Desultor

I ignored all the purty flowers and signs of spring this morning, and read some Machado de Assis on the walk in to work. The text seemed to smile on this decision:

He was by the gate when that idea began to flower. From there he went inside, going up the stone steops, opening the door, unaware of anything. As he closed the door, a leap from Quincas Borba, who’d accompanied him, brought him to. Where had the major gone? Hw wanted to go back down and see him, but he realized in time that he’d just taken him to the street. His legs had done everything. They were what had carried him along all by themselves, straight, lucid, without stumbling, so that his head was left with nothing but the task of thinking. Good old legs! Friendly legs! Natural crutches for the spirit!

This entry was posted on Monday, May 19th, 2003 at 1:06 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.