terça-feira, 19 de julho de 2011


He did not belong to the Olympians, and had all the incompleteness of the Titans. He did not survey, and it was but rarely that he could sing. His work is marred by struggle, violence and effort, and he passed not from emotion to form, but from thought to chaos. Still, he was great. He has been called a thinker, and was certainly a man who was always thinking, and always thinking out loud; but it was not thought that fascinated him, but rather the process by which thought moves. It was the machine he loved, not what the machine makes.

Oscar Wilde, The Decay of Lying and Other Essays, Penguin Books, 2010, p. 45.

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