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Quote by Scuro Chiaro

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Scuro Chiaro

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“Her mother was peaceful. She was calm. The sight filled Alice with the kind of green hope she found at the bottom of rock pools at low tide but never managed to cup in her hands. The more time she spent with her mother in the garden, the more deeply Alice understood- from the tilt of Agnes's wrist when she inspected a new bud, to the light that reached her eyes when she lifted her chin, and the thin rings of dirt that encircled her fingers as she coaxed new fern fronds from the soil- the truest parts of her mother bloomed among her plants. Especially when she talked to the flowers. Her eyes glazed over and she mumbled in a secret language, a word here, a phrase there as she snapped flowers off their stems and tucked into her pockets. Sorrowful remembrance, she'd say as she plucked a bindweed flower from its vine. Love, returned. The citrusy scent of lemon myrtle would fill the air as she tore it from a branch. Pleasures of memory. Her mother pocketed a scarlet palm of kangaroo paw.”

“El amor se trunca a veces como un miembro amputado, pero el vacío sigue haciendo sus gestos, que tal vez alguien reciba. Aunque el amor se vaya, el hábito de amar se alarga siempre. Por eso no es extraño que si el amor retorna sus gestos se entremezclen con los gestos anteriores. Y aparezcan amores que vagan por el mundo con gestos duplicados, amores que parecen dos amores. No es raro, por lo tanto, que confundamos un amor con otro y hasta amemos aquel que ya no está en lugar del que está.”

“A vida não é um brinquedo, mas escusa também de ser o fardo que muitos levam, curvados sob o peso com que não podem, escravizados a uma sina que não compreendem. Ela é, ela deve ser apenas uma coisa séria: para tanto tem que ter um conteúdo, ser realização tão perfeita quanto possível de um certo ideal. Neste sentido, cada vida deixa de ser tempo que passa, para ser obra que fica.”