The Prison: A Dialogue

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Williams and Norgate, 1891 - 141 páginas
 

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Página 138 - Brewster's Prison. The prisoner is sum-ming up his experience (a very figurative prisoner): — 'Now my struggle is over; the time has come and my choice is made. I abandon to destruction the unity of which I am con-scious, I take refuge in the lastingness of its elements. I bid farewell forever to the transient meeting of eternal guests who had gathered here for an hour; they are taking leave of one another and never perhaps throughout the course of ages will they meet again, all of them and none...
Página 87 - We live in a web of associated memories ; our general map — the chart thanks to which we know more or less clearly where to put what, recognize analogies, form classes, make order out of chaos and accumulate experience — is a network of memories. And one of ourselves, the loudest voiced one, the one we usually think of when we say I, corresponds to the spot on that map where the most frequent and familiar memories cross each other, as the railroads of a country at its capital.
Página 111 - We are full of immortality. But it dwells not in the beauty of our moral person ; it stirs and glitters in us under the crust of self, like a gleam of sirens under the ice, and any blow which breaks this crust brings us into the company of the eternal ones whom to feel is to be they. That blow you will surely strike somehow, you who live and die. The film you have spread you will likewise rend ; surely, surely, you must slip into heaven.
Página 139 - ... my forehead and from I know not where wells into my eyes the tranquil glory of a boundless sunset. What are they waiting for, the departing guests? Only a word that shall set them free. Go, then; pass on, immortal ones. And, behold, I burst the bonds that pent you up within me, I disband myself and travel on for ever in your scattered paths.
Página 87 - ... a network of memories. And one of ourselves, the loudest voiced one, the one we usually think of when we say I, corresponds to the spot on that map where the most frequent and familiar memories cross each other, as the railroads of a country cross at its capital.
Página 140 - Then let there be banners and music; this is my leave-taking; I am not even going home. I thank you, days of hope and pride; I thank you, lamentable solitude, and you, shades of those that loved me. I sorrow with you, grieving ones, and melt with you, O fond ones. I triumph with those who vanquish and I rest with those who are dead. I descend to my fathers and return again for ever. I have nothing that is mine but a name, and I bow down in my dream of a day to the life eternal.
Página 140 - Now someone says to me: It is well so far; taste also the death. Then let there be banners and music; this is no leave-taking; I am not even going home. I thank you, days of hope and pride; I thank you, lamentable solitude, and you, shades of those that loved me. I sorrow with you, grieving ones, and melt with you, O fond ones. I triumph with those who vanquish and I rest with those who are dead. I descend to my father and return again for ever.
Página 131 - I can urge is that your scheme will not satisfy everybody, because there are people in whose opinion to identify in essence the good and the divine is not to raise the good but to lower the divine ; people whose religious instinct — the instinct that cries in the question, " Why all this and what is there behind it ? ' ' — will always demand that the whole mass of inner adjustments of the human group should be referred to another order of facts.
Página 140 - ... of death. Then let there be banners and music; this is no leave-taking; I am not even going home. I thank you, days of joy and pride; I thank you, lamentable solitude, and you, shades of those that loved me. I sorrow with you, grieving ones, and melt with you, O fond ones. I triumph with those that vanquish and I rest with those who are dead. I descend to my fathers and return again forever. I have...
Página 112 - ... is no rule of divine conduct, no text-book of enchantments. Say if you will, that they are always the same, one under many forms. Call them disguises of the emancipator. This you may do, but you cannot prescribe to him the method of your emancipation. He tears the veil as he chooses, with dawn rose fingers of adoration and fiery fingers of enthusiasm, but also with the scarlet hand of passion and the livid hand of death.

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