No temas; la isla está llena de sonidosy músicas suaves que deleitan y no dañan.Unas veces resuena en mi oído el vibrarde mil instrumentos, y otras son vocesque, si he despertado tras un largo sueño,de nuevo me hacen dormir. Y, al soñar, las nubes se me abren mostrando riquezasa punto de lloverme, así que despiertoy lloro por seguir soñando. (Calibán)
Bajé por una escalera diferente y vi otro «Que te jodan» en la pared. Quise borrarlo con la mano también, pero este lo habían grabado con una navaja o algo así. No había forma de quitarlo. De todos modos, es inútil. Aunque se dedicara uno a eso un millón de años, nunca podría borrar ni la mitad de todos los «Que te jodan» del mundo. Es imposible.
He wanted to meet in the real world the unsubstantial image which his soul so constantly beheld. He did not know where to seek it or how: but a premonition which led him on told him that this image would, without any overt act of his, encounter him. They would meet quietly as if they had known each other and had made their tryst, perhaps at one of the gates or in some more secret place. They would be alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness he would be transfigured. He would fade into something impalpable under her eyes and then in a moment, he would be transfigured. Weakness and timidity and inexperience would fall from him in that magic moment.
I remember a television program I once saw; a rerun, made years before. I must have been seven or eight, too young to understand it. It was the sort of thing my mother liked to watch: historical, educational. She tried to explain it to me afterwards, to tell me that the things in it had really happened, but to me it was only a story. I thought someone had made it up. I suppose all children think that, about any history before their own. If it's only a story, it becomes less frightening.