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| 2019/09/09 05:31:31瀏覽372｜回應1｜推薦6 | |
| Excerpt：《不安之書》(The Book of Disquiet) 02 〈071 / 用思考去感覺〉 我認為，我深深覺得自己與別人格格不入的原因在於，大多數人用感覺去思考，而我用思考去感覺。 對一般人而言，感覺就是生活，思考就是學會如何去生活。對我而言，思考就是生活，感覺不過是思考的食糧。 奇怪的是，我僅有的一點熱情被那些與我性情迥異的人喚起。我最崇拜的文學家當屬那些與我有著極少相似之處的古典作家。如果不得不在夏多布里昂和維艾拉之間選擇，我會毫不猶豫地選擇維艾拉。 越是與我不同的人，看起來就越真實，因為他不像我那樣依賴自己的主觀性。這便是為什麼我不斷靠近研究的客體，恰恰就是我憎惡且避之不及的人類。我愛它是因為我恨它。我喜歡去凝視它，是因為我不願去感覺它。風景如畫一般美好，卻絕少能做成一張舒適的床。 71 The cause of my profound sense of incompatibility with others is, I believe, that most people think with their feelings, whereas I feel with my thoughts. For the ordinary man, to feel is to live, and to think is to know how to live. For me, to think is to live, and to feel is merely food for thought. Its curious that what little capacity I have for enthusiasm is aroused by those most unlike me in temperament. I admire no one in literature more than the classical writers, who are the ones I least resemble. Forced to choose between reading only Chateaubriand or Vieira, I would choose Vieira without a moments hesitation. The more a man differs from me, the more real he seems, for he depends that much less on my subjectivity. And thats why the object of my close and constant study is the same common humanity that I loathe and stay away from. I love it because I hate it. I like to look at it because I hate to feel it. The landscape, admirable as a picture, rarely makes a comfortable bed. 〈080 / 悲傷的間奏 (三)〉 我厭倦一切，包括那些並不使我厭倦的東西。我的快樂像我的痛苦一樣痛。 但願我是個孩子，在農莊的水池裡放紙船，頭上是縱橫交錯的葡萄藤搭成的屋舍頂篷，陽光透過葡萄藤，在閃著暗光的淺水表面投射下格子圖案和綠色陰影。 我和生活之間隔著一層薄玻璃。無論我多麼清楚地看見和瞭解生活，就是觸不到它。 合理化我的悲傷？如果合理化需要付出努力，那要如何才能做到呢？悲傷的人是無法付出努力的。 我甚至無法摒棄那些我痛恨至極的庸俗行為。摒棄也要付出努力，而我又無法做任何努力。 …… 我的夢是愚蠢的避難所，就像用雨傘遮擋雷電。 我感到如此倦怠，如此愁苦，如此缺乏姿態和行動。 無論我怎麼去探究自我，所有夢想之路都通往焦慮的空曠之地。 有時候，甚至連夢都避開我這個執迷不悟的作夢者，於是我看清了事物生動形象的枝微末節。讓我躲藏的霧已散去。我靈魂的肌膚被每一條看得見的邊緣劃破。我的器官在發現它們的粗糙畤，被每一件看得見的粗糙刺痛。我的靈魂被每一個物件的可見重量沉沉壓住。 我的生活彷彿就是被生活鞭打。 80 DOLOROUS INTERLUDE Everything wearies me, including what doesnt weary me. My happiness is as painful as my pain. If only I could be a child sailing paper boats in a cistern on the farm, with a rustic canopy of criss-crossing trellis vines projecting chequers of sunlight and green shade On the shiny dark surface of the shallow water. Theres a thin sheet of glass between me and life. However clearly I see and understand life, I cant touch it. Rationalize my sadness? What for, if rationalization takes effort? Sad people cant make an effort. I cant even renounce those banal acts of life that I so abhor. To renounce is an effort, and I dont have it in me to make any effort. …… My dreams are a stupid shelter, like an umbrella against lightning. Im so listless, so pathetic, so short on gestures and acts. However deeply I delve into myself, all of my dreams paths lead to clearings of anxiety. There are times when dreaming eludes even me, an obsessive dreamer, and then I see things in vivid detail. The mist in which I take refuge dissipates. And every visible edge cuts the skin of my soul. Every harsh thing I see wounds the part of me that recognizes its harshness. Every objects visible weight weighs heavy inside my soul. Its as if my life amounted to being thrashed by it. 中譯：劉勇軍／野人出版社， 英譯：Richard Zenith／Penguin Classics |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
