domingo, abril 15, 2007

Os desastres da vida humana

Thomas Lang, o herói do romance policial The Gun Seller, de Hugh Laurie, reflecte sobre os infortúnios da existência do homem na terra:

(...) what does it mean to say that things aren't going well? Compared to what? You can say: compared to how things were going a couple of hours ago, or a couple of years ago. But that's not the point. If two cars are speeding towards a brick wall with no brakes, and one car hits the wall moments before the other, you can't spend those moments saying that the second car is much better off than the first.
Death and disaster are at our shoulders every second of our lives, trying to get at us. Missing, a lot of the time. A lot of miles on the motorway without a front whell blow-out. A lot of viruses that slither through our bodies without snagging. A lot of pianos that fall a minute after we've passed. Or a month, it makes no difference.
So unless we're going to get down on our knees and give thanks every time disaster misses, it makes no sense to moan when it strikes. Us, or anyone else. Because we're not comparing it with anything.
And anyway, we're all dead, or never born, and the whole thing really is a dream.

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