncertain ray of sunshine, I believed I saw him still.

For if life, once empty of attachments and sweet illusions, is a starless winter night, still it’s enough for me of mortal fate and comfort and revenge that I can lie here lazy, lifeless on the grass, watching the sea and earth and sky, and smile.

Reason is the enemy of all greatness: reason is the enemy of nature: nature is great, reason is small. I mean that it will be more or less difficult for a man to be great the more he is governed by reason, that few can be great (and in art and poetry perhaps no one) unless they are governed by illusions.

غالباً، عندما أحدّق بكَ وأنت صامتٌ هكذا فوق الصحراء المنبسطة التى تجاور السماء فى دورانها البعيد أو عندما أراك مع قطيعى الصغير تلحقُ بى مسافراً سويّةً وعندما أرى النجوم تتوهج فى السماء أقول لذاتى مفكراً: لم كلّ هذه المشاعل؟ وماذا يفعل الهواء اللامتناهى، وذاك اللامتناهى العميق الهادىء؟ وتلك الوَحدة العظيمة، ماذا تعنى؟ وأنا ماذا أكون؟

Man is almost always as wicked as his needs require.

مامن رفقة تبقى ممتعة لنا على الأمد الطويل، إن لم تكن مع شخص نحب منه تقديره لنا.

من لديه شجاعة الضحك هو ملك على العالم، من لا، هي يعد للموت.

Sempre caro mi fu quest'ermo colle, e questa siepe, che da tanta parte dell'ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude. Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani silenzi, e profondissima quiete io nel pensier mi fingo, ove per poco il cor non si spaura. E come il vento odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello infinito silenzio a questa voce vo comparando: e mi sovvien l'eterno, e le morte stagioni, e la presente e viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa immensità s'annega il pensier mio: e il naufragar m'è dolce in questo mare.

Io non ho mai sentito tanto di vivere quanto amando, benché tutto il resto del mondo fosse per me come morto. L’amore è la vita e il principio vivificante della natura, come l’odio il principe distruggente e mortale. Le cose son fatte per amarsi scambievolmente, e la vita nasce da questo.

So the peak of human knowledge or philosophy is to recognize its own uselessness—if man were still the same as he was in the beginning—and to undo the damage that it has done, and return man to the condition in which he would always have been if it had never existed.

Fate gave birth at one and the same time to two siblings, Love and Death.

Everything that is ended, everything that is last, naturally awakens in man a feeling of sorrow and melancholy. At the same time, it excites a pleasurable feeling, pleasurable in that very sorrow, and that is because of the infiniteness of the idea that is contained in the words ended, last, etc. ( Thus by their nature such words are, and always will be, poetic, however ordinary and common they are, in whatever language and style.)

No one thing shows the greatness and power of the human intellect or the loftiness and nobility of man more than his ability to know and to understand fully and feel strongly his own smallness. When, in considering the multiplicity of worlds, he feels himself to be an infinitesimal part of a globe which itself is a negligible part of one of the infinite number of systems that go to make up the world, and in considering this is astonished by his own smallness, and in feeling it deeply and regarding it intently, virtually blends into nothing, and it is as if he loses himself in the immensity of things, and finds himself as though lost in the incomprehensible vastness of existence, with this single act of thought he gives the greatest possible proof of the nobility and immense capability of his own mind, which, enclosed in such a small and negligible being, has nonetheless managed to know and understand things so superior to his own nature, and to embrace and contain this same intensity of existence and things in his thought.

As soon as the child is born, the mother who has just brought him into the world must console him, quiet his crying, and lighten the burden of the existence she has given him. And one of the principal duties of good parents in the childhood and early youth of their children is to comfort them, to encourage them to live,1 because sorrows and ills and passions are at that age much heavier than they are to those who through long experience, or simply because they have lived longer, are used to suffering. And in truth it is only fitting that the good father and the good mother, in trying to console their children, correct as best they can, and ease, the damage they have done by procreating them. Good God! Why then is man born? And why does he procreate? To console those he has given birth to for having been born?

People are ashamed, not of the injustices they do, but of those they receive. And so, in order that the unjust person should be ashamed, there is no other way than to give as good as one gets.

He who has little communication with people is seldom a misanthrope. True misanthropes are not found in solitude, but in the world. This is because it is practical experience of life, and certainly not philosophy, that makes people hate their fellows.

Creatures naturally hate their fellow-creatures, and whenever their own interest requires it, harm them. We cannot therefore avoid hatred and injuries from men, while to a great extent we can avoid their scorn. This is why there is usually little point in the respect which young people and those new to the world pay to those they come across, not through mean-mindedness or any other form of self-interest, but through a benevolent desire not to provoke enmity and to win hearts. They do not fulfill this desire, and in some ways they harm their own repute, because the person who is so respected comes to have a greater idea of himself, and he who pays the respect a lesser idea of himself. He who does not look to men for usefulness or fame, should not look for love either, since he will not obtain it. If he wants my opinion, he should preserve his own dignity completely, giving to everyone no more than his due. Thus he will be somewhat more hated and persecuted than otherwise, but not often despised.

The Infinite It was always dear to me, this solitary hill, and this hedgerow here, that closes out my view, from so much of the ultimate horizon. But sitting here, and watching here, in thought, I create interminable spaces, greater than human silences, and deepest quiet, where the heart barely fails to terrify. When I hear the wind, blowing among these leaves, I go on to compare that infinite silence with this voice, and I remember the eternal and the dead seasons, and the living present, and its sound, so that in this immensity my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet to me in this sea.

Being asked for what purpose he thought men were bom, he laughingly replied: " To realise how much better it were not to be born.

But he’s a fool who doesn’t see how swift the wings of youth are, and how near the cradle lies to the grave.

If we happen to be praised on account of qualities which we formerly despised, our estimation of those qualities immediately rises.

In all our actions, including those that appear selfless, we are in search of some kind of pleasure, even if it is only the pleasure of self-esteem. But while our desire for pleasure is infinite, our mental and physical organs are capable only of limited and temporary pleasures; and this mismatch between desire and capacity dooms us to perpetual dissatisfaction. There is no pleasure big or total enough to quench, even momentarily, our thirst for pleasure. But since the absence of pleasure is pain, it follows that we are always in pain, even when we might believe otherwise. And if life is nothing but an unbroken experience of pain, it would be better for every human being never to have been born.

Man for Leopardi is first and foremost an animal, and his history is merely the last section of the much more ancient history of all living species, which in their turn are an integral part of the entire ecological system.

L'irresoluzione è peggio della disperazione.

The certain, lonely knowledge [120] that everything is vain but grief.

Man is born by labor, [40] and birth itself means risking death.

Non solamente bisogna che il poeta imiti e dipinga a perfezione la natura, ma anche che la imiti e dipinga con naturalezza, anzi non imita la natura chi non la imita con naturalezza.

Che pensieri soavi, che speranze, che cori, o Silvia mia! Quale allor ci apparia la vita umana e il fato! Quando sovviemmi di cotanta speme, un affetto mi preme acerbo e sconsolato, e tornami a doler di mia sventura. O natura, o natura, perché non rendi poi quel che prometti allor? perché di tanto inganni i figli tuoi?

So, ignorant of man and of the age that he calls ancient, and of the descendants following their ancestors, nature stays evergreen; indeed she travels such a long road she might as well be standing still. Meanwhile kingdoms fall, languages and peoples die; she doesn’t see. Yet man takes it upon himself to praise eternity.

E tu, cui già dal cominciar degli anni sempre onorata invoco, bella Morte, pietosa tu sola al mondo dei terreni affanni[…] chiudi alla luce omai questi occhi tristi […] nel mio sangue innocente non ricolmar di lode, non benedir, com’usa per antica viltà l’umana gente

but clearly the hypothesis, put forth in another note, of a future split into “two kinds of poetry and literature, one for the knowledgeable, the other for ordinary people” (Z 4388) seems now, two centuries later, to be prophetic.

If you start reading some book, even a very easy one, or listen to the clearest lecture in the world, with excessive attention, and an exaggerated concentration of mind, not only does the easy become difficult for you, not are you amazed and surprised and grieved at an unexpected difficulty, not do you strive harder to understand than you would have with less attention, not only do you understand less, but, if your attention and the fear of not understanding or of not letting something escape is really extreme, you will understand absolutely nothing, as if you hadn't read, and hadn't listened, and as if your were completely intent on another matter. For from to much comes nothing, and to much attention to a thing is the equivalent, in effect, of not paying attention, and of having another, completely different occupation, that is, attention itself. Nor will you be to gain your purpose unless you relax, and slow down your mind, placing it in a natural state, and soothe and put aside your concern to understand, which only in that case will be useful.

sicché gli animi freddi e stanchi per l'esperienza delle cose, erano confortati vedendo il calore e le speranze dell'età verde.

Non t'accorgi, Diavolo, che tu sei bella come un Angelo?

La pazienza è la più eroica delle virtù giusto perché non ha nessuna apparenza d'eroico.

But you were born to gentle dreams,

So my mind sinks in this immensity: And foundering is sweet in such a sea".

La perfetta uguaglianza è la base necessaria della libertà. Vale a dire, è necessario che fra quelli fra' quali il potere è diviso, non vi sia squilibrio di potere; e nessuno ne abbia più né meno di un altro. Perché in questo e non in altro è riposta l'idea, l'essenza e il fondamento della libertà.

La verità, che una cosa sia buona, che un'altra sia cattiva, vale a dire il bene e il male, si credono naturalmente assoluti, e non sono altro che relativi. Quest'è una fonte immensa di errori e volgari e filosofici.

Four very strange and truly poetic human beings in this century have attained mastery in prose, for which this century was not made otherwise—for lack of poetry, as I have suggested. Not including Goethe, who may fairly be claimed by the century that produced him, I regard only Giacomo Leopardi, Prosper Mérimée, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Walter Savage Landor, the author of Imaginary Conversations, as worthy of being called masters of prose.35 93

But what came easily to Homer (and to Xenophon, in prose) was no longer easily available to the moderns, who introduced the presence of the representing subject into representation itself (Byron being a prime example in the Zibaldone).

La tartaruga lunghissima nelle sue operazioni ha lunghissima vita. Così tutto è proporzionato nella natura, e la pigrizia della tartaruga di cui si potrebbe accusar la natura non è veramente pigrizia assoluta cioè considerata nella tartaruga ma rispettiva.

Seda süüd ei andesta aga inimliik, kes ei vihka kunagi niivõrd seda, kes kurja teeb, ega ka tegu ennast, kuivõrd seda, kes selle välja ütleb. Nii tuleb sageli ette, et sellal kui see, kes kurja korda saadab, pälvib rikkuse, au ja võimu, lohistatakse see, kes kuritegu nimetab, tapalavale, sest inimesed on varmalt valmis taluma ükskõik mida, mis neile teiste või taeva poolt osaks saab, kui nad sellest vaid sõnades pääsevad.

La patria moderna dev'essere abbastanza grande, ma non tanto che la comunione d’interessi non vi si possa trovare, come chi ci volesse dare per patria l’Europa. La propria nazione con i suoi confini segnati dalla natura, è la società che ci conviene. E conchiudo che senza amor nazionale non si dà virtù grande.

Libertà vai sognando, e servo a un tempo Vuoi di novo il pensiero, Sol per cui risorgemmo Della barbarie in parte, e per cui solo Si cresce in civiltà, che sola in meglio Guida i pubblici fati. Così ti spiacque il vero Dell'aspra sorte e del depresso loco Che natura ci diè. Per questo il tergo Vigliaccamente rivolgesti al lume Che il fe palese: e, fuggitivo, appelli Vil chi lui segue, e solo Magnanimo colui Che se schernendo o gli altri, astuto o folle, Fin sopra gli astri il mortal grado estolle.

Il più certo modo di celare agli altri i confini del proprio sapere, è di non trapassarli.

Amaro e noia la vita, altro mai nulla; e fango è il mondo.

Modernity, characterized by the diffusion of a written culture, has lost the memory of the oral origins of poetry; this insight is reaffirmed by Leopardi in 1831

Nominando i nostri antenati, sogliamo dire, i buoni antichi, i nostri buoni antichi. Tutto il mondo ha opinione che gli antichi fossero migliori di noi, tanto i vecchi che perciò gli lodano, quanto i giovani che perciò li disprezzano. Il certo è che il mondo in questo non s'inganna: il certo è che, senza però pensarvi, egli riconosce e confessa tutto giorno il suo deterioramento. E ciò non solamente con questa frase, ma in cento altri modi; e tuttavia neppur gli viene in pensiero di tornare indietro, anzi non crede onorevole se non l'andare sempre più avanti, e per una delle solite contraddizioni, si persuade e tiene per indubitato, che avanzando migliorerà, e non potrà migliorare se non avanzando; e stimerebbe di esser perduto retrocedendo.

Le altre arti imitano ed esprimono la natura da cui si trae il sentimento, ma la musica non imita e non esprime che lo stesso sentimento in persona, ch’ella trae da se stessa e non dalla natura, e così l’uditore.

As soon as the child is born, the mother who has just brought him into the world must console him, quiet his crying, and lighten the burden of the existence she has given him. And in truth it is only fitting that the good father and the good mother, in trying to console their children, correct as best they can, and ease, the damage they have done by procreating them. Good God! Why then is man born? And why does he procreate? To console those he has given birth to for having been born?

Il più solido piacere di questa vita è il piacere vano delle illusioni. Io considero le illusioni come cosa in certo modo reale state ch’elle sono ingredienti essenziali del sistema della natura umana, e date dalla natura a tutti quanti gli uomini, in maniera che non è lecito spregiarle come sogni di un solo, ma propri veramente dell’uomo e voluti dalla natura, e senza cui la vita nostra sarebbe la più misera e barbara cosa. Onde sono necessari ed entrano sostanzialmente nel composto ed ordine delle cose.

A rapidez e a concisão do estilo agradam porque apresentam à alma uma turba de idéias simultâneas, ou cuja sucessão é tão rápida que parecem simultâneas, e fazem a alma ondular numa tal abundância de pensamento, imagens ou sensações espirituais, que ela ou não consegue abraçá-las todas de uma vez nem inteiramente a cada uma, ou não tem tempo de permanecer ociosa e desprovida de sensações. A força do estilo poético, que em grande parte se identifica com a rapidez, não nos deleita senão por esses efeitos, e não consiste senão disso. A excitação das idéias simultâneas pode ser provocada tanto por uma idéia isolada, no sentido próprio ou metafórico, quando por sua colocação na frase, ou pela sua elaboração, bem como pela simples supressão de outras palavras ou frases etc.

Boredom is the most sublime of all human emotions. Because it expresses the fact that the human spirit in a certain sense. Is greater than the entire universe. Boredom, is an expression of a profound despair at not finding anything that can satisfy the souls boundless needs.

Gran magistero della natura fu quello d'interrompere, per modo di dire, la vita col sonno. Questa interruzione è quasi una rinnovazione, e il risvegliarsi come un rinascimento. Infatti anche la giornata ha la sua gioventù. Oltre alla gran varietà che nasce da questi continui interrompimenti, che fanno di una vita sola come tante vite. E lo staccare una giornata dall'altra è un sommo rimedio contro la monotonia dell'esistenza. Né questa si poteva diversificare e variare maggiormente, che componendola in gran parte quasi del suo contrario, cioè di una specie di morte.

It is a property of works of genius that, even when they represent vividly the nothingness of things, even when they clearly show and make you feel the inevitable unhappiness of life, even when they express the most terrible despair, nevertheless to a great soul that finds itself in a state of extreme dejection, disenchantment, nothingness, boredom and discouragement about life, or in the most bitter and deathly misfortune, such works always bring consolation, and rekindle enthusiasm, and, though they treat and represent nothing but death, they restore, albeit momentarily, the life that it had lost.

Il piacere umano (così probabilmente quello di ogni essere vivente, in quell'ordine di cose che noi conosciamo) si può dire ch'è sempre futuro, non è se non futuro, consiste solamente nel futuro. L'atto proprio del piacere non si dà. Io spero un piacere; e questa speranza in moltissimi casi si chiama piacere.

La semplicità dev'esser tale che lo scrittore, o chiunque l'adopra in qualsivoglia caso, non si accorga, o mostri di non accorgersi di esser semplice, e molto meno di esser pregevole per questo capo. Egli dev'esser come inconsapevole non solo di tutte le altre bellezze dello scrivere, ma della stessa semplicità.

His discussion of “the humanity of the ancients” is illuminating (Z 441), especially when he speaks with admiration and nostalgia about the right of exile according to which everyone is guaranteed sanctuary at the hearth of every temple or private home; and the respect for wanderers, enemies, the elderly, the dead—that is, for the most fragile casualties of the human condition.

discussions of the effects of globalization. On the psychological and aesthetic level, Leopardi immediately underscores a crucial point: the ancients do not recognize the notion of the morbid satisfaction in suffering that was introduced by Christianity (Z 2456–57), that is, the withdrawal of the self into the bottomless pit of conscience: that typically modern “vague des passions.

On the roads, through winter nights, without a home, without habits, without bread, a voice strangled my frozen heart: “Weakness or strength: Those are your options, so strength it is. You know neither where you’re going, nor why you’re going, entering anywhere, answering anyone. You’re no more likely to be killed than a corpse.” By morning, I had developed such a lost, dead expression that those I met may not have even seen me.

Illusions cannot be condemned, despised, and persecuted save by those who are deluded and by those who believe that this world is or truly can be something, and something beautiful. An utterly crucial illusion, and so the half-philosopher combats illusions precisely because he is deluded; the true philosopher loves them and proclaims them because he is not deluded, and combating illusions in general is the surest sign of very imperfect and insufficient wisdom, and notable illusion.

These “thoughts” (the full title is precisely Zibaldone of Thoughts: see Z 4295) are at one and the same time the pulsations that the interior life transmits to the movement of the pen and the traces that are left behind on the paper. Gradually, as the ink dries, these are transformed into archaeological residues or fossils of a provisional state of the soul (self) that the future self will grasp as other than the self, at times not even recognizing the self in them (Z 1766–67, 2488).

Philosophy, independent of religion, is in essence nothing other than a rationalisation of wickedness, and I say that speaking not as a Christian, or as so many apologists for religion have done, but morally. Since everything beautiful and good in the world is pure illusion, virtue, justice, magnanimity, etc., are pure fantasies or products of the imagination, the science that seeks to reveal all those truths, that nature has shrouded in such profound mystery, without putting revealed truths in their place, must of necessity conclude that the only choice in this world is to be completely egoistic and always do whatever profits or pleases us most.

Man is brought to this pass because, just as the goal of life is happiness, and happiness cannot be obtained here below, yet on the other hand a thing cannot help tending toward its necessary goal, and would fail if it lacked hope entirely, so hope, no longer finding any home in this life, finally finds a place beyond it, through the illusion of posterity. Indeed, this is an illusion that is more common in great men, because, while others, who know less about things or reason less and are less logical, and have countless partial disillusionments and disappointments, still continue to hope within the bounds of their life, great men are, on the contrary, firmly persuaded, and very quickly, that is, after only a few experiences, and despair of any actual and real pleasure in this life; and yet [829] needing a goal, and hence the hope of attaining it, and spurred also by their souls to noble deeds, they place their goal, and hope, beyond existence, and feed on this last illusion. Although

XVIII TO HIS LADY                Beloved beauty who inspires             love from afar, your face concealed             except when your celestial image             stirs my heart in sleep, or in the fields         5  where light and nature’s laughter             shine more lovely;             was it maybe you who blessed             the innocent age called golden,             and do you now, blithe spirit,       10  soar among men? Or does the miser, fate,             who hides you from us save you for the future?                No hope of seeing you alive             remains for me now,             except when, naked and alone,       15  my soul will go down a new street             to an unfamiliar home. Already, at the dawning             of my dark, uncertain day,             I imagined you a fellow traveler             on this parched ground. But no thing on earth       20  compares with you; and if someone             who had a face like yours resembled you             in word and deed, still she would be less lovely.                In spite of all the suffering             that fate assigned to human life,       25  if there was anyone on earth             who truly loved you as my thought portrays you,             this life for him would be a joy.             And I see clearly how your love             would still inspire me to seek praise and virtue,       30  the way I used to in my early years.             Though heaven gave no comfort for our suffering,             still mortal life with you would be             like what in heaven becomes divinity.                In the valleys, where you hear       35  the weary farmer singing             and I sit and mourn             my youth’s illusions leaving me;             and on the hills where I turn back             and lament my lost desires,       40  my life’s lost hope, I think of you             and start to shake. In this sad age             and sickly atmosphere, I try             to keep your noble look in mind;             without the real thing, I enjoy the image.       45     Whether you are the one and only             eternal idea that eternal wisdom             disdains to see arrayed in sensible form,             to know the pains of mournful life             in transitory dress;       50  or if in the supernal spheres another earth             from among unnumbered worlds receives you,             and a near star lovelier than the Sun             warms you and you breathe benigner ether,             from here, where years are both ill-starred and brief,       55  accept this hymn from your unnoticed lover.

XVIII ALLA SUA DONNA                Cara beltà che amore             Lunge m’inspiri o nascondendo il viso,             Fuor se nel sonno il core             Ombra diva mi scuoti,         5  O ne’ campi ove splenda             Più vago il giorno e di natura il riso;             Forse tu l’innocente             Secol beasti che dall’oro ha nome,             Or leve intra la gente       10  Anima voli? o te la sorte avara             Ch’a noi t’asconde, agli avvenir prepara?                Viva mirarti omai             Nulla spene m’avanza;             S’allor non fosse, allor che ignudo e solo       15  Per novo calle a peregrina stanza             Verrà lo spirto mio. Già sul novello             Aprir di mia giornata incerta e bruna,             Te viatrice in questo arido suolo             Io mi pensai. Ma non è cosa in terra       20  Che ti somigli; e s’anco pari alcuna             Ti fosse al volto, agli atti, alla favella,             Saria, così conforme, assai men bella.                Fra cotanto dolore             Quanto all’umana età propose il fato,       25  Se vera e quale il mio pensier ti pinge,             Alcun t’amasse in terra, a lui pur fora             Questo viver beato:             E ben chiaro vegg’io siccome ancora             Seguir loda e virtù qual ne’ prim’anni       30  L’amor tuo mi farebbe. Or non aggiunse             Il ciel nullo conforto ai nostri affanni;             E teco la mortal vita saria             Simile a quella che nel cielo india.                Per le valli, ove suona       35  Del faticoso agricoltore il canto,             Ed io seggo e mi lagno             Del giovanile error che m’abbandona;             E per li poggi, ov’io rimembro e piagno             I perduti desiri, e la perduta       40  Speme de’ giorni miei; di te pensando,             A palpitar mi sveglio. E potess’io,             Nel secol tetro e in questo aer nefando,             L’alta specie serbar; che dell’imago,             Poi che del ver m’è tolto, assai m’appago.       45     Se dell’eterne idee             L’una sei tu, cui di sensibil forma             Sdegni l’eterno senno esser vestita,             E fra caduche spoglie             Provar gli affanni di funerea vita;       50  O s’altra terra ne’ superni giri             Fra’ mondi innumerabili t’accoglie,             E più vaga del Sol prossima stella             T’irraggia, e più benigno etere spiri;             Di qua dove son gli anni infausti e brevi,       55  Questo d’ignoto amante inno ricevi.

Alle sembianze il Padre, alle amene sembianze eterno regno diè alle genti; e per virili imprese, per dotta lira o canto, virtù non luce in disadorno ammanto.

L'immaginazione è la prima fonte della felicità umana.

Dico che il mondo è una lega di birbanti contro gli uomini dabbene, di vili contro i generosi.

[...] la scrittura è il luogo in cui si supera il limite e si combatte la propria incompiutezza, riparando ogni possibile inadempienza e raccontando come sarebbe dovuta o potuta andare.

What poets must seem to display, besides the objects imitated, is a beautiful negligence.

he is one of those good teachers who “are capable of retracing in detail, and holding accurately in their minds the origins, progress, mode of development, in short, the history of their own notions and thoughts, their knowledge and their intellect” (Z 1376).

In base all’esperienza di questi anni di insegnamento, Giacomo, credo non sia un caso che i ragazzi si sentano messi in pericolo proprio dalla poesia. Questo accade perché l’unica “teoria del tutto” che l’uomo possiede è proprio la poesia. Non la poesia dei componimenti poetici, ma la poesia, cioè l’intuizione della “vita come tutto”, il sentimento della fragilità e originalità dell’esistenza, che chiede di starle di fronte con cura e coraggio, anche se a prendere la parola sono il dolore, la sconfitta, la solitudine. Non rinunciare mai alla poesia, anche quando sembrava che la vita non mantenesse le sue promesse, è stato il tuo vero atto eroico, e l’atto d’amore più grande che tu abbia compiuto.

Il mio sistema introduce non solo uno scetticismo ragionato e dimostrato, ma tale che, secondo il mio sistema, la ragione umana, per qualsivoglia progresso possibile, non potrà mai spogliarsi di questo scetticismo; anzi esso contiene il vero, e si dimostra che la nostra ragione non può assolutamente trovare il vero se non dubitando; ch'ella si allontana dal vero ogni volta che giudica con certezza; e che non solo il dubbio giova a scoprire il vero (secondo il principio di Cartesio ec. v. Dutens, par.1. c.2. §.10.), ma il vero consiste essenzialmente nel dubbio, e chi dubita sa, e sa il più che si possa sapere. (8 Sett. 1821)