But there is a certain something in the minds of mortals that I discern only vaguely and cannot put into words: a sad and destructive perversity, which shuts ears blocked against the salutary voices of advisers, and causes them constantly to do things that make them more miserable and to avoid anything that might lessen their grief. There is nothing that can be imagined that I would call more foolish.
sed est quedam in animis mortalium, quam et tenuiter video et verbis consequi nequeo, miserabilis et funesta perversitas, aures obstruentium adversus salutares consolatorum voces atque omnibus modis id agentium ut miseriores fiant neve aliquid quod dolorem lenire possit, obrepat; quo nichil excogitari potest, ne dicam esse, dementius.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
Pages
▼
Thursday, June 08, 2017
A Certain Something
Petrarch (1304-1374), Rerum Familiarum Libri 2.4.4 (tr. Aldo S. Bernardo):