I believe I am an upright man: I am loyal to my friends, I
do not lie, except when I make a declaration of love, I love knowledge, and
they say I write good verses. So the ladies consider me charming. I would like
to write romances, which are so much in fashion, but though I think of many, I
never sit down to write one…. Sometimes I look at the Moon, and I imagine that
those darker spots are caverns, cities, islands, and the places that shine are
those where the sea catches the light of the sun like the glass of a mirror. I
would like to tell the stories of their kings, their wars, and their
revolutions, or of the unhappiness of lovers up there, who in the course of
their nights sigh as they look down at our Earth. I would like to tell of war
and friendship among the various parts of the body, the arms that do battle
with the feet, and the veins that make love with the arteries or the bones with
the marrow. All the stories I would like to write persecute me when I am in my
chamber, it seems as if they are all around me, the little devils, and while
one tugs at my ear, another tweaks my nose, and each says to me, “Sir, write
me, I am beautiful.” Then I realize that an equally beautiful story can be
told, inventing an original duel, for example, a man fighting and convincing
his adversary to deny God, then running him through so that he dies damned.
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