Who do we serve - the people or the state?
the poet does not matter - let them wait!
...
walk in the wake of themselves, admiring the beauty of nature and divine
feel your soul
melt in the heat of inspired design
man - this is the true joy, these are the rights!
(Aleksandr Pushkin, quoted in 'Lessons
Russian literature' by Vladimir Nabokov)
I have nothing to add to the world of officials and employees. Reigns there such a great confusion of values \u200b\u200band measures, it looks like, rather than the real world, one of those extraordinary and distant lands visited by Gulliver in his travels. The official-intellectual
is like the Academy of quell'inventore Lagado puzzled that eight years on the project to extract sunlight from cucumbers.
Looking at the faces of officials, intellectuals, and assessing their personalities, I am always amazed to find them, though different from each other, equally artificial.
Their physical appearance, perhaps for the constant habit of reciting and emphasize its role and themselves, I think that ends up taking common characteristics: a weak tone and an approximate expression, which in real life make their people from indeterminate boundaries as fuzzy photographs.
consider it wonderful that nature has been able to create many shades of gray, so many gradations of nothingness, so many changes in quality of all tasteless and odorless, so many modulations of ineptitude, so many streaks of meanness. Each, however, with its own characteristic, with its own funny or disturbing deformation.
one time, if it was possible to close the Library as it retreats to a convent, I think I would enthusiastically became a monk of the order of barefoot librarians.
Today, the Library no longer has almost no interest for me.
"I can not hold back from saying, prophetically wrote Schopenhauer, that for me 'optimism', as it is not the rant of people in their narrow forehead that words do not hide, is a way of thinking is not only absurd, but really 'infamous', a bitter mockery of the suffering humanity with no name. "
when Marxism seemed even a theory that allowed the greatest hope for all humanity, the philosopher György Lukács quoted this passage from Schopenhauer Schopenhauer against itself. Today, the pessimistic philosopher has taken a painful revenge and his scattered thoughts, which Lukács cites as evidence against him, pulverize the weighty book that contains them.
After that the effort to change society is dissolved along with the illusion of the goodness of men, I stopped in a position of strength.
I am convinced that evil prevails, encouraged by greed, fear, vanity.
are, however, also believe that a spark of wisdom and courage will always remain alive and on, because of pain and oppression in the long run can not fail to rise to a desire for truth and justice, and this makes me think that resisting persuasion is not useless.
appreciate the values \u200b\u200bof the spirit, but I can not stand the spiritualist discourses that ignore the reality of things.
Only those who have a lively sense of reality can be a very spiritual man and free.
I also think that the environment and education can only encourage or restrict the development of natural qualities, good or bad, already owned. No
pedagogy able to turn a man into a miserable person or a fool in a magnanimous man insightful.
Lost and the famous rhetorical optimism of the will, have become more attentive to the pleasure that can give the spectacle of nature.
Only recently, on a warm June evening, I saw for the first time the terrace of the Library. At that time, the thick walls delimiting the blue of the night as a room, giving it an intimacy unusual, and it lit up by his lights, had become the center of all space.
On one hand we saw in the distance, the dark masses of mountains eased just by scattered lights of houses on the other hand, to the south, began immediately the town with its sparkling lights endless.
The sky, which until recently was crossed by the fluttering swallows had lost the metallic blue of the day: its many shades of blue now seem dense and thick brush strokes and it did not seem far but near and tangible and intangible: l ' air was sweet and fragrant caress her.
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