I had supposed that intellectuals frequently loved truth, but I found here again that not ten per cent of them prefer truth to popularity.
(Russels)
Categoria: quotes
the guide through the week – and life
I was rather interested in my fellow-prisoners, who seemed to me in no way morally inferior to the rest of the population, though they were on the whole slightly below the usual level of intelligence , as was shown by the their having been caught.
(Russels)
… 1st of May …
Still to be remembered – Still and again to be thought about
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English and French (go to alphabetical order Werke von A-Z, scroll for Die schlesischen Weber
Hier eine andere Version in Deutsch – mit Music
Non han ne gli sbarrati occhi una lacrima,
Ma digrignano i denti e a’ telai stanno.
Tessiam, Germania, il tuo lenzuolo funebre,
E tre maledizion l’ordito fanno –
Tessiam, tessiam, tessiamo!
Maledetto il buon Dio! Noi lo pregammo
Ne le misere fami, a i freddi inverni:
Lo pregammo, e sperammo, ed aspettammo:
Egli, il buon Dio, ci saziò di scherni.
Tessiam, tessiam, tessiamo!
E maledetto il re! de i gentiluomini,
De i ricchi il re, che viscere non ha:
Ei ci ha spremuto infin l’ultimo picciolo,
Or come cani mitragliar ci fa.
Tessiam, tessiam, tessiamo!
Maledetta la patria, ove alta solo
Cresce l’infamia e l’abominazione!
Ovo ogni gentil fiore è pesto al suolo,
E i vermi ingrassa la corruzione.
Tessiam, tessiam, tessiamo!
Vola la spola ed il telaio scricchiola,
Noi tessiamo affannosi e notte e dì:
Tessiam, vecchia Germania, il lenzuol funebre Tuo, che di tre maledizion s’ordì.
Tessiam, tessiam, tessiamo!
**************
No tears in their eyes, darkened by gloom,
They snarl, sitting by the loom:
Germany, we weave your shroud, bit by bit,
And it is the triple curse that we weave in it –
We are weaving, we are weaving!A curse to the God, whom we used to pray
In the cold of winder, every hungry day;
We hoped in vain, we waited in vain,
He has mocked us, fooled us in our pain –
We are weaving, we are weaving!
They snarl, sitting by the loom:
Germany, we weave your shroud, bit by bit,
And it is the triple curse that we weave in it –
We are weaving, we are weaving!A curse to the God, whom we used to pray
In the cold of winder, every hungry day;
We hoped in vain, we waited in vain,
He has mocked us, fooled us in our pain –
We are weaving, we are weaving!
A curse to the king, the king of the wealthy,
Who could not be moved by our misery,
Who squeezed from us our last penny,
And like dogs, let us be shot and die in agony –
We are weaving, we are weaving!
A curse to our fake country,
Where every flower gets snapped too early,
Where only shame and infamy can thrive,
Where rottenness and decay keep the worms alive –
We are weaving, we are weaving!
The shuttle flies, the loom crackles loud
Old Germany, we are weaving your shroud,
We weave day and night, we do not quit –
And it is the triple curse that we weave in it,
We are weaving , we are weaving!
**************
Aucune larme dans leurs yeux attristés,
Ils montrent les dents, assis au métier:
Allemagne, c’est ton linceul que nous tissons,
Nous melons à la trame la triple malédiction –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudit soit le Dieu que nous avons prié,
Il nous a trahi, trompé, berné;
Nous avons espéré en vain, attendu en vain,
Durant le froid de l’hiver, le besoin, la faim –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudit soit le roi, le roi des richards,
Que notre misère ne put émouvoir,
Qui nous soutira notre tout dernier denier,
Et qui, comme des chiens, nous fit fusiller –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudite soit la fausse patrie,
Où ne prospèrent que honte et infamie,
Où chaque fleur, bien trop tôt, se fait cueillir,
Où les vers se récréent dans la pourriture –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!La navette vole, le métier continue à claquer,
Nous tissons jour et nuit, appliqués –
Vieille Allemagne, c’est ton linceul que nous tissons,
Nous melons à la trame la triple malédiction,
Nous tissons, nous tissons!
Ils montrent les dents, assis au métier:
Allemagne, c’est ton linceul que nous tissons,
Nous melons à la trame la triple malédiction –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudit soit le Dieu que nous avons prié,
Il nous a trahi, trompé, berné;
Nous avons espéré en vain, attendu en vain,
Durant le froid de l’hiver, le besoin, la faim –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudit soit le roi, le roi des richards,
Que notre misère ne put émouvoir,
Qui nous soutira notre tout dernier denier,
Et qui, comme des chiens, nous fit fusiller –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!Maudite soit la fausse patrie,
Où ne prospèrent que honte et infamie,
Où chaque fleur, bien trop tôt, se fait cueillir,
Où les vers se récréent dans la pourriture –
Nous tissons, nous tissons!La navette vole, le métier continue à claquer,
Nous tissons jour et nuit, appliqués –
Vieille Allemagne, c’est ton linceul que nous tissons,
Nous melons à la trame la triple malédiction,
Nous tissons, nous tissons!
**************
Im düstern Auge keine Träne
Sie sitzen am Webstuhl und fletschen
die Zähne:
Deutschland, wir weben dein Leichentuch,
Wir weben hinein den dreifachen Fluch –
Wir weben, wir weben!
Ein Fluch dem Gotte, zu dem wir
gebeten
In Winterskälte und Hungersnöten;
Wir haben vergebens gehofft und geharrt,
Er hat uns geäfft, gefoppt und genarrt –
Wir weben, wir weben!
Ein Fluch dem König, dem König der Reichen,
Den unser Elend nicht konnte erweichen
Der den letzten Groschen von uns erpreßt
Und uns wie Hunde erschiessen läßt –
Wir weben, wir weben!
Ein Fluch dem falschen Vaterlande,
Wo nur gedeihen Schmach und Schande,
Wo jede Blume früh geknickt,
Wo Fäulnis und Moder den Wurm erquickt –
Wir weben, wir weben!
Das Schiffchen fliegt, der Webstuhl kracht,
Wir weben emsig Tag und Nacht –
Altdeutschland, wir weben dein Leichentuch,
Wir weben hinein den dreifachen Fluch,
Wir weben, wir weben!
Rightfulness as Perfection
“It is an absolute perfection and virtually divine to know how to enjoy our being rightfully. We seek other conditions because we do not understand the use of our own, and go outside of ourselves because we do not know what it is like inside. Yet there is no use our mounting on stilts, for on stilts we must still walk on our own legs. And on the loftiest throne in the world we are still sitting only on our own rump.”
Montaigne
shadows
Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow.
Æsop
verità più profonda?
“Mia soltanto è la patria della mia anima. Vi posso entrare senza passaporto e mi sento a casa; essa vede la mia tristezza e la mia solitudine ma non vi sono case: furono distrutte durante la mia infanzia, i loro inquilini volano ora nell’aria in cerca di una casa, vivono nella mia anima. Ci fu un tempo in cui avevo due teste, vi fu un tempo in cui questi volti erano bagnati dalla rugiada dell’amore e disciolti come profumo di rosa. Ora mi sembra che anche quando indietreggio avanzo verso un’ampia porta, oltre la porta ci sono ampie distese di pareti, rombi di tuoni smorzati e lampi spezzati riposano. Mia soltanto è la patria della mia anima.”
Marc Chagall
La pura verità – Deeper truth
Dipingere – Painting –
Il pittore che ritrae per pratica e giudizio d’occhio sanza ragione è come lo specchio, che in sé imita tutte le a sé contrapposte cose, sanza cognizione d’esse.
*****
The painter who draws merely by practice and by eye, without any reason, is like a mirror which copies every thing placed in front of it without being conscious of their existence.
(da Vinci, Leonardo: Scritti. A cura di Carlo Vecce; MilanoGruppo Ugo Nursina Editore, 1992: 143)
Priorities …
How one can get things wrong – though they may be right in today’s age. Which then means: How wrong the times are …
A decline in real wages, a weak ruble and high interest rates have hurt middle-class people more than most, striking at their ability to travel abroad, invest in housing and in their health and children’s education.
the real and the very real
laws versus spell
‘Now,’ Toscanelli went on, adjusting the violet velvet cap on his head, ‘it may be that in some remote future men, yes, I say men, will take to the air, but this will never happen because of any spells but by their learning certain mathematical laws which are still unknown to us. It is only those who are blind to the truth who can see magic nature,’ added Toscanelli and returned the little bird to the shelf.
As he sat down again, he saw the light in Leonardo’s eyes.
‘Why, what’s the matter with you? Did I shock you by saying that men will fly one day?’
Leonardo answered, his voice hardly ore than a whisper:
‘Messere, ever since I was small, I believed in it. No, it seems more than a belief now. Men shall be free of air some day.’
Toscanelli’s smile was like a benediction.[1]
________________
[1] Almedingen, Martha, Edith, 1963: The Young Leonardo da Vinci; Illustrated by Azpelicueta; London: Max Parrish: 81
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