Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.Catullus lived and loved and wrote in the first century before Christ.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Why does this happen, perhaps you ask?
I know not, but I know that it happens and I am tortured.
The modern scholarly resource Wikipedia notes that Anakreon laid down a similar riff four centuries earlier.
I love and yet I do not love,This is exactly what I've been saying. I've been saying I'm crazy, that I love, that I don't love, that all this trouble stems from actually being sane.
I am crazy and I am not crazy.
It ain't workin'.
I wrote a lot more and deleted it. It suffices to say I must be crazy. The poets say so.
3 comments:
I suppose it's some consolation to know that you are in good company. I wouldn't mind being able to claim some emotional kinship with Catullus, or with anyone even remotely interesting, for that matter.
Ah, thank you for a blast from my favorite poet. As I am a Raunchy Old Tart, I tend to prefer his cheerful snarls at Ameana, Aurelius and so on, but any day when I run across GVC is a good day. One of my butter regrets is never having studied Latin to a degree that would allow me to really cruise along with the original text.
I owe you an apology for letting your visit to my blog languish in my spam queue till a day or so ago. I checked it before it had a chance to disappear, but what was Wordpress thinking?
Sanity, by conventional definitions. is generally overrated.
Sorry, that's "bitter regrets." I'm afraid to think what Catullus would have done with butter.
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