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Excerpt:《不安之書》(The Book of Disquiet) 09
2019/09/16 05:30
Excerpt:《不安之書》(The Book of Disquiet) 09

330 / 美麗無用〉


Since perhaps not everything is false, may nothing cure us, my love, of the almost ecstatic pleasure of lying.
Ultimate subtlety! Supreme perversion! The absurd lie has all the charm of the perverse with the even greater, ultimate charm of being innocent. The deliberately innocent perversion — who can go beyond this supreme subtlety? The perversion that doesnt even aspire to give us pleasure and that lacks the fury to cause us pain, falling to the ground between pleasure and pain, useless and absurd like a shoddy toy with which an adult tries to amuse himself!
Dont you know, Exquisite One, the pleasure of buying things you dont need? Dont you know the delight of roads which, when were distracted, we take by mistake? What human act has a colour as lovely as a spurious one……which lies to its own nature and contradicts its own intention?
How sublime to waste a life that could have been useful, never to execute a work of art that was certain to be beautiful, to abandon midway a sure road to victory!
Why is art beautiful? Because its useless. Why is life ugly? Because its all aims, objectives and intentions. All of its roads are for going from one point to another. If only we could have a road connecting a place no one ever leaves from to a place where no one goes! If only someone would devote his life to building a road from the middle of one field to the middle of another — a road that would be useful if extended at each end, but that would sublimely remain as only the middle stretch of a road!
The beauty of ruins? That theyre no longer good for anything.
The sweetness of the past? Our memory of it, since to remember it is to make it present, and it isnt present nor ever can be — absurdity, my love, absurdity.
And I who am saying all this — why am I writing this book? Because I realize its imperfect. Dreamed, it would be perfection; written, it becomes imperfect; thats why Im writing it. And above all else, because I advocate uselessness, absurdity, —I write this book to lie to myself, to be unfaithful to my own theory.
And the supreme glory of all this, my love, is to think that perhaps none of it is true and that I dont even believe its true.
And when lying begins to bring us pleasure, lets give it the lie by telling the truth. And when lying causes us anxiety, lets stop so that the suffering cant become even perversely pleasurable.

346 / 夢境中的萬物〉

The things we dream have just one side. We cant walk around them to see whats on the other side. The problem with the things of life is that we can look at them from all sides. The things we dream have, like our souls, only the side that we see.

英譯:Richard ZenithPenguin Classics