I really don't know whether to love or hate modern techmology (as Ali G would put it).
One sleepless night I downloaded a ton of books on my mobile - and forgot all about them.
Today, travelling on a bus that was so crowded that I wouldn't have been able to get out a book out of my bag if I was in the habit of reading books on public transport, I started fumbling with my mobile and suddenly found myself nearly knocked out by some of the most piercing lines ever written in English, lines that I last read a decade ago - and I'm sure it would have been another decade before I read them again if it wasn't for modern techmology.
…
Yet each
man kills the thing he loves,
By each
let this be heard,
Some do
it with a bitter look,
Some
with a flattering word,
The
coward does it with a kiss,
The
brave man with a sword!
Some
kill their love when they are young,
And some
when they are old;
Some
strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some
with the hands of Gold:
The
kindest use a knife, because
The dead
so soon grow cold.
Some
love too little, some too long,
Some
sell, and others buy;
Some do
the deed with many tears,
And some
without a sigh:
For each
man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each
man does not die.*
…
*During Wilde's imprisonment, on Saturday 7 July 1896, a hanging took place. Charles Thomas
Wooldridge (ca. 1866 – 7 July 1896) had been a trooper in the Royal Horse
Guards. He was convicted of cutting the throat of his wife, Laura Ellen, earlier
that year at Clewer, near Windsor. He was only aged 30 when executed. (Wikipedia)
…
He did
not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he
drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With
open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!
And I
and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot
if we ourselves had done
A great or little thing,
And
watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.
…
And then:
…
And
every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as
that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And
filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.
Ah!
happy they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else
may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else
but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?
