Desordenado, desangelado, destartalado. Pero huele a café, a café de verdad, y tiene mil espacios donde sentarse a leer.
No es una palabra nueva, no es una palabra extraña. Pero es una palabra especial. “Descorajemiento”, si existiera tal vocablo. El sentimiento que te despoja de todo coraje; desánimo, abatimiento.
Fragmentos. Varios. Siempre pasa con Fitzgerald.
The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the impossible, come true. Life was something you dominated if you were any good. Life yielded easily to intelligence and effort, or to what proportion could be mustered of both. (Page 11)
Listen! The world only exists in your eyes — your conception of it. You can make it as big or as small as you want to. (Page 17)
My own happiness in the past often approached such an ecstasy that I could not share it even with the person dearest to me but had to walk it away in quiet streets and lanes with only fragments of it to distil into little lines in books.
Y podría seguir, y seguir, y seguir…