Κῦμα τὸ πικρὸν ἔρωτος ἀκοίμητοί τε πνέοντες
ζῆλοι καὶ κώμων χειμέριον πέλαγος,
ποῖ φέρομαι; πάντῃ δὲ φρενῶν οἴακες ἀφεῖνται.
ἦ
πάλι τὴν τρυφερὴν Σκύλλαν ἀποψόμεθα;
[Bitter wave of love, and sleeplessly
blowing
Jealousies, and winter sea of riots,
whither am I
carried? The rudders of reason are lost, ah
yet
again we are bound for luxurious Scylla.
Attributed to Meleager]
Those Greek lovers put one to shame for
passion but they seem never to have heard of intimacy. They really illustrate
the limits of emotional distress and joy
to be got out of purely selfish love…
From the
Journals of Cyril Connolly
