El humor y la curiosidad son la más pura forma de inteligencia
Judith Miller who often wrote or co-wrote articles that appeared on the front page of New York Times alleging weapons of mass destruction without named sources said, "Julian Assange isn't a good journalist . . . didn't care at all about attempting to verify the information that he was putting out or determine whether or not it would hurt anyone.
, 6 July 2011
Long after you have swung back
away from me
I think you are still with me:
you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way
a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?
and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the
tide swings you away before
I know I'm
alone again long since,
mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.
Borra el pasado para no repetirlo, para no tratarte como te trataron ellos; pero no los culpes, porque nadie puede enseñar lo que no sabe, perdónalos y te liberarás de esas cadenas.
No perdiste a nadie, el que murió, simplemente se nos adelantó, porque para allá vamos todos. Además lo mejor de él, el amor, sigue en tu corazón.
Y que no te confundan unos pocos homicidas y suicidas, el bien es mayoría pero no se nota porque es silencioso, una bomba hace más ruido que una caricia, pero por cada bomba que le destruya hay millones de caricias que alimenta a la vida.
Sure it was so. Man in those early days
Was not all stone and earth;
He shined a little, and by those weak rays
Had some glimpse of his birth.
He saw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence
He came, condemned hither;
And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence
His mind sure progressed thither.
Things here were strange unto him: sweat and till,
All was a thorn or weed:
Nor did those last, but - like himself - died still
As soon as they did seed.
They seemed to quarrel with him, for that act
That felled him foiled them all:
He drew the curse upon the world, and cracked
The whole frame with his fall.
This made him long for home, as loth to stay
With murmurers and foes;
He sighed for Eden, and would often say,
'Ah! what bright days were those!'
Nor was Heaven cold unto him; for each day
The valley or the mountain
Afforded visits, and still paradise lay
In some green shade or fountain.
Angels lay lieger here; each bush and cell,
Each oak and highway knew them;
Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well,
And he was sure to view them.
Almighty Love! where art Thou now? Mad man
Sits down and freezeth on;
HE raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor fan,
But bids the thread be spun.
I see, Thy curtains are close-drawn; Thy bow
Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below
The center, and his shroud.
All's in deep sleep and night: thick darkness lies
And hatcheth o'er Thy people -
But hark! what trumpet's that? what angel cries,
'Arise! thrust in Thy sickle'?
I am the bird that knocks at your window in the morning
and your companion, whom you cannot know,
the blossoms that light up for the blind.
I am the glacier's crest above the forests, the dazzling one
and the brass voices from cathedral towers.
The thought that suddenly comes over you at midday
and fills you with a singular happiness.
I am one you have loved long ago.
I walk alongside you by day and look intently at you
and put my mouth on your heart
but you don't know it.
I am your third arm and your second
shadow, the white one,
whom you don't have the heart for
and who cannot ever forget you.
(translated from the Norwegian by Roger Greenwald)
The world perishes not from bandits and fires, but from hatred, hostility, and all these petty squabbles.
Caminás con las manos en los bolsillos,
por la rambla, rodeando el mar.
Te acordás de otro tiempo, aquí mismo,
estabas enfermo de la cabeza
y no podías sostenerte de pie,
con elegancia. Sin embargo,
Hubo una oportunidad en aquella época.
Ahora mirás el mar, pero no decís nada.
Ya se han dicho muchas cosas
sobre ese montón de agua.