Βιβλία σαν το «Οδύσσεια»

Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a pavement of the same green marble, and where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass; even the sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were green.

Και τούτο συμφερώτερο του εφάνη• προς το δάσοςεκίνησε, και τωύρηκεν εις το νερό πλησίον,’ς ανοικτόν τόπον• έσκυψε κάτω από δυό δενδρούλιαομόρριζα, και το ’να εληά, και τ’ άλλο ήταν αγρίλι•κει μέσα ούτ’ άνεμοι φυσούν με την υγρή πνοή τους,ούτε του ηλιού πότ’ έφθασαν η φωτειναίς ακτίνες,ούτε η βροχή τα έσπασε• τόσο πυκνά πλεγμέναήσαν μαζή• κ’ εσύρθηκε ’ς εκείν’ ο Οδυσσέας,κ’ ευθύς στρώσιν εστοίβασε πλατειά με τα δυο χέρια•ότ’ ήσαν φύλλα περισσά χυμέν’ αυτού, ’π’ αρκούσαννα φυλαχθούν άνθρωποι δυο και τρεις ’ς ώρα χειμώνος,και αν ψύχος έπνεε δριμύ• τα είδε κ’ εχάρη ο θείοςο άνδρας ο πολύπαθος, και του σωρού ’ς την μέσηεπλάγιασε κ’ επάνω του έχυσε φύλλα πλήθος.

But on this particular day it seemed as if December had remembered that it was time for winter and had turned suddenly dull and brooding, with a windless hush predictive of coming snow. Nevertheless, Anne keenly enjoyed her walk through the great gray maze of the beechlands; though alone she never found it lonely; her imagination peopled her path with merry companions, and with these she carried on a gay, pretended conversation that was wittier and more fascinating than conversations are apt to be in real life, where people sometimes fail most lamentably to talk up to the requirements. In a “make believe” assembly of choice spirits everybody says just the thing you want her to say and so gives you the chance to say just what you want to say.

“But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans.

While sailing a little south of the Plata on one very dark night, the sea presented a wonderful and most beautiful spectacle. There was a fresh breeze, and every part of the surface, which during the day is seen as foam, now glowed with a pale light. The vessel drove before her bows two billows of liquid phosphorus, and in her wake she was followed by a milky train. As far as the eye reached, the crest of every wave was bright, and the sky above the horizon, from the reflected glare of these livid flames, was not so utterly obscure as over the vault of the heavens.

There was music from my neighbour’s house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motorboats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On weekends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before.