quarta-feira, 22 de julho de 2009

O espelho

Quando leio romances, eu me deparo com trechos que eu queria ter escrito. Este é um deles:
"On the first floor, near the foot of the stairs, we have placed an antique mirror so old that it can't reflect anything anymore. Its surface, worn down to nubbled grainy gray stubs, has lost one of its dimensions. Like me, it's glimmerless. You can't see into it now, just past it. Depth has been replaced by texture. This mirror gives back nothing and makes no productive claim upon anyone. The mirror has been so completely worn away that you have to learn to live with what it refuses to do. That's it's beauty." (The Feast of Love, Charles Baxter)

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