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Beatus ille

King Vidor said that "the beauty and simplicity are the same thing." Add one to two qualities tend to that uniqueness when dealing with intelligence and displayed in an elegant way. Well, all this is achieved in the twenties, the book collects articles entitled 's happiness minnows, and delightful short pieces that beautifully edited Cliff. This set of qualities makes the texts of Simon Leys we seek a few moments of joy and calm reflection, but above all, that we captivate by its original mix as the daily chronicle of thoughts on the art, timeless quotes always rightly brought and an uncompromising sense. Arguably, this is a short treatise of good reason and the best quote, so this little book deserves to be on hand, as "the greatest pleasure of reading is rereading" according Leys himself says, his Readers will always ensured our enjoyment and occasionally returning to these pages. It then leaves a taste of what noted:

No expert in literature never be surprised by the distance that separates a writer from his writings, on the other hand, are not the deeds of the active life which produce great works, but rather the failure, the dark sorrows, boredom, the barren nothingness of days. And the novelist's genius lies, as Orwell said about DH Lawrence in "extraordinary ability to know through the imagination that can not be known through observation."

The beauty called the disaster the same way as the towers attract lightning. (...) The ignorance, obscurantism, bad taste or stupidity is not simply the result of shortcomings, but for many other active forces that claim furiously at every opportunity, and do not tolerate any exceptions to his tyranny. The talent always inspired is an insult to mediocrity. And if this is true of the aesthetic, even more so in the moral. More than artistic beauty, moral beauty seems to have the gift of exasperating our sad species. The need to reduce everything to our miserable level of stain, mock and degrade all that we are dominated by its splendor is probably one of the most distressing features of human nature.

History, contrary to what he believes public opinion, does not record the events. Only registered echoes of the events, which is very different, and to do so, relies on the imagination and memory.

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fingerlings

We received rain. Came after all to lie down for a moment before a dirty linen. A dense warp 'among which, however, sunlight impacted as a pin. On the leaves and petals, on the glass and polished stones, rainfall had posed as a procession of tiny snails. Fragile. Transparent. Surely keeping all the rainbow in the armpit. At the top of the garden there is a welter of small herbs. To get your perfume the very lewd call for more than a caress, an outburst. Hands are eating them with fingers like breasts lover. We had coffee in the gazebo. We were told that nothing was thick wisteria. Penalty not to have seen and smelled. R. spoke of the cuckoo could be heard nearby, the bird used to leaving the nest to be born outside and ends up throwing his hand to the brothers who are not, while the mother undergoes a very hard working deluded for a feeding. It was then we started a long walk along the right oak. Going to rapping after we crossed a pheasant on the road, but quickly hid. Barking dogs. In between the forest was discovered the landscape framed by the branches and sebes. The sunlight filtering through the thick clouds gave relief to the world. On the way back we chatted with a neighbor. He brought with him a very docile female mastiff being called Niebla. It was night. While we ate was congealed skylights constellations. As the conversation cheerful garlands.