segunda-feira, março 21, 2005


"But wrong and right, time itself, meant nothing to the mers, formed no concept that Moon could recognize in their scheme of things. Unmolested they lived for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. A different set of parameters took precedence in their brains: They lived for the moment, for the ephemeral beauty of a bubble rising into the light and vanishing - for the act of creation, of becoming. There was no need, and no purpose, to a lasting artifact; for the song, the dance, the act, was itself a work of art, like a flower or a life, made mor beautiful by its impermanence. The tangible, the material, were no more use or consequence to them than time itself. Their lives were endless by human standards, and they lived hedonistically, absorbed in the sensuous caress of their passage through the supple water, the flow of heat and cold, current and surge - the stunning schism between water and air, the fluid heat of desire, the shooting pressure of a clinging child."

Vinge, Joan D. (2001 [1980]), The Snow Queen, Warner Books, New York, p. 218
Nunca a velha máxima latina do carpe diem adquiriu em palavras uma expressão tão sublime. Talvez uma lição de vida, não?
João Campos