Heini here:)一个闲散的个人博。

Mask of Apollo-片段


  大概是有柏拉图出场的缘故吧,读到一半又想到Allegory of the caves了...You much in turn descend,to teach what the shadows stand for,for you have seen things mighty and bright,and can for the best distinguish in the darkness.



  -Die young...or at least timely

  It was time to go. I took a last look at Dion, smiling among his friends, and there came into my mind the story of the old Olympic victor who saw both of his sons crowned in one year. “Die now!” the people cried to him, meaning that no moment of his life to come could equal this. I stood in the doorway, though my exit was already made, looking at his stern happy face, and a voice in my soul, which I could not silence, said, Die now, Dion. Die!


  I did not run on, in the hope that my fears were folly, that the tumult had some other cause. I knew; and now fear was over, I did not even grieve. It was all that was left him, to die like a king in tragedy, treading upon purple to the axe behind the door. He was freed from his prison in Ortygia, in the only way he could be freed, before it closed on him forever. I had no need to be told he had died with courage, fighting like a soldier against them all. I hoped, for as long as it was possible to hope in vain, that he had not fought alone.


  They bowed out. When the lads behind him started to follow, he reached out and caught one by the arm, saying, “No, you stay, Hephaistion.” The tall boy came back with a lightening of all his face, and stood close beside him. He said to me, “The others are the Companions of the Prince; but we two are just Hephaistion and Alexander.

  He noted that we had the place to ourselves, and said, “I have something to tell you. You shall be the first to hear. One day, I shall make a sacrifice at Achilles’ tomb. Hephaistion will do it for Patroklos. It is a vow we have made.”


  This morning, having got back to Athens, I went out to the Academy. No one was about; I chose the quiet time, when everyone is working. The myrtle they planted on Plato’s grave is getting thick and tall, and the marble begins to mellow. The grove was green. But I saw in my mind the white slopes of Etna, the titan lava-rocks black on fields of snow, and the snowlight on those blue eyes, enrapt and listening.

  He will wander through the world, like a flame, like a lion, seeking, never finding, never knowing (for he will look always forward, never back) that while he was still a child the thing he seeks slipped from the world, worn out and spent. Like a lion he will hunt for his proper food, and, fasting, make do with what he finds; like a lion he will be sometimes angry. Always he will be loved, never knowing the love he missed. No one would fight for Dion, when he gave, as his own soul saw it, his very life for justice. But for this boy they will die, whether he is right or wrong; he need only gaze at them with that blue fire and say, “My friends, I believe in you.”How many of us, like Thettalos, I suppose, and me, will follow this golden daimon, wherever he calls us to show him gods and heroes, kindling our art at his dreams and his dreams at our art, to Troy, to Babylon or the world’s end, to leave our bones in barbarian cities? He need only call.



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