dilluns, 27 d’octubre de 2014

Moby Dick (1): Call me Ishmael

Il·lustració de Rockwell Kent (1882-1971)
per a l'edició limitada original de 1930.

Some years ago –never mind how long precisely– having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore,I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp and drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people's hats off –then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

Herman Melville, Moby Dick 


Al mar, doncs. Començo un diari? Benvingut viatge.

dimarts, 21 d’octubre de 2014

—va dir un heterònim


Somos quem não somos, e a vida é pronta e triste. O som das ondas à noite é um som da noite; e quantos o ouviram na própria alma, como a esperança constante que se desfaz no escuro com um som surdo de espuma funda!


Bernardo Soares, 
ajudante de guarda-livros na cidade de Lisboa,
 Livro do desassossego