Chapter 14 Loose pages (1897-1900)

I re-read this wonderful quote from Pascal: "Alexander's example of chastity did not produce many ascetics, but his example of drunkenness produced many sensualists. Etc." It is deeply influenced by this kind of thinking that some people will cover up the feet of great men from us at every turn.Yet the height on which their feet rest is of no concern to me; their feet are beautiful.The problem is not even here; the head and the feet belong to the same person, there is a secret relationship; if I abstract the greatness here, who knows, I will not lose it all. By abstraction, I mean only the emotions, the thoughts, and the Neglecting the organs; there is fruit, but no tree that bears it?A great man's greatness is not only in his head; if he can hold greatness higher it is because he is taller.

Moreover, the metaphor is specious: there are many ways to be great, many ways to be beautiful, and many ways to be noteworthy. A base emotion is an emotion in disguise.Hard as it is, it's been discovered that perhaps no emotion is immune to...etc.The most inconspicuous flowers planted also express a special beauty. On the function of disease. (See Pascal's Sickness for Prayer.) Disease, the source of restlessness. Expect nothing from "satisfied people." Great patients: Prophet, Muhammad, St. Paul, St. John (Jules Suri thinks that reducing the sacred importance of Christian speech today can make him a hysterical patient and a consumptive patient?), Rousseau, Nietzsche, Tuo Dostoevsky, Flaubert, etc., and morbid characters: Hamlet, Orestes, etc.

The ancient need for disease. Compensation system (poorly understood).Homer's blindness, the story of Oedipus (reserved for another use); he sings only out of pain; in mastering his love he is silent.As a result, his songs are sad; they speak of longing, not possession.In, they are not sad, but just tell... (too subtle, to explain). The great uneasiness of the morbid heroes of antiquity: Prometheus, Orestes, Ajax, Phaedra, Pentheus, Oedipus (Oedipus is another matter, in my dramatic conception , should be the opposite of Macbeth). As for Homer, the explanation that prompts the nightingale to peck the blind eye is far more satisfactory than the system of compensation.A blind eye to the real world.The blind nightingale sang better, not with regret but with passion.

Illness presents to man a new disquiet and justifies it.Rousseau's value derives from this, as does Nietzsche's value.Without it, Rousseau would have been a master of rhetoric, as intolerable as Cicero. The fantasies one has on the health of great men: look at Molière, Racine, etc.This question was best discussed by Goethe, who is regarded as a typical example of a healthy literati.See Faust (excellent conversation with Shiron).No doubt he felt the benefit of it... see Torquato Tasso, etc. The famous problem of Sparta should be raised here.Why didn't Sparta produce great men.Racial superiority prevents individual prominence.In this way, however, they created a standard of male body proportions, and a Doric variety.When you outlaw the weak, you outlaw the rare variety—it is a well-known fact in botany, at least in floriculture, that the most beautiful flowers often bloom from weak-looking stems.

One of the amazing things about the earth is that man is forced to feel more than think. During seasickness across the sea, the feeling of absurdity is added; it is impossible to recall exactly, although the most meaningless feeling stretches infinitely and occupies the void of time.Some sounds, however, such as the long intervals of the machine roar, compel me to measure time; and between one sound and the next, I repeat to myself: "Ha! This is lingonberry rotten pastry... ..." In my mind, this pastry is called: bier.In another moment, I had the misfortune to see a broken pin hanging on a copper chain, swaying in the opposite direction to the rolling of the ship, which reminded me of the big locust in the south. Putting it on is like polishing leather shoes.

Sweating profusely, almost fainting, like a dying man in Edgar Allan Poe, yes, like the unfortunate one in The Pit and the Pendulum, thinking: "Oh! Open this porthole! Oh! Open this porthole !” But there is no way, for a long time, I only think about, only feel this: a little sea breeze blowing on my swollen cheeks, what should it feel like? Combining them is completely useless.Miserable!Out of breath, he flings at the porthole, grabs the nut, twists it, pulls it up, opens it, and falls back on the bed, as if dead, while the strong discomfort caused by the cold wind dominates everything : Just as I opened the porthole, the cold wind rushed in, freezing my sweaty hands.

I stayed still for a long time, not even moving a finger, letting the sweat flow from my forehead to the pillow drop by drop; then, I gradually had thoughts and feelings—now frozen by the sea breeze: "Oh! Close this porthole ! Oh! Shut the porthole! . . . " Not only is it nauseating, but it is almost impossible to swallow slightly harder things, the salivary glands do not secrete saliva, and the muscles refuse to swallow; the mucus secreted by the tongue and the mouth sticks thickly and is dirty, like an insulating layer. The sun sinks slowly towards the sea.The sky was filled with mist, and the setting sun disappeared behind the mist.The air was warm and calm as the sea, yet all around us was shaking and fleeing, seeking anchorage, longing for port.People are thinking: "Tonight... (it's still early), this night, the lighthouse of a new land will guide us into safe anchorage!..."

But why? Besides, the land of Africa has been washed by the torrential rain—moreover—more strength to welcome new joys... Not one village - but an entire region. I tried my best not to vomit. Carl Gustav Vollmoller (1878-1948), born in Stuttgart, Germany, is a cosmopolitan intellectual and one of the pioneers of Hollywood movies. This garden, the orchard, has nowhere to compare with it in splendor, deep splendor, order, rhythmic beauty, softness, etc.I entered the garden, and walked in the shade of the half-tearing, half-laughing orange grove, already full of ecstasy; the leaves were so lush that the sky could hardly be seen.It was still gray after the rain; the light seemed to be radiated entirely by a mass of oranges.The fruit bends the branches.The lemon tree is thinner, but taller, less luxurious, but more graceful.The fence above sometimes almost obscures the fruit forest.The number of trunks, their proper height, and their sleek appearance reminded me of the columns of the mosque in Córdoba.On the ground between the tree trunks, a thick layer of wood sorrel was spread uninterruptedly, which was lighter and bluer than the green of the lawn, and was also softer and more delicate.The hard black earth flower paths are straight and narrow, evenly arranged, moss grows due to the darkness, heat and humidity, I really long to walk on them barefoot.

The end of the garden is connected to the platform, or to be precise, to the cliff, and the sea is below.The edge of the garden was no longer orange groves, but green oaks and pines.Along the edge of the garden ran a much wider avenue, guarded by a row of trees, separating the walker from the sea.On the ledge, on the precarious platform, tables and armchairs were placed in several places.A pleasant rest.It was on such a marble chair that the gallant gardener served us oranges.There are four kinds: the largest one is almost bland, slightly sweet like watermelon, I prefer oranges with egg-sized thick skins, which taste sweet, just like the oriental oranges I imagine; The red-skinned small apples are hard and firm, but the skin is yellow-green and very delicate, like the leather of a glove.I don't know how much we ate, alas!I don't know how much (happy) I eat... both thirst and hunger.We sat and ate and chatted, throwing the orange peel from our seats over the railing: the orange peel fell more than a hundred meters straight into the sea.

Perugia, February It's a kind of... alas!Why doesn't everyone have this wonderful passion?It is from this passion that heroic deeds spring.I am very proud and feel that any pain will motivate me even more.I am in charge of everything, everything, but nobody is involved; I forget myself, wallow in a vague pleasure, throw myself completely into it. This allows any individualism to prevail, since any egoism ends here.There can be no doubt that in this state any return to myself, any personal consideration, is not only inappropriate but impossible; and in this state I feel myself capable of the noblest as well as the basest, and my thoughts seem as if Numb, unable to measure, unwilling to estimate consequences.

My mere presence established an exciting harmony between everything I saw, heard, and felt everywhere, and thus put an end to my rebellion.I live in harmony... “Temperance is passion like an angel.” (Jubert) This is just like what you said: Tuberculosis means going to the south every year for the winter. Water from the glacier!Cloudier than anything; suitable for goiter sufferers. Only the water that gushes out from the depths of the earth is the purest. I hesitated for a long time. Cleombrotus did not participate in Socrates' last conversation. I don't know whether he committed suicide by jumping into the sea in despair... or listened to Plato's extremely eloquent words to him, and was eager to appreciate the other side. That supernatural bliss that awaits him; and I quote Milton: ...and he, Cleombrotus To enjoy Plato's fairy garden, Then jumped into the sea. (Ⅲ) The active muscles of my body, the antennae of my sensual pleasures, are more agreeable to me than the alert vitality of my mind. However, it was no longer the music: the mere sound of a string or a flute, or the mere sound of a human voice, immediately controlled my thoughts.Likewise, an action, a ray of sunlight falling to the ground, a man or the throbbing smile of nature, alas!Now, more than art, these arouse the complete ecstasy of my heart.Thus, all the slow gains of the whole race, through my fathers, who labored so hard to raise me up, are here completely undone, and finally restored to barbarism—just as patiently built palaces are now The ruins, which can be seen everywhere, are the natural vegetation that has grown again. In Kantara, seeing the clouds flying over the mountains and then dissipating in the blue sky, caravans that are more difficult than the desert (and vice versa). Arrive in Pawnee. The strong fragrance that cannot be blown away by the wind spreads like heavy water vapor on the sea. I felt this shadow all over my body at the same time.My bare feet touch the cooler ground.The air was less hot, and it entered my lungs like drinking alcohol.My eyelids are delighted by its caress. skate.Ice that has not yet slipped.I can’t tell the difference from the water—it’s treacherous—I thought I was gliding on the water—the sun shines on the ice, it’s as bright as a mirror, and it can shine on people—the speed is extremely fast during the pattern rotation, and my body is tilted, as if I’m lying in the void , leaning over this figure, just like Narcissus, watching himself closely. In the evening, we returned to the village where the setting sun shines—we dragged a long figure on the road. Other weary turns,—returned too late—the sun went down—sorrow. Skate on overflowing pools, glide between reeds and tree trunks. Skating on a canal—not alone—speeding through, shouting, "Hey! A gate, a house." Skate in Versailles all the way to the end of the Grand Canal. "As soon as I feel rooted, the most fascinating land becomes disgusting to me." ( Dumas fils " Money Matters " ) Human laziness knows no bounds.This is where inertia wins over harder laws to follow.This inertia is sometimes called wisdom; it prevents what should happen from happening too quickly. Very few people really love life, and the fear of change is the proof.I hope that the least change, apart from the residence, is the mind.Women, friends, let it go; however, apartments and thoughts are exhausted.Sit down and don't want to move.Arrange the surroundings according to your own temperament, decorate everything to be very similar to yourself, and avoid singing against yourself; it is a mirror, a kind of self-prepared approval.In this environment, people no longer live, but follow the old ways.Let me tell you, very few people really love life. Listen to people talking.Who is listening to each other?Arguing with each other?otherwise.People only listen to people who repeat your thoughts.The more you articulate this thought as you express it yourself, the more willing it is to be listened to.The shrewdness of great journalists lies in making the fool who reads their articles say, "That's exactly what I think!" People don't like to be bumped, but to be flattered.How long is the time that remains.How hard it is to move!In the interval of fighting, how much I want to rest!It's like sitting down when encountering a steep slope! On determinism and coercion. I have achieved a sense of solidity: Yes, my behavior, in my opinion, is both right and left, very complete, as if it came from a well-thought-out chest.The beauty of my actions does not appear to me until later; I am even soon convinced that this beauty, though pleasing to me and perfect in my opinion, is not what I seek until the moment of action. It hasn't been foreseen yet.My most beautiful actions, at least I think they are, are those whose beauty surprises me.I suddenly felt a burst of ecstasy, filled with this special intoxication in my heart, and I was carried away for a while, and at the same time I also had a power, I just felt that I could do anything.At such moments, I couldn't help but feel that my whole body was tense and stiff, and I became cruel to myself, treated myself very roughly, and enjoyed myself.I am sure that any action I take can always add great splendor to my life. Sometimes, almost out of anger, I fantasize simply and rashly, relax my will, and enjoy myself.I have never been able to enter this state, and I also understand that the coercion on me is more natural than other people's enjoyment. I have no freedom not to express my will, to relax and not to fight; This kind of freedom is the beauty of my behavior. paradox. Slow Evolution: From now on, for me, wisdom may no longer be a jewel that I can sell all my possessions and be sure to get.The vanity of knowing everything is as ridiculous as any other, and more dangerous.After a while, what people don't understand the most is themselves. So don't say no to everything: say no.Think back in those days, the Hebrews would rather kill than persuade people to convert.It is always the enemy that is received.Muslims know this too; when confronted with other people's thoughts, they resist instead of listening.The mule was stubborn because he was wearing a blindfold.What do you gain by knowing that the rest of you have the same reasons for living as you do?Understanding is the beginning of assent.In order to be steadfast in negation, one must always be dismissive of what others negate. (Recalling the case.) Rousseau has power only because he is the only member of his party, and he can believe that his party is good.What always discredits a party is; there are always too many; and if there are few, the party is too weak. Rousseau is powerful because he is alone; but stupidity is everywhere, and the danger is that some adherents are stupider than stupider;As long as you are alone on your side, you can win; stupidity seems to be completely on the other side; Some people think that great believers need solitude in order to think! In any case, everyone seems to be inexperienced at present; the experience of Rome is history; it is easy to reason.The experience of the French Revolution is unparalleled.Until now we couldn't afford it. It is said that some people's experience, others can never learn from it.Since some people have the experience of being killed, I don't see much use for these experiences.