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Ártemis Deus(a) da Lua (moderação)

 N. de Mensagens: 1291 Local: Monte Olimpo Raça: Elfo Elemento: Ar Deus: Hermes (Engenho/Pensamento/Arte) Cor: Vermelho
 | Assunto: Re: Excertos literários Dom Out 16, 2011 12:16 am | |
| “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.”
Great Expectations - Charles Dickens |
|  | | Diarmuid Mestre

  N. de Mensagens: 754 Idade: 28 Local: Almada Raça: Elfo Elemento: Terra/Rocha Deus: Ártemis (Lua/Bosques/Magia) Cor: Verde
 | Assunto: Re: Excertos literários Dom Out 16, 2011 5:21 am | |
| | Ártemis escreveu: | “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.”
Great Expectations - Charles Dickens |
Adorei esse livro, e adorei essa parte..., made me feel sad, mas entendi perfeitamente, senti-me identificado até.
Deixo aqui dois excertos literários de uma obra:
Emer, esposa do herói celta irlandês Cuchulain, após a sua morte:
And Emer took the head of Cuchulain in her hands, and she washed it clean, and put a silk cloth about it, and she held it to her breast; and she began to cry heavily over it, and it is what she said:
"Ochone!" said she, "it is good the beauty of this head was, though it is low this day, and it is many of the kings and princes of the world would be keening it if they knew the way it is now, and the poets and the Druids of Ireland and of Alban; and many were the goods and the jewels and the rents and the tributes that you brought home to me from the countries of the world, with the courage and the strength of your hands!"And she made this complaint:
"Och, head! Ochone, O head! you gave death to great heroes, to many hundreds; my head will lie in the same grave, the one Stone will be made for both of us.
"Och, hand! Ochone, hand that was once gentle. It is often it was put under my head; it is dear that hand was to me!
"Dear mouth! Ochone, kind mouth that was sweet-voiced telling stories; since the time love first came on your face, you never refused either weak or strong!
"Dear the man, dear the man, that would kill the whole of a great host; dear his cold bright hair, and dear his bright cheeks!
"Dear the king, dear the king, that never gave a refusal to any; thirty days it is to-night since my body lay beside your body.
"Och, two spears! Ochone, two spears, Och, shield! Och, deadly sword! Let them be given to Conall of the battles; there was never any wage given like that.
"I am glad, I am glad, Cuchulain of Muirthemne, I never brought red shame on your face, for any unfaithfulness against you.
"Happy are they, happy are they, who will never hear the cuckoo again for ever, now that the Hound has died from us.
"I am carried away like a branch on the stream; I will not bind up my hair to-day. From this day I have nothing to say that is better than Ochone!"
Retirado de: "The Death of Cuchulain" in GREGORY, Lady Augusta, "Lady Gregory's Complete Irish Mythology".
Nota: "Ochone" é gaélico para pesar, tristeza..., ressentimento...
Segundo excerto:
Deirdre, que era cobiçada pelo Rei da província de Ulster, Conchubar Mac Nessa, fugiu com Naoise, seu verdadeiro amor, e com os dois irmãos deste, Ardan e Ainle, os três também guerreiros celtas da elite do próprio Rei. Durante anos fugiram de Conchubar em aventuras por toda a Irlanda e Escócia. Conchubar convidou-os de volta com falsas promessas de amizade, e com traição e encantamentos druídicos, matou os três irmãos. Este foi o lamento de Deirdre, quando Conchubar a tentou buscar após a morte de Naiose e seus irmãos:
"Make keening for the heroes that were killed on their coming to Ireland; stately they used to be, coming to the house, the three great sons of Usnach.
"The sons of Usnach fell in the fight like three branches that were growing straight and nice, and they destroyed in a heavy storm that left neither bud nor twig of them.
"Naoise, my gentle, well-learned comrade, make no delay in crying him with me; cry for Ardan that killed the wild boars, cry for Ainnle whose strength was great.
"It was Naoise that would kiss my lips, my first man and my first sweetheart; it was Ainnle would pour out my drink, and it was Ardan would lay my pillow.
"Though sweet to you is the mead that is drunk by the soft-living son of Ness, the food of the sons of Usnach was sweeter to me all through my lifetime.
"Whenever Naoise would go out to hunt through the woods or the wide plains, all the meat he would bring back was better to me than honey.
"Though sweet to you are the sounds of pipes and of trumpets, it is truly I say to the king, I have heard music that is sweeter.
"Delightful to Conchubar, the king, are pipes and trumpets; but the singing of the sons of Usnach was more delightful to me.
"It was Naoise had the deep sound of the waves in his voice; it was the song of Ardan that was good, and the voice of Ainnle towards their green dwelling-place.
"Their birth was beautiful and their blossoming, as they grew to the strength of manhood; sad is the end to-thy, the sons of Usnach to be cut down.
"Dear were their pleasant words, dear their young, high strength; in their going through the plains of Ireland there was a welcome before the coming of their strength.
"Dear their grey eyes that were loved by women, many looked on them as they went; when they went freely searching through the woods, their steps were pleasant on the dark mountain.
"I do not sleep at any time, and the colour is gone from my face; there is no sound can give me delight since the sons of Usnach do not come.
"I do not sleep through the night; my senses are scattered away from me, I do not care for food or drink. I have no welcome to-day for the pleasant drink of nobles, or ease, or comfort, or delight, or a great house, or the palace of a king.
"Do not break the strings of my heart as you took hold of my young youth, Conchubar; though my darling is dead, my love is strong to live. What is country to me, or land, or lordship? What are swift horses? What are jewels and gold? Och! it is I will be lying to-night on the strand like the beautiful sons of Usnach."
Retirado de: "The Fate of the Sons of Usnach" in: GREGORY, Lady Augusta, "Complete Irish Mythology".
Última edição por Diarmuid em Dom Out 16, 2011 5:39 am, editado 1 vez(es) |
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