Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of wind and ocasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one - the beauty of ther body was the essence of her soul. She was that unit sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room of winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself. It became known to her, at length, that she was born again. Sighting, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
3 comentários:
Isto para mim funcionou como um teaser. Preciso de ler...
Beijos
Se não te importares de o ler em inglês, assim que acabar empresto-to :))) Acho que vais gostar muito!
Beijo
Que bela poesia em prosa. Dentro do género da escrita feminina, deixo-te este.
My life closed twice before its close
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Emily Dickinson
Beijo
Adeus
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