Status Updates From Orlando

"No hay mayor pasión en el pecho de un hombre que el deseo de hacer creer a otros lo que él cree. [...] Cada uno busca la paz mental y la sumisión en lugar del triunfo de la verdad y la exaltación de la virtud..."

Of our crepuscular half-lights and lingering twilights they knew nothing. The rain fell vehemently, or not at all. The sun blazed or there was darkness. Translating this to the spiritual regions as their wont is, the poets sang beautifully how roses fade and petals fall. The moment is brief they sang; the moment is over; one long night is then to be slept by all.

It was Orlando's fault perhaps; yet, after all, are we to blame Orlando? The age was the Elizabethan; their morals were not ours; nor their poets; nor their climate; nor their vegetables even. Everything was different. The weather itself, the heat and cold of summer and winter, was, we may believe, of another temper altogether.….. Sunsets were redder and more intense; dawns were whiter and more auroral.

Trying to read this off the back of The Alchemist feels like I was on crack and now I’m sober.