The truth is I’ve never fooled anyone. I’ve let men sometimes fool themselves. Men sometimes didn’t bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn’t argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn’t. When they found this out, they would blame me for disillusioning them — and fooling them.
Marilyn Monroe (1926-1962) American actress, sex symbol My Story, ch. 24 “Another Love Affair Ends” (1974) [with Ben Hecht]
(Source)
There is a legend about a bird that sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. Dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of the great pain. … Or so says the legend.
Colleen McCullough (1937-2015) Australian author The Thorn Birds, Epigraph (1977)
(Source)
By those, that deepest feel, are ill exprest
The indistinctness of the suffering breast;
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one,
Which seeks from all the refuge found in none;
No words suffice the secret soul to show.
And Truth denies all eloquence to Woe.
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) English poet The Corsair, Canto 3, st. 22, l. 1807ff (1814)
(Source)
What had men thought? What had men believed? How did they come by those thoughts and beliefs? How had men learned to govern themselves? Were the processes the same everywhere?
Did man build cities because of an inner drive, like that of a beaver to build dams? How much of what we do is free will, and how much is programmed in our genes? Why is each people so narrow that it believes that it, and it alone, has all the answers? In religion, is there but one road to salvation? Or are there many, all equally good, all going in the same general direction?
I have read my books by many lights, hoarding their beauty, their wit or wisdom against the dark days when I would have no book, nor a place to read.
I have known hunger of the belly kind many times over, but I have known a worse hunger: the need to know and to learn.
Louis L'Amour (1908-1988) American writer Education of a Wandering Man: A Memoir, ch. 11 (1989)
(Source)
Prejudice in favour of one’s own country, combined with national pride, makes us forget that reason is found in every land, and sound thoughts wherever there are men. We should not like to be thus treated by those whom we call barbarians; and if we ourselves display a certain barbarism, this consists in being panic-stricken at seeing men of another nation reason as we do ourselves.
[La prévention du pays, jointe à l’orgueil de la nation, nous fait oublier que la raison est de tous les climats, et que l’on pense juste partout où il y a des hommes. Nous n’aimerions pas à être traités ainsi de ceux que nous appelons barbares; et s’il y a en nous quelque barbarie, elle consiste à être épouvantés de voir d’autres peuples raisonner comme nous.]
Jean de La Bruyère (1645-1696) French essayist, moralist The Characters [Les Caractères], ch. 12 “Of Opinions [Des Jugements],” § 22 (12.22) (1688) [tr. Stewart (1970)]
(Source)
Our prepossession in favour of our Country, join'd to the pride of our Nation, makes us forget that Reason belongs to all Climates, and just Thoughts to all places where there are Men. We should not like to be so treated by those we call Barbarians; if amongst us there is any barbarity, it is in being amaz'd at the hearing other People reason like our selves.
[Curll ed. (1713)]
Our Prepossession in the Favour of our Country, joined to a national Pride, makes us forget that Reason is the Growth of all Climates, and that a Justness of Sentiment is not limited to a Part of Europe: It would enrage us to be so treated by those whom we are pleased to call Barbarians; if amongst us there is any Barbarism, 'tis in being amazed at hearing other People reason like ourselves.
[Browne ed. (1752)]
Our prepossession in favour of our native country and our national pride makes us forget that common sense is found in all climates, and correctness of thought wherever there are men. We should not like to be so treated by those we call barbarians; and if some barbarity still exists amongst us, it is in being amazed on hearing natives of other countries reason like ourselves.
[tr. Van Laun (1885)]
DRUMMOND: As long as the prerequisite for that shining paradise is ignorance, bigotry and hate, I say to hell with it.
Nedrick Young (1914-1968) American screenwriter and actor [pseud. Nathan E. Douglas] Inherit the Wind, film (1960) [with Harold Jacob Smith]
(Source)
The original 1951 play was written by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee, but does not include this line, delivered in the film by Spencer Tracy. Young and Smith share the screenwriting credits.
Parents are often so busy with the physical rearing of children that they miss the glory of parenthood, just as the grandeur of trees is lost when raking leaves.
Marcelene Cox (1900-1998) American writer, columnist, aphorist
“Ask Any Woman” column, Ladies’ Home Journal (1945-05)
(Source)
Miss Manners doubts that there is anything in the world like an elegantly dressed Bostonian lurching across the room and diving face first into a bowl of guacamole dip while simultaneously disengaging her bodice from her bosom. Therefore, Miss Manners has a wee bit of trouble preparing a general rule for dealing with this eventuality.
Judith Martin (b. 1938) American author, journalist [a.k.a. Miss Manners] Miss Manners’ Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, Part 2 “Intermediate Civilization,” “Procedure” (1983)
(Source)
Gustave Dore – Inferno 4.42 – The virtuous pagans (1890)
Down there, to judge only by what I heard, there were no wails but just the sounds of sighs rising and trembling through the timeless air,
The sounds of sighs of untormented grief burdening these groups, diverse and teeming, made of men and women and of infants.
Then the good master said, “You do not ask what sort of souls are these you see around you. Now you should know before we go on farther,
they have not sinned. But their great worth alone was not enough, for they did not know Baptism which is the gateway to the faith you follow,
and if they came before the birth of Christ They did not worship God the way one should; I myself am a member of this group.
For this defect, and for no other guilt, we here are lost. In this alone we suffer: cut off from hope, we live on in desire.”
[Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare, non avea pianto mai che di sospiri che l’aura etterna facevan tremare;
ciò avvenia di duol sanza martìri, ch’avean le turbe, ch’eran molte e grandi, d’infanti e di femmine e di viri.
Lo buon maestro a me: “Tu non dimandi che spiriti son questi che tu vedi? Or vo’ che sappi, innanzi che più andi,
ch’ei non peccaro; e s’elli hanno mercedi, non basta, perché non ebber battesmo, ch’è porta de la fede che tu credi;
e s’e’ furon dinanzi al cristianesmo, non adorar debitamente a Dio: e di questi cotai son io medesmo.
Per tai difetti, non per altro rio, semo perduti, e sol di tanto offesi che sanza speme vivemo in disio”.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 4, l. 25ff (4.25-42) (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
In the First Circle of Hell, Dante encounters the "virtuous pagans," without sin but who cannot go to heaven because they were not baptized (such as children), or because they were born before Christ and therefore could not be saved by faith. They are not physically punished, but languish in an otherwise-pleasant Limbo, longing to be united with God. (Dante did not invent Limbo, but popularized it.)
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Loud Lamentations were not heard from thence,
But heavy Sighs which trembled through the air:
From th' anguish these of Mind, not Body, came
Of many Infants, Women, and of Men.
You do not ask me, my kind Master said,
What are these Spirits in this place you see;
This you should know before we farther pass.
These have not sinn'd; and 'though they had reward
Deserved for their meritorious acts,
'Twould not avail, since they were ne'er baptiz'd;
For this in your Belief's the Gate of Faith.
They who have lived before Christ appear'd
Have not with proper Prayers ador'd their God.
And I myself, alas! am one of those.
For these defects, and not for any crime,
We're lost; and, without other punishment,
We live desiring, yet depriv'd of hope.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 35ff]
Now thro' the void and viewless shadows drear,
Short sighs, thick-coming, led the list'ning ear, Trembling in murmurs low along the gale:
No pang is here, no tort'ring hour is known,
Their irrecoverable loss alone Matrons, and fires, and tender babes bewail.
"And can the mournful train that here abide
Unnotic'd pass thee by?" the Poet cry'd, "These were of the race renown'd of ancient time:
Unknown a Saviour, unador'd a God,
Their blind presumptuous course in reason's road They still pursu'd, unconscious of a crime.
No bleeding ransom of their sins they knew
Nor from the fount regeneration drew The sacred symbol of eternal joy!
In ceaseless languors now forlorn they dwell,
Not heirs of Heav'n, nor denizens of Hell, And of their sad society am I!"
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 5-7]
Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard Except of sighs, that made th’ eternal air Tremble, not caus’d by tortures, but from grief
Felt by those multitudes, many and vast, Of men, women, and infants. Then to me The gentle guide: “Inquir’st thou not what spirits
Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin Were blameless; and if aught they merited,
It profits not, since baptism was not theirs, The portal to thy faith. If they before The Gospel liv’d, they serv’d not God aright;
And among such am I. For these defects, And for no other evil, we are lost; Only so far afflicted, that we live
Desiring without hope.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Here never aught of louder plaint or moan Disturbed the listener's hearing; but the air Trembled eternally with sighs alone.
The cause, a grief where torment hath no share, Endured of crowded hostings not a few, Men, women, infants, all assembled there.
And thus the good preceptor -- "Canst thou view So vast a throng, nor ask of whom the spirits? I will thou learn, ere we our path pursue.
These were not sinners; yet, whatever their merits. Suffice not them, wanting baptismal rite. That each partaker of thy faith inherits.
And if they rose before the Christian light. Duly they honoured not their Maker's name; But what these are, am I: our fates unite.
For such default, and not for deeper blame, Heaven have we lost; yet this our only smart. Our hope is not, our longing still the same."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Here was no plaint, that could be heard, except of sighs, which caused the eternal air to tremble; And this arose from the sadness, without torment, of the crowds that were many and great, both of children, and women and men. The good Master said to me: "Thou askest not what spirits are these thou seest? I wish thee to know, before thou goest further, that they sinned not; and though they have merit, it suffices not: for they had not Baptism, which is the portal of the faith that thou believest; and seeing they were before Christianity, they worshipped not God aright; and of these am I myself. For such defects, and for no other fault, are we lost; and only in so far afflicted, that without hope we live in desire."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Here was no sound, to any listener's ear, Of loud complaint, but frequent sighs of care, Which made to tremble the eternal air.
It happened thus, from grief of torments void, Possessing crowds beyond our sight and ken Of infants, and of women, and of men.
The good master said, "You do not ask me What are these spirits which you now descry -- Wouldst thou discover, ere we yet draw nigh?
These have not sinn'd, though merit they should have -- 'Tis not enough, for baptism they have none, A portion of the faith you also own:
They lived ere Christianity began; The God of heaven adored not as they ought. And of these here, I'm also in the fault
For these defects; for other evil none Are lost, -- afflicted only thus so far: Live in desire, but want hope's brightening star."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
There as I listen'd I could hear no sound Of plaint or moan, but rather that of sighs Which tremulous did stir th' eternal air;
This came not from the martyrdom of pain But from the dole of those, many and great, Of children, and of women, and of men.
My kindly master said -- "Thou askest not Who be these spirits which thou seest now? Yet here we further go, be to thee known
They sinned not; yet no merit claim'd by them Availeth aught, because they never knew The Grace Baptismal, portal of they creed:
And if they liv'd before the day of Grace They could not in right spirit worship God: And of that number I myself am one.
For this default and for no other guilt We are lost souls; afflicted only thus, That ever hopeless we must still desire."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
There, in so far as I had power to hear, Were lamentations none, but only sighs, That tremulous made the everlasting air.
And this arose from sorrow without torment, Which the crowds had, that many were and great, Of infants and of women and of men.
To me the Master good: "Thou dost not ask What spirits these, which thou beholdest, are? Now will I have thee know, ere thou go farther,
That they sinned not; and if they merit had, 'T is not enough, because they had not baptism,
Which is the portal of the Faith thou holdest;
And if they were before Christianity, In the right manner they adored not God; And among such as these am I myself.
For such defects, and not for other guilt, Lost are we, and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Here, so far as listening went, lamentation was not, save of sighs which made the everlasting mist tremble. And this befel of woe without torments which the crowds had, that were many and great, both of infants and of women and of men. The good Master to me: 'Thou demandest not what spirits these are whom thou seest ? Now will I that thou know ere thou go further, that they did not sin; and if they have deserts, it suffices not; because they had not baptism, which is a part of the faith which thou believest. And if they were before Christianity, they adored not God duly; and of this sort am I myself. For such defects, not for other crime, we are lost; and we are harmed only in so far as we live without hope in longing.'
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Here, in as far as hearing is aware, Was no loud weeping, but a sound of sighs. Which ever trembled in the eternal air,
And these from sorrow without torments rise, Sorrow that holds the crowds both many and great, Men, women, children, of all age and size.
Turned my good master to me: "Dost thou wait To ask what souls are these thou seest here? I will that thou shouldst know at once their state.
These have not sinned, and if their acts were fair, 'Twas not sufficient, since they baptism lacked, The gateway of the Faith which thou dost share.
And if they lived ere Christ's law was a fact. They did not in fit fashion God adore; And I myself amongst these last am wreckt.
For such deficiencies, and nothing more, Our penalty is fixed, the lost among, To yearn for ever on this hopeless shore.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Here, so far as could be heard, there was no plaint but that of sighs which made the eternal air to tremble: this came of the woe without torments felt by the crowds, which were many and great, of infants and of women and of men. The good Master to me, “Thou dost not ask what spirits are these that thou seest. Now I would have thee know, before thou goest farther, that they sinned not; and if they have merits it sufficeth not, because they had not baptism, which is part of the faith that thou believest; and if they were before Christianity, they did not duly worship God: and of such as these am I myself. Through such defects, and not through other guilt, are we lost, and only so far harmed that without hope we live in desire.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Here, so far as I could tell by listening, there was no wailing, but sighs only, making the air to tremble without ceasing; and this arose from the misery, albeit uncaused by torture, which the crowds felt, and they were many and great; babes and women and men. My gentle Master said to me: "Thou dost not ask what shades are these thou seest. I now would have thee know, or ever thou goest farther, that they have not sinned; and though they have good works to their account, it sufficeth not, for they knew not baptism, which is the gateway of the faith the which thou dost believe. And as they were before Christ's coming, they failed to worship God aright ; and of their number am I myself. For shortcomings such as these, and for no other fault, are we lost: and this our only punishment, that without hope we live in yearning.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Therein, so far as listening was of service, There was no lamentation, save of sighing, That made the eternal weight of air to quiver.
This came to pass from sorrow without torments. That the crowds had, which were both great and many. Of little children, and of men, and women.
To me the master kind: "Dost thou not ask me What spirits these are here, whom thou beholdest? Now I would have thee know, ere thou go further,
That they sinned not: and yet that they have merits Sufficeth not, because they had not baptism. Which is a portion of the faith thou holdest:
And, if they were before the Christian advent, They did not render unto God due worship. And I of such as these myself am also.
For such defects, and not for other forfeit, Are we among the lost, and only troubled At this, that without hope we live in longing.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Here, so far as I could tell by listening, was no lamentation more than sighs which kept the air forever trembling; these came from grief without torments that was borne by the crowds, which were vast, of men and women and little children. The good Master said to me: "Does thou not ask what spirits are these thou seest? I would have the know, then, before thou goest farther, that they did not sin; but though they have merits it is not enough, for they had not baptism, which is the gateway of the faith thou holdest; and if they were here before Christianity they did not worship God aright, and of these I am one. For such defects, and not for any guilt, we are lost, and only so far afflicted that without hope we live in desire."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Here was no sound that the ear could catch of rue, Save only of sighs, that still as they complain Make the eternal air tremble anew.
And this rose form the sorrow, unracked by pain, That was in the great multitude below Of children and of women and of men.
The good Master to me: "Wouldst thou not know 'What spirits are these thou seest and hearest grieve? I'd have thee learn before thou farther go,
These sinned not: but the merit that they achieve Helps not, since baptism was not theirs, the gate Of that faith, which was given thee to believe.
And if ere Christ they came, untimely in date, They worshipped not with right experience; And I myself am numbered in their state.
For such defect, and for no other offence, We are lost, and only in so far amerced That without hope we languish in suspense."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
We heard no loud complaint, no crying there, No sound of grief except the sound of sighing Quivering for ever through the eternal air;
Grief, not for torment, but for loss undying, By women, men, and children sighed for so, Sorrowers thick-thronged, their sorrows multiplying.
Then my good guide: "Thou dost not ask me who These spirits are,” said he, “whom thou perceivest? Ere going further, I would have thee know
They sinned not; yet their merit lacked its chiefest Fulfilment, lacking baptism, which is The gateway to the faith which thou believest;
Or, living before Christendom, their knees Paid not aright those tributes that belong To God; and I myself am one of these.
For such defects alone -- no other wrong -- We are lost; yet only by this grief offended: That, without hope, we ever live, and long.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
No tortured wailing rose to greet us here but sounds of sighing rose from every side, sending a tremor through the timeless air,
a grief breathed out of untormented sadness, the passive state of those who dwelled apart, men, women, children -- a dim and endless congress.
And the Master said to me: "You do not question what souls these are that suffer here before you? I wish you to know before you travel on
that these were sinless. And still their merits fail, for they lacked Baptism's grace, which is the door of the true faith you were born to. Their birth fell
before the age of the Christian mysteries, and so they did not worship God's Trinity in fullest duty. I am one of these.
For such defects are we lost, though spared the fire and suffering Hell in one affliction only: that without hope we live on in desire."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Here there was no plaint, that could be heard, except of sighs, which caused the eternal air to tremble; and this arose from the sadness, without torments, of the crowds that were many and great, both of children and of women and men. The good master said to me, “Do you not ask what spirits are these that you see ? Now, before you go farther, I will have you know that they did not sin; but if they have merit, that does not suffice, for they did not have baptism, which is the portal of the faith you hold; and if they were before Christianity, they did not worship God aright, and I myself am one of these. Because of these shortcomings, and for no other fault, we are lost, and only so far afflicted that without hope we live in longing.”
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Here, for as much as hearing could discover, there was no outcry louder than the sighs that caused the everlasting air to tremble.
The sighs arose from sorrow without torments, out of the crowds -- the many multitudes -- of infants and of women and of men.
The kindly master said: “Do you not ask who are these spirits whom you see before you? I'd have you know, before you go ahead,
they did not sin; and yet, though they have merits, that’s not enough, because they lacked baptism, the portal of the faith that you embrace.
And if they lived before Christianity, they did not worship God in fitting ways; and of such spirits I myself am one.
For these defects, and for no other evil, we now are lost and punished just with this: we have no hope and yet we live in longing.”
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
There, in so far as listening could tell me, The only lamentations were the sighs, Yet they made the eternal air tremble.
They came from the sadness, without any torment, Felt by the crowds -- there were many of them, and huge -- Of infants and of men and of men.
The master said: "Are you not going to ask What sprits these are which you see in this place? I think you should know before you go on;
They have committed no sin, and if they have merits, That is not enough, because they are not baptized, Which all must be, to enter the faith which is yours.
And if they lived before the Christian era, They did not adore God as he should be adored: And I am one of those in that position.
For these deficiencies, and no other fault, We are lost; there is no other penalty Than to live here without hope, but with desire."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Here we encountered
No laments that we could hear -- except for sighs
That trembled the timeless air: they emanated
From the shadowy sadnesses, not agonies,
Of multitudes of children and women and men.
He said, "And don't you ask, what spirits are these?
Before you go on, I tell you: they did not sin:
If they have merit, it can't suffice without
Baptism, portal to the faith you maintain.
Some lived before the Christian faith, so that
They did not worship God aright -- and I
Am one of these. Through this, no other fault,
We are lost, afflicted only this one way:
That having no hope, we live in longing."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 19ff]
Here, as far as could be heard, there was no weeping except of sighs which caused the eternal air to tremble; these resulted from grief without torture, felt by the crowds, which were many and large, of infants and of women and of men. My good master to me: “You do not ask what spirits are these you see? Now I wish you to know, before you walk further, that they did not sin; and if they have merits, it is not enough, because they did not receive baptism, which is the gateway to the faith that you believe. And if they lived before Christianity, they did not adore God as was needful: and of this kind am I myself. Because of such defects, not for any other wickedness, we are lost, and only so far harmed that without hope we live in desire.”
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Here there was no sound to be heard, except the sighing, that made the eternal air tremble, and it came from the sorrow of the vast and varied crowds of children, of women, and of men, free of torment. The good Master said to me: ‘You do not demand to know who these spirits are that you see. I want you to learn, before you go further, that they had no sin, yet, though they have worth, it is not sufficient, because they were not baptised, and baptism is the gateway to the faith that you believe in. Since they lived before Christianity, they did not worship God correctly, and I myself am one of them. For this defect, and for no other fault, we are lost, and we are only tormented, in that without hope we live in desire.’
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Here, there was no pandemonium of tortured groans; only interminable sighs, which trembled the air with a murderous hum; and this arose
from all the sadnesses, albeit painless, of the multitude of men and women, and children of every size.
Then he to me: "Why don't you ask me who these spirits are? Before you go much further on, I'd like it to be understood that they are
innocent of sin; however, lacking Baptism, they could not claim its saving grace, and thus are doomed forever;
living, as they did, before Christ came they did not pay the Lord his due respect; and I myself am classed as one of them.
For these faults, not for any other defect, are we lost; our only pain is hopeless, unfulfilled desire. These are the facts.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Here, there was no pandemonium of tortured groans; only interminable sighs, which trembled the air with a murmurous hum; and this arose from all the sadnesses, albeit painless, of the multitude of men and women, and children of every size. Then he to me: "Why don't you ask me who these spirits are? Before you go much further on, I'd like it to be understood that they are innocent of sin; however, lacking Baptism, they could not claim its saving grace, and thus are doomed forever; living, as they did, before Christ came, they did not pay the Lord his due respect; and I myself am classed as one of them. For these faults, not for any other defect, are we lost; our only pain is hopeless, unfulfilled desire. These are the facts.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Here in the dark (where only hearing told) there were no tears, no weeping, only sighs that caused a trembling in the eternal air --
sighs drawn from sorrowing, although no pain. This weighs on all of them, those multitudes of speechless children, women and full-grown men.
'You do not ask,' my teacher in his goodness said, 'who all these spirits are that you see here? Do not, I mean, go further till you know:
these never sinned. And some attained to merit. But merit falls far short. None was baptized. None passed the gate, in your belief, to faith.
They lived before the Christian age began. They paid no reverence, as was due to God. And in this number I myself am one.
For such deficiencies, no other crime, we all are lost yet only suffer harm through living in desire, but hopelessly.'
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Here, as far as I could tell by listening, was no lamentation other than the sighs that kept the air forever trembling.
These came from grief without torment borne by vast crowds of men, and women, and little children.
My master began: 'You do not ask about the souls you see? I want you to know, before you venture farther,
they did not sin. Though they have merit, that is not enough, for they were unbaptized, denied the gateway to the faith that you profess.
And if they lived before the Christians lived, they did not worship God aright. And among these I am one.
For such defects, and for no other fault, we are lost, and afflicted but in this, that without hope we live in longing.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And here there was no weeping; the only signs Of sorrow I heard were sighs that caused a gentle Trembling, stirring eternal air, yet rising
Not from tortured pain or punishment But only because there were so many, men And women and children. My Master asked this question
Of me: "Don't you mean to inquire, again, Who and what are the spirits you see in here? I want you to know, before you take another step,
These are not sinners; no matter what they deserve
It can't be enough, for none have been baptized --
The gateway to Heaven in your faith's clearest terms.
All those born before the coming of Christ Cannot be Christians, worshipping god as He Requires, and one of many such men am I.
These imperfections, and nothing more, no crimes, Bar us from Paradise, not punished, not hurt. We have no hope, we live for our great desire.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
To the extent
That I could hear at all, all cries were sighs.
The air without end shook to the lament
Not just of men and women: with surprise
I saw young children too. Why were they sent?
I thought, and once again my Master saw
Into my mind, and said: “You do not ask
Who these ones are, why here, and by what law?
I'll tell you, before we resume our task,
Of pain without a sin. But though they be
Ever so virtuous, no unbaptized
Souls are exempted from this penalty,
And if they lived before His Son, they prized
God insufficiently. And I was one
Of those. For such defects, and for no crime
More grave, we're lost: for something left undone
We're doomed to live without hope for all time.”
[tr. James (2013), l. 31ff]
Ideal conversation must be an exchange of thought, and not, as many of those who worry most about their shortcomings believe, an eloquent exhibition of wit or oratory.
Emily Post (1872-1960) American author, columnist [née Price] Etiquette: The Blue Book of Social Usage, ch. 6 “The Art of Conversation” (1922; 1955 10th ed.)
(Source)
I’ve always felt sorry for people afraid of feeling, of sentimentality, of emotion, who conceal what they feel and are unable to weep with their whole heart. Because those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart don’t know how to laugh either.
Golda Meir (1898-1978) Russian-American-Israeli politician, teacher; Prime Minister of Israel (1969-1974)
Interview by Oriana Fallaci, Ms. (1973-04)
(Source)
The Ms. article is a portion of an interview held in Jerusalem in November 1972. Answering to the charge that she is hard and inflexible, countering that she is very sensitive and feeling in most matters.
The full interview was reprinted in Fallaci, Interview with History, ch. 4 "Golda Meir" (1974) [tr. Shepley (1976)], but slightly rephrased:
I’ve always felt sorry for people who are afraid of their feelings, of their emotions, and who hide what they feel and can’t cry wholeheartedly. Because anyone who can’t cry wholeheartedly can’t laugh wholeheartedly either.
Was this re-edited (and in which instance?), or is it a matter of different translation? It's unclear in what language the interview was conducted, but the original edition of the book (Intervista con la Storia) was in Italian, Fallaci's native language, which gave the passage as follow:
A me ha sempre fatto pena la gente che ha paura dei sentimenti, delle emozioni, e nasconde quello che prova e non sa piangere con tutto il cuore. Perché chi non sa piangere con tutto il cuore non sa nemmeno ridere a gola spiegata.
This is the tax a man must pay to his virtues, — they hold up a torch to his vices, and render those frailties notorious in him which would have passed without observation in another.
Charles Caleb "C. C." Colton (1780-1832) English cleric, writer, aphorist Lacon: Or, Many Things in Few Words, Vol. 1, § 237 (1820)
(Source)
Then I'le delight in vales, nere pleasant floods,
And unrenown'd, haunt rivers, hils, and woods.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]
My next Desire is, void of Care and Strife,
To lead a soft, secure, inglorious Life.
A Country Cottage near a Crystal Flood,
A winding Vally, and a lofty Wood.
[tr. Dryden (1709), l. 687ff]
May rural scenes, thro' meads rills sparkling please,
And woods, and rivers, in inglorious ease.
[tr. Nevile (1767), l. 543ff]
Oh may I yet, by fame forgotten, dwell
By gushing fount, wild wood, and shadowy dell!
[tr. Sotheby (1800)]
Let fields and streams gliding in the valleys be my delight; inglorious may I court the rivers and woods.
[tr. Davidson (1854)]
At least permit me to indulge my dream
Of meads, and valleys, and the mazy stream:
Be woods and waves my unambitious love.
[tr. Blackmore (1871), l. 578ff]
May the country and the rills that water the vales be my delight; careless of fame, may I love the streams and the woodlands!
[tr. Wilkins (1873)]
Then be fields
And stream-washed vales my solace, let me love
Rivers and woods, inglorious.
[tr. Rhoades (1881)]
Then let the fields and running streams delight
My unambitious verse, and charm my sight.
[tr. King (1882), l. 492ff]
Let fields and streams that run among the hills be my delight; though unknown to fame, may I be content with the rivers and the woods.
[tr. Bryce (1897)]
May the country and the streams that water the valleys content me, and lost to fame let me love stream and woodland.
[tr. Mackail (1899)]
Dear to me then be the fields, be the streams through the valleys that flow,
My fameless love upon rivers be set, and on forests.
[tr. Way (1912)]
Let my delight be the country, and the running streams amid the dells -- may I love the waters and the woods, though I be unknown to fame.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1916)]
Then let the country charm me, the rivers that channel its valleys,
Then may I love its forest and stream, and and let fame go hang.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1940)]
Still, let me relish the country, humbly revere Streams that glide through glades, the woods, the rivers.
[tr. Bovie (1956)]
May the countryside and cool streams in valleys please me; may I love rivers and forests -- inglorious though I may be.
[tr. Miles (1980)]
Then will I pray that I may find fulfilment
In the country and the streams that water valleys,
Love rivers and woods, unglamorous.
[tr. Wilkinson (1982)]
Let the country
and the flowing streams in the valleys please me,
let me love the rivers and the woods, unknown.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
May rural land and streams rushing in its valleys please me.
May I, unrecognized, love its woods and waters!
[tr. Lembke (2004)]
Then let me be satisfied with rural beauty, streams bustling through the glens; let me love woods and running water -- though I'll have failed.
[tr. Fallon (2006)]
Let the land be my delight, the streams that irrigate the vales,
the rills and forests let me love unsung.
[tr. Johnson (2009)]
Then may I find delight in the rural fields
And the little brooks that make their way through valleys,
And in obscurity love the woods and rivers.
[tr. Ferry (2015)]
And who can suffer injury by just taxation, impartial laws and the application of the Jeffersonian doctrine of equal rights to all and special privileges to none? Only those whose accumulations are stained with dishonesty and whose immoral methods have given them a distorted view of business, society and government. Accumulating by conscious frauds more money than they can use upon themselves, wisely distribute or safely leave to their children, these denounce as public enemies all who question their methods or throw a light upon their crimes.
William Jennings Bryan (1860–1925) American lawyer, statesman, politician, orator
Speech, Madison Square Garden, New York (1906-08-30)
(Source)
Today a man is here; tomorrow he is gone. And when he is out of sight, he is soon out of mind.
[Hodie homo est, et cras non comparet. Cum autem sublatus fuerit ab oculis, etiam cito transit a mente.]
Thomas à Kempis (c. 1380-1471) German-Dutch priest, author The Imitation of Christ [De Imitatione Christi], Book 1, ch. 23, v. 1 (1.23.1) (c. 1418-27) [tr. Sherley-Price (1952)]
(Source)
For the common proverb is true: To-day a man , to-morrow none. And when thou art taken out of sight, thou art anon out of mind, and soon shalt thou be forgotten.
[tr. Whitford/Raynal (1530/1871)]
For the common proverb is true: Today a man; tomorrow none. When you are out of sight you are soon out of mind, and soon will be forgotten.
[tr. Whitford/Gardiner (1530/1955)]
To Day the Man is vigorous, and gay, and flourishing, and to Morrow he is cut down, withered and gone. A very little time carries him out of our Sight, and a very little more out of our Remembrance.
[tr. Stanhope (1696; 1706 ed.)]
To-day man is, and to-morrow he is not seen; And when he is once removed from the fight of others, he soon passeth from their remembrance.
[tr. Payne (1803)]
To-day the man is here; to-morrow he hath disappeared. And when he is out of sight, quickly also is he out of mind.
[ed. Parker (1841)]
Man is here to-day, and gone to-morrow: and when once removed from sight, soon perishes from remembrance.
[tr. Dibdin (1851)]
A man is here to-day, and to-morrow he is no longer seen. And when he is taken away from the sight, he is also quickly out of mind.
[ed. Bagster (1860)]
To-day man is, and to-morrow he will be seen no more. And being removed out of sight, quickly also he is out of mind.
[tr. Benham (1874)]
To-day we are here, to-morrow we disappear, and when we are gone, quickly also we are out of mind.
[tr. Anon. (1901)]
Today we live; tomorrow we die and are quickly forgotten.
[tr. Croft/Bolton (1940)]
Today man is; and tomorrow he has vanished. But when he is taken out of sight he also soon passes out of mind.
[tr. Daplyn (1952)]
Here man is today; tomorrow, he is lost to view; and once a man is out of sight, it's not long before he passes out of mind.
[tr. Knox-Oakley (1959)]
A man is here today and gone tomorrow, and once he is out of our sight it is not long before he is out of our minds as well.
[tr. Knott (1962)]
Today a man is and tomorrow he is gone. When he has been removed from our sight he is soon out of mind as well.
[tr. Rooney (1979)]
Today we are, and tomorrow we are gone. And when we are taken out of sight, we soon pass out of mind.
[tr. Creasy (1989)]
But the truth is, that when a Library expels a book of mine and leaves an unexpurgated Bible lying around where unprotected youth and age can get hold of it, the deep unconscious irony of it delights me and doesn’t anger me.
Mark Twain (1835-1910) American writer [pseud. of Samuel Clemens]
Letter to Mrs. F. G. Whitmore (1907-02-07)
(Source)
Nothing reveals more clearly men’s attitude to learning and literature, and what use they think these are to the State, than the low price they put on them, and their opinion of those who have chosen to practice them.
[Rien ne découvre mieux dans quelle disposition sont les hommes à l’égard des sciences et des belles-lettres, et de quelle utilité ils les croient dans la république, que le prix qu’ils y ont mis, et l’idée qu’ils se forment de ceux qui ont pris le parti de les cultiver.]
Jean de La Bruyère (1645-1696) French essayist, moralist The Characters [Les Caractères], ch. 12 “Of Opinions [Des Jugements],” § 17 (12.17) (1688) [tr. Stewart (1970)]
(Source)
Nothing discovers better what disposition men have to Knowledge and Learning, and how profitable they are esteem'd to the Publick, than the price which is set on them, and the Idea they have formed of those who have taken the pains to improve them.
[Bullord ed. (1696)]
Nothing discovers better what regard Men have to Science and polite Learning, and how profitable they esteem them to the Publick, than the price they set on them, and the Idea they form to themselves of those who have taken the pains to cultivate them.
[Curll ed. (1713)]
Nothing better manifests the Regard paid to the Sciences and Literature, and Men's Sense of their Utility to the Public, than the Recompences assigned to them, and the Repute in which they stand who excel in them.
[Browne ed. (1752)]
Nothing better demonstrates how men regard science and literature, and of what use they are considered in the State, than the recompense assigned to them, and the idea generally entertained of those persons who resolve to cultivate them.
[tr. Van Laun (1885)]
Let not these things thy least concern engage;
For though thou fret, they will not mind thy rage.
Him only good and happy we may call
Who rightly useth what doth him befall.
Nor ought we to be angry at Events;
For they our anger heed not: but the man
Who best to each emergency adapts
His conduct, will assuredly act right.
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]
Events will take their course, it is no good
Our being angry at them; he is happiest
Who wisely turns them to the best account.
[tr. Shilleto (1888), frag. 298]
It does no good to rage at circumstance;
Events will take their course with no regard
For us. but he who makes the best of those
Events he lights upon will not fare ill.
[tr. Helmbold (1939)]
There is no point in getting angry at circumstances. They are uncaring, utterly unconcerned.
But a man who responds to them in the right way, he fares well.
[tr. Stevens (2012)]
One should not get angry with affairs, for they show no concern; but if a man handles affairs correctly as he encounters them, he fares well.
[tr. Collard, Hargreaves, Cropp (1995)]
An intelligent man is lost if he does not add strength of character to his intelligence.
[Un homme d’esprit est perdu, s’il ne joint pas à l’esprit l’énergie de caractère.]
Nicolas Chamfort (1741-1794) French writer, epigrammist (b. Nicolas-Sébastien Roch) Products of Perfected Civilization [Produits de la Civilisation Perfectionée], Part 1 “Maxims and Thoughts [Maximes et Pensées],” ch. 4, ¶ 277 (1795) [tr. Mathers (1926)]
(Source)
All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades
Like the fair flower dishevell’d in the wind;
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream;
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
William Cowper (1731-1800) English poet The Task, Book 3 “The Garden,” l. 261ff (1785)
(Source)
Traditionally, a luncheon is a lunch that takes an eon.
Judith Martin (b. 1938) American author, journalist [a.k.a. Miss Manners]
“Miss Manners,” syndicated column (1982-04-18)
(Source)
Reprinted in Miss Manners' Guide for the Turn-of-the-Millennium, Part 6 "Genuine Social Life," "Social Occasions" (1989). Often incorrectly attributed to Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior (1983).
History unravels gently, like an old sweater. It has been patched and darned many times, reknitted to suit different people, shoved in a box under the sink of censorship to be cut up for the dusters of propaganda, yet it always — eventually — manages to spring back into its old familiar shape. History has a habit of changing the people who think they are changing it. History always has a few tricks up its frayed sleeve.
Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) English author Mort (2001)
(Source)
If he was fair as he is hideous now, and raised his brow in scorn of his creator, he is fit to be the source of every sorrow.
[S’el fu sì bel com’elli è ora brutto, e contra ’l suo fattore alzò le ciglia, ben dee da lui procedere ogne lutto.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 34, l. 34ff (34.34) (1320) [tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
(Source)
Describing Satan. As Lucifer he was the most beautiful and powerful of the angels; Dante suggests his rebellious ingratitude against God is a fit cause for all the sin and sorrow of the world.
As ugly now, if he as handsome was, And 'gainst his Maker rais'd his haughty brow; 'Tis right all wailings should from him proceed.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
If his meridian glories, ere he fell,
Equal'd his horrible eclipse in Hell, No brighter Seraph led the heav'nly host:
And now, a tenant of the frozen tide,
The Rebel justly merits to preside O'er all the horrors of the Stygian coast.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him
May all our mis’ry flow.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
If he, once fair as he is foul of mien, Against his Maker arrogantly raised The brow, from him might well proceed, I ween,
All things disastrous.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
If he was once as beautiful as he is ugly now, and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all affliction come from him.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
If he were beauteous once as ugly now, And 'gainst his Maker dared to lift his brow, From him well might we have proceeding woe.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
If first in beauty once as hideous now, And to his Maker lifting his proud eye, Well might he be the source of ev'ry grief.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
Were he as fair once, as he now is foul, And lifted up his brow against his Maker, Well may proceed from him all tribulation.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If he was as fair as he is now foul, and raised his brows against his Maker, rightly should all sorrow come forth from him.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
If he was once as fair as hideous now, And 'gainst his Maker raised his impious eyes, Full well from him would all contention flow.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
If he was as fair as he now is foul, and against his Maker lifted up his brow, surely may all tribulation proceed from him.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
If once he was as fair as he is loathly, And raised his brows even against his Maker, Well may it be from him proceeds all mourning.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
If he was as fair as he is now foul and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all sorrow come from him.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If he was once fair as he is now foul, And 'gainst his Maker dared his brows to raise, Fitly from him all streams of sorrow roll.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
If he was once as fair as now he's foul, And dared outface his Maker in rebellion, Well may he be the fount of all our dole.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
If he was once as beautiful as now he is hideous, and still turned on his Maker, well may he be the source of every woe!
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
If he was once as beautiful as he is ugly now, and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all sorrow proceed from him.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
If once he was as fair as now he's foul and dared to raise his brows against his Maker, it is fitting that all grief should spring from him.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
If he was once as handsome as he now
is ugly and, despite that, raised his brows
against his Maker, one can understand how every sorrow has its source in him!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
If he was as beautiful as he now is ugly, And yet dared to rebel against his maker, Well may he be the source of all mourning.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
If he was truly once as beautiful As he is ugly now, and raised his brows Against his Maker -- then all sorrow may well
Come out of him.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
If he was as beautiful then as now he is ugly, when he lifted his brow against his Maker, well must all grieving proceed from him.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
If he was once as fair, as he is now ugly, and lifted up his forehead against his Maker, well may all evil flow from him.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If, once, he was as lovely as now vile, when first he raised his brow against his maker, then truly grief must all proceed from him.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
If ever his beauty could match the ugliness I saw, and he lifted arrogant brows at his Maker, I understand how sorrow was born that day.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
If his beauty was
a match for all the foulness he has now,
We see that all our sorrow came because
He set his face against his Maker.
[tr. James (2013), l. 40ff]
You can have any combination of features the Air Ministry desires, so long as you do not also require that the resulting airplane fly.
[Natürlich können Sie dem Luftfahrtministerium ein Flugzeug mit allen gewünschten Eigenschaften bauen — solange Sie nicht zwingend voraussetzen, dass es dann auch fliegt.]
Wilhelm Emil "Willy" Messerschmitt (1898-1978) German aircraft designer and manufacturer
(Attributed (1934))
Alternate translation:
Of course, you can build the Air Ministry an airplane with whatever characteristics you want -- as long as you don't necessarily expect it to fly.
They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.
Jane Austen (1775-1817) English novelist Sense and Sensibility, ch. 1 (1811)
(Source)
Every failure teaches a man something. For example, that he will probably fail again next time.
H. L. Mencken (1880-1956) American writer and journalist [Henry Lewis Mencken] A Little Book in C Major, ch. 2, § 24 (1916)
(Source)
Variants:
EXPERIENCE. A series of failures. Every failure teaches a man something, to wit, that he will probably fail again next time. A Book of Burlesques, "The Jazz Webster" (1924)
Every failure teaches a man something, to wit, that he will probably fail again next time. Chrestomathy, ch. 30 "Sententiae" (1949)
Those were great old days, (but darn it any old days are great old days. Even the tough ones, after they are over, you can look back with great memories.)
Will Rogers (1879-1935) American humorist
“Weekly Article” column (1935-06-02)
(Source)
Pride either finds a desert, or makes one; submission cannot tame its ferocity, nor satiety fill its voracity, and it requires very costly food — Its keeper’s happiness.
Charles Caleb "C. C." Colton (1780-1832) English cleric, writer, aphorist Lacon: Or, Many Things in Few Words, Vol. 2, § 237 (1822)
(Source)
And why carry out one’s projects, since the project is sufficient pleasure in itself?
[Et à quoi bon exécuter des projets, puisque le projet est en lui-même une jouissance suffisante?]
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) French poet, essayist, art critic Le Spleen de Paris (Petits Poèmes en Prose), No. 24 “Projects [Les Projets],” final words (1869) [tr. Varèse (1970)]
(Source)
Maybe the purpose of this sorry and tragic error committed in my native Mississippi by two white adults on an afflicted Negro child is to prove to us whether or not we deserve to survive. Because if we in America have reached that point in our desperate culture when we must murder children, no matter for what reason or what color, we don’t deserve to survive, and probably won’t.
William Faulkner (1897-1962) American novelist
“The Art of Fiction,” Interview by Jean Stein, Paris Review #12 (Spring 1956)
(Source)
Marijane Meaker (1927-2022) American writer (pen names: Vin Packer, Ann Aldrich, M. E. Kerr) Gentlehands, ch. 13 [Grandpa Trenker] (1978) [as M. E. Kerr]
Do not ask, Reader, how my blood ran cold and my voice choked up with fear. I cannot write it: this is a terror that cannot be told.
I did not die, and yet I lost life’s breath: imagine for yourself what I became, deprived at once of both my life and death.
[Com’io divenni allor gelato e fioco, nol dimandar, lettor, ch’i’ non lo scrivo, però ch’ogne parlar sarebbe poco.
Io non mori’ e non rimasi vivo; pensa oggimai per te, s’ hai fior d’ingegno, qual io divenni, d’uno e d’altro privo.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 34, l. 22ff (34.22-27) (1320) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
(Source)
Dante the Pilgrim finally sees Satan at the bottom and center of Hell. That would seem to be terrifying enough for this aside to the reader, but various translators and commentators try to cast it as some great theological metaphor.
How frozen I was then, and hoarse with cold,
Reader, ask not; for I nought of it write,
As 'twill too little prove, whate'er I say
I did not die, nor yet alive remain'd.
Think for yourself, if you have any sense,
What I then was, depriv'd of Life and Death.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
While nature thro' my nerves convulsive shook:
New palsies seiz'd my agonizing frame,
And glowing now I felt the fever's flame. While life and death by turns my limbs forsook.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 6]
How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state.
I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Ask me not, reader, how both hoarse and cold I then became; I write it not, nor strive To tell what never might by speech be told.
There I nor died, nor yet remained alive: Now think, if thou hast power of thought, and see What state was mine, that could of both deprive.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
How icy chill and hoarse I then became, ask not, O Reader! for I write it not, because all speech would fail to tell. I did not die, and did not remain alive: now think for thyself, if thou hast an grain of ingenuity, what I became, deprived of both death and life.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
How freezing then, how feeble I became, Ask not, thou reader! for I cannot write; For every language must fall short in flight.
I neither died, nor yet remained alive! Think within thyself, if ingenious deft, How I became of strength and heat bereft.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
How terror-frozen I became and faint, Ask not, oh reader, what I cannot write, For all that I could say would feeble seem.
I did not die, I scarcely was alive; Hast thou one spark of fancy, think thou then How I became who knew nor death nor life.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
How frozen I became and powerless then,
Ask it not, Reader, for I write it not, Because all language would be insufficient.
I did not die, and I alive remained not; Think for thyself now, hast thou aught of wit, What I became, being of both deprived.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
How I then became frozen and weak, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, seeing that every speech would be too little. I did not die and did not remain alive; think now for thyself, if thou hast a grain of wit, what I became, being deprived of one and the other.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
How frozen I became, and weak of grace, From writing, reader, let me now be shrived, For every speech were weak such state to trace.
I did not die, and yet no longer lived; Think for thyself, if thou hast Fancy's bloom, What I became, of death and life deprived.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
How I became then chilled and hoarse, ask it not, Reader, for I write it not, because all speech would be little. I did not die, and I did not remain alive. Think now for thyself, if thou hast grain of wit, what I became, deprived of one and the other.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
How frozen I became thereat, how fainting, Ask it not, reader, for I do not write it. For all that I could say would be but little.
I did not die, nor yet remained I living. Bethink thee now, if aught of wit thou claimest, What I became, bereft of both together.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
How chilled and faint I turned then, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, since all words would fail. I did not die and I did not remain alive; think now for thyself, if thou hast any wit, what I became, denied both death and life.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
How faint I then became, how frozen cold, Ask me not, Reader; for I write it not, Because all speech would fail, whate'er it told.
I died not, yet of life remained no jot. Think thou then, if of wit thou hast any share, What I became, deprived of either lot.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
How cold I grew, how faint with fearfulness, Ask me not. Reader; I shall nor waste breath Telling what words are powerless to express;
This was not life, and yet it was not death; If thou hast wit to think how I might fare Bereft of both, let fancy aid thy faith.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
How frozen and faint I then became, ask it not, reader, for I do not write it, because all words would fail. I did not die and I did not remain alive: now think for yourself, if you have any wit, what I became, deprived alike of death and life!
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
How chilled and nerveless. Reader, I felt then; do not ask me -- I cannot write about it -- there are no words to tell you how I felt.
I did not die -- I was not living either! Try to imagine, if you can imagine, me there, deprived of life and death at once.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
O reader, do not ask of me how I grew faint and frozen then -- I cannot write it: all words would fall far short of what it was.
I did not die, and I was not alive; v
think for yourself, if you have any wit, what I became, deprived of life and death.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
How frozen and how faint I then became, Do not enquire, reader, description is useless, For any speech would be inadequate.
I did not die, nor yet remain alive: Think for yourself, if you have a trace Of intellect, how I was, in that condition.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
How chilled and faint I was On hearing that, you must not ask me, reader -- I do not write it, words would not suffice:
I neither died, nor kept alive -- consider With your own wits what I, alike denuded Of death and life, became as I heard my leader.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
How then I became frozen and feeble, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, and all speech would be insufficient. I did not die and I did not remain alive: think now for yourself, if you have wit at all, what I became, deprived of both.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Reader, do not ask how chilled and hoarse I became, then, since I do not write it, since all words would fail to tell it. I did not die, yet I was not alive. Think, yourself, now, if you have any grain of imagination, what I became, deprived of either state.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
How weak I now became, how faded, dry -- reader, don’t ask, I shall not write it down -- for anything I said would fall far short.
I neither died nor wholly stayed alive. Just think yourselves, if your minds are in flower, what I became, bereft of life and death.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Then how faint and frozen I became, reader, do not ask, for I do not write it, since any words would fail to be enough.
It was not death, nor could one call it life. Imagine, if you have the wit, what I became, deprived of either state.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Don't ask me, reader, how frozen and faint I felt: I cannot write it, because no matter what words I used, or how many, none would be sufficient.
I did not die, I did not remain in that world. Just ask yourself, if you have a mind to work with, In what condition I was, not dead, not alive?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Reader, don’t ask how chill and faint I turned: I couldn't write it. All the words would fail. I didn't die, but couldn't live. I learned
What living death and death-in-life entail. But you must ponder, if you have the wit, What I, denied both life and death, became.
[tr. James (2013), l. 28ff]
Old age is a special problem for me because I’ve never been able to shed the mental image I have of myself — a lad of about nineteen.
E. B. White (1899-1985) American author, critic, humorist [Elwyn Brooks White]
“E. B. White: Notes and Comment by Author,” interview by Israel Shenker, New York Times (1969-07-11)
(Source)
But, sooth, ’tis Spring
Lends leafing orchard and the woodside green
Her help and succor; in the Spring the earth
Swells warm and bids the seeds of life begin.
Then will th’ almighty Sire from heights of air
Descend in life-engendering showers to fill
Earth’s bosom, his glad spouse, and mightily
With her vast body mingling, brings to power
All unborn things she bears. With song-birds then
The tangled brakes are loud, and lowing herds —
Their season due — live o’er their mating days.
The whole earth’s womb is travailing; the land
Spreads bare its bosom to the warm west wind.
And gentle dews feed all. The bladed grass
Climbs boldly upward to the sun’s young beams;
The tendrilled vine shrinks not from gathering storm
Nor rout of wind-swept northern rains, but thrusts
Her soft buds forth and every leaf unfolds.
[Ver adeo frondi nemorum, ver utile silvis;
vere tument terrae et genitalia semina poscunt.
Tum pater omnipotens fecundis imbribus Aether
coniugis in gremium laetae descendit et omnis
magnus alit magno commixtus corpore fetus.
Avia tum resonant avibus virgulta canoris
et Venerem certis repetunt armenta diebus;
parturit almus ager Zephyrique tepentibus auris
laxant arva sinus; superat tener omnibus humor;
inque novos soles audent se germina tuto
credere, nec metuit surgentis pampinus austros
aut actum caelo magnis aquilonibus imbrem,
sed trudit gemmas et frondes explicat omnis.]
Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil] Georgics [Georgica], Book 2, l. 323ff (29 BC) [tr. Williams (1915)]
(Source)
Spring cloaths the woods with leaves, and groves attires,
Earth swels with spring, and genitall seed requires.
In fruitfull showrs th' Almighty from above
Descends ith' lap, of his delighted love:
And great, he with the mighty body joyn'd,
Both propagates, and fosters every kinde.
Harmonious birds then sing in every grove,
And cattell taste the sweet delights of love.
Earth blest, now teems: soft winds dissolve the Meads,
With cheering warmth through all sweet moysture spreads.
To the new sun, the tender herbage dare
Open their leaves, nor vines rough Auster fear:
Nor thundering Boreas ushering dreadfull showrs;
But all things bud with blossome, leaf and flowers.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]
The Spring adorns the Woods, renews the Leaves;
The Womb of Earth the genial Seed receives.
For then Almighty Jove descends, and pours
Into his buxom Bride his fruitful Show'rs.
And mixing his large Limbs with hers, he feeds
Her Births with kindly Juice, and fosters teeming Seeds.
Then joyous Birds frequent the lonely Grove,
And Beasts, by Nature stung, renew their Love.
Then Fields the Blades of bury'd Corn disclose,
And while the balmy Western Spirit blows,
Earth to the Breath her Bosom dares expose.
With kindly Moisture then the Plants abound,
The Grass securely springs above the Ground;
The tender Twig shoots upward to the Skies,
And on the Faith of the new Sun relies.
The swerving Vines on the tall Elms prevail,
Unhurt by Southern Show'rs or Northern Hail.
They spread their Gems the genial Warmth to share:
And boldly trust their Buds in open Air.
[tr. Dryden (1709), l. 438ff]
In spring the groves, in spring the woods delight,
In spring swoll'n lands the genial seeds invite.
Then on his glad Wife's breast in fertile show'rs
Himself th' all-potent Father Ether pours;
Mixt with the Mother in a vast embrace
The mighty Sire refreshes all her race.
The lone brakes echo with the plumy quire,
And on set days herds burn with fierce desire:
Earth bounteous teems; the fields their bosom bare
To the kind warmth of Zephyr's balmy air:
A subtile moisture wide prevails: the land
Dares to new suns her verdant vest expand.
Nor then the Vine dreads Auster's threat'ning pow'r,
Or, by rough Boreas driv'n, the weighty show'r;
But all her gems, and all her leaves displays.
[tr. Nevile (1767), l. 361ff]
Spring comes, new bud the field, the flower, the grove,
Earth swells, and claims the genial seeds of love:
Aether, great lord of life, his wings extends,
And on the bosom of his bride descends,
With show'rs prolific feeds the vast embrace
That fills all nature, and renews her race.
Birds on their branches hymeneals sing,
The pastur'd meads with bridal echoes ring;
Bath'd in soft dew, and fann'd by western winds,
Each field its bosom to the gale unbinds:
The blade dares boldly rise new suns beneath,
The tender vine puts forth her flexile wreath,
And, freed from southern blast and northern shower,
Spreads without fear, each blossom, leaf, and flower.
[tr. Sotheby (1800)]
The spring, too, is beneficial to the foliage of the groves, the spring is beneficial to the woods: in spring the lands swell, and demand the genial seeds. Then almighty father Aether descends in fertilizing showers into the bosom of his joyous spouse, and great himself, mingling with her great body, nourishes all her offspring. Then the retired brakes resound with tuneful birds,; and the herds renew their loves on the stated days. the bounteous earth is teeming to the birth, and the and the fields open their bosoms to the warm breezes of the Zephyr: in all a gentle moisture abounds; and the herbs dare safely trust themselves to the infant suns; nor do the vine's tender shoots fear the rising south winds, or the shower precipitated from the sky by the violent north winds; but put forth their buds, and unfold all their leaves.
[tr. Davidson (1854)]
So Spring befriends the forest and the mead,
In Spring the plump earth craves the vital seed:
Then Air, almighty father, raining life,
Sinks on the bosom of his laughing wife;
All growth he feeds, commingling with the same,
The mighty Spirit in the mighty frame.
Then birds make music to the pathless groves,
And herds and flocks prove faithful to their loves:
The kind earth gives her increase, and the West
With fluttering warmth unzones the meadow's breast.
Soft dew is shed on all, and flowers are won
To trust their beauty to the stranger sun.
No more the vine-growth dreads the southern blast,
Or showers from heaven by mighty north winds cast;
But pushes forth the gems herself conceives,
And opes the crinkled modesty of the leaves.
[tr. Blackmore (1871), l. 383ff]
Spring ministers to the foliage of the groves, spring to the woods: in springtime earth swells with fruitfulness, and asks the seed that giveth life. 'Tis then that the almighty father air descends in fertilising showers into the leap of his joyous spouse, and in his might, mingling with her mighty frame, nourishes all the embryos within. Then pathless brakes with tuneful birds resound, and herds on certain days renews their loves; bounteous earth teems with life, and the fields open their bosoms to the Zephyr's balmy breezes; a delicate moisture abounds everywhere; the herbage safely dares to trust itself to meet the newborn suns; nor does the vine-leaf dread the rising of the southern gales, or the shower driven from the sky by the north's impetuous blast, but puts forth its buds and all its leaves unfolds.
[tr. Wilkins (1873)]
Spring it is
Blesses the fruit-plantation, Spring the groves;
In Spring earth swells and claims the fruitful seed.
Then Aether, sire omnipotent, leaps down
With quickening showers to his glad wife's embrace,
And, might with might commingling, rears to life
All germs that teem within her; then resound
With songs of birds the greenwood-wildernesses,
And in due time the herds their loves renew;
Then the boon earth yields increase, and the fields
Unlock their bosoms to the warm west winds;
Soft moisture spreads o'er all things, and the blades
Face the new suns, and safely trust them now;
The vine-shoot, fearless of the rising south,
Or mighty north winds driving rain from heaven,
Bursts into bud, and every leaf unfolds.
[tr. Rhoades (1881)]
Green leaves unfold, the woods in spring rejoice;
Swells the warm glebe, and with impatient voice
The seed demands; the god who fills all space,
All earth compresses in one vast embrace;
All earth, now conscious of almighty power,
Waits the glad advent of the genial shower.
The tuneful birds in lonely thickets sing
Their amorous descant, and proclaim the spring;
The lowing herd the soft infection feels;
Earth teems prolific as the warm breath steals
Of zephyr o’er her; dews refreshing rise;
The tender grasses dare the sunny skies.
Secure the vine puts forth each polished gem,
Hope of the vintage, from the bursting stem.
[tr. King (1882), l. 334ff]
Spring especially is beneficial to the foliage of the groves; spring is beneficial to the woods: in spring earth swells and demands generative seeds. Then almighty father ther descends in fertilizing showers into the lap of his happy spouse, and mighty himself, mingling with her mighty body, nourishes all her offspring. Then the retired brakes resound with the songs of birds, and the herds renew their loves at their appointed times. Then bounteous earth is teeming to the birth, and the fields open their bosoms to the balmy breezes of the Zephyr: in all a kindly moisture abounds; and the herbs safely venture to trust themselves to the early suns; nor do the vine’s tender shoots fear the rising south winds, or the shower precipitated from the sky by the violent north winds; but put forth their buds, and unfold all their leaves.
[tr. Bryce (1897)]
Spring aids woodland leaf and forest tree; in spring earth yearns and cries for the life-giving seed. Then the lord omnipotent of Sky descends in fruitful showers into the lap of his laughing consort, and mingling with her mighty body nourishes all her fruits in might. Then pathless copses ring with warbling birds, and at the appointed days the herds renew their loves; the bountiful land breaks into birth, and the fields unbosom to warm breezes of the West: everywhere delicate moisture overflows, and the grasses dare in safety to trust themselves to spring suns, nor does the vine-tendril fear gathering gales or sleet driven down the sky by the blustering North, but thrusts forth her buds and uncurls all her leaves.
[tr. Mackail (1899)]
Spring it is
Blesses the fruit-plantation, Spring the groves;
In Spring earth swells and claims the fruitful seed.
Then Aether, sire omnipotent, leaps down
With quickening showers to his glad wife's embrace,
And, might with might commingling, rears to life
All germs that teem within her; then resound
With songs of birds the greenwood-wildernesses,
And in due time the herds their loves renew;
Then the boon earth yields increase, and the fields
Unlock their bosoms to the warm west winds;
Soft moisture spreads o'er all things, and the blades
Face the new suns, and safely trust them now;
The vine-shoot, fearless of the rising south,
Or mighty north winds driving rain from heaven,
Bursts into bud, and every leaf unfolds.
[tr. Greenough (1900), l. 323ff]
With blessing to woodland-frondage and forest Spring returns.
In spring earth heaves with desire, for the seed life-laden she yearns:
Then Heaven, the Father almighty, in quickening showers descends
Into the lap of his gladsome bride: in his might he blends
with her mighty frame, and to all her offspring life doth he bring;
Then pathless copses with music of birds re-echoing ring;
And the beasts are rekindled with love in the days ordained of the Spring.
The land with her boons is in travail, to west-winds warmly blowing
Fields open their arms; all things are with delicate sap overflowing.
In the suns new-born all seedlings safely and fearlessly trust.
No vine-shoot dreadeth the south-wind's suddenly rising gust,
Or the rain-storm that over the sky the mighty north-wind hurls;
But each pushes gem-buds forth, and her green leaf-banners unfurls.
[tr. Way (1912)]
Spring it is that clothes the glades and forests with leaves, in spring the soil swells and carves the vital seed. Then does Heaven, sovereign father, descend in fruitful showers into the womb of his joyful consort and, mightily mingling with her mighty frame, gives life to every embryo within. Then secluded thickets echo with melodious birdsong and at the trysting hour the herds renew their loves; the bounteous earth prepares to give birth, and the meadows ungirdle to the Zephyr’s balmy breeze; the tender moisture avails for all. The grass safely dares to face the nascent suns, nor does the vine tendril fear the South Wind’s rising or showers launched from the skies by the blustering North, but puts forth buds and unfurls its every leaf.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1916)]
Oh, spring is good for leaves in the spinney, good to forests,
In spring the swelling earth aches for the seed of new life.
Then the omnipotent Father of air in fruitful showers
Comes down to his happy consort
And greatly breeds upon her great body manifold fruit.
Then are the trackless copses alive with the trilling of birds,
And the beasts look for love, their hour come round again:
Lovely the earth in labour, under a tremulous west wind
The fields unbosom, a mild moisture is everywhere.
Confident grows the grass, for the young sun will not harm it;
The shoots of the vine are not scared of a southerly gale arising
Or the sleety rain that slants from heaven beneath a north wind, --
No, bravely now they bud and all their leaves display.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1940)]
Spring fills the groves with leaves,
Is good to forests; earth expands in the Spring,
And sends out calls for life-inspiring seed.
Then Heaven, the father almighty, comes down to earth
In pregnant rains to embrace his joyous bride,
Infusing her massive frame with vital strength.
Then pathless thickets ring with songs of birds,
And herds comply with Venus’ set demands;
The kindly field gives birth, and furrowed lands
Release their folds to the West Wind’s ruffling breeze;
Soft moisture floods all things, the green blades dare
To face the newborn suns, the budding vines
Have no fear of the South Wind’s springing up,
Nor of rain the North Wind lashes through the sky.
But put forth buds, unfolding all their leaves.
[tr. Bovie (1956)]
... Father omnipotent, the sky, with fruitful showers comes down into the womb of his joyful wife, in his greatness joins with her great body and nourishes all young. ... the tepid breezes of the west wind ... gentle moisture ... grasses date entrust themselves safely to mild suns ... the vine shoot does not fear either rising south winds or rain driven from the sky by great north winds, but it thrusts out its buds and unfolds its leaves, all of them.
[tr. Miles 1, 2 (1980)]
Spring is the friend of woods, spring is the friend
Of forest leaves, in spring the country swells
Clamouring for the fertilizing seeds.
Then the almighty father Heaven descends
Into the lap of his rejoicing bride
With fecund showers, and with her mighty body
Mingling in might begets all manner of fruits.
Then are wild thickets loud with singing birds
And in their season herds renew their loves.
The nurturing earth is pregnant; warmed by breezes
Of Zephyrus the fields unloose their bosoms
Mild moisture is all-pervading, and unharmed
The grasses brave the unaccustomed suns;
Nor do the vine-shoots fear a southern gale.
Or northern rainstorms driving down the sky.
But put forth buds and all their leaves unfold.
[tr. Wilkinson (1982)]
Spring benefits the leaves of the groves and woods,
in Spring soil swells and demands life-bringing seed.
Then Heaven, the omnipotent father, descends as fertile rain,
into the lap of his joyful consort, and joining his power
to her vast body nourishes all growth.
Then the wild thickets echo to the songs of birds,
and in the settled days the cattle renew their loves:
the kindly earth gives birth, and the fields open their hearts,
in the warm West winds: gentle moisture flows everywhere,
and the grasses safely dare to trust to the new sun.
the vine-shoots don’t fear a rising Southerly,
or rain driven through the sky, by great Northerly gales,
but put out their buds, and unfold all their leaves.
[tr. Kline (2001)]
It is spring that decks the groves in leaves, spring that serves the woods;
in spring, Earth swells moistly and begs for bursting seed.
Then Sky, all-powerful father, descends to the womb
of his fertile spouse with inseminating rain and, uniting
his strength with her strong body, nourishes all they conceive.
The remotest thickets resound then with birdsong, and the herds
seek once again to mate in this appointed season.
The fair land longs to give birth; fields plowed but not yet sown open
themselves to the West Wind's ardor. Sweet moisture abounds for all.
Plants dare in safety to trust the sun's new light and warmth,
nor do the tendrils of the vines fear the South Wind's rising
or showers driven down from heaven by the forceful North Wind.
No, they spout plump buds, and unfurl all their leaves.
[tr. Lembke (2004)]
O spring the leafy groves, spring the forest speeds,
in spring the acres swell and beg for pregnant seed.
Then Heaven, almighty Father, in vital showers comes down
into the lap of his ecstatic wife, where his potence
with her potent loins commingling engenders all florescence.
Then trackless thickets trill with birdsong
and in their hour appointed the herds renew the rut.
Bountiful broods the earth and under warm westerlies
the fields unloose their bosom -- soft moisture soaks into everything
and the cotyledons dare resign themselves to the new suns,
the shoots fear not the south wind's surge
nor showers drive through the sky by the gusting North,
but push out buds and all their leaves unfold.
[tr. Johnson (2009)]
It's spring that adorns the woods and groves with leaves;
In spring, the soil, desiring seed, is tumid,
And then the omnipotent father god descends
In showers from the sky and enters into
The joyful bridal body of the earth,
His greatness in their union
Bringing to life the life waiting to live.
Birdsong is heard in every secluded thicket,
And all the beasts of the field have become aware
That love's appointed days have come again.
The generous earth is ready to give birth
And the meadows ungirdle for Zephyr's warming breezes;
The tender dew is there on everything;
The new grass dares entrust itself to the new
Suns of the new days and the little tendrils
Of the young vines have no fear of a South Wind coming
Nor of a North Wind from a stormy sky;
The vine brings forth its buds; its leaves unfold.
[tr. Ferry (2015)]
