http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/stories/kafka-e.htm

http://iloapp.mediana.se/blog/kafka?Home&category=0

http://www.duiops.net/seresvivos/gallery_butterflies.html#Principio

http://www.duiops.net/seresvivos/gallery_butterflies_2.html

http://www.images.ca/JayC/jc_g1index.htm

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photos/patterns-butterflies/?source=fophotofeat1#/butterflies-neglecta-sartore_1368_600x450.jpg

http://www.hemmy.net/2006/04/30/glasswing-butterfly/

Gotovo sam ubedjen da nikad nisam budan. Ne znam

da li ne sanjam kad živim ili ne živim dok sanjam, i nisu li san i

život u meni dve izmešane, ukrštene stvari čijim se medjusobnim

prožimanjem obrazuje moje svesno biće.

Ponekad, usred aktivnog života u kome, kao i svi drugi

ljudi, jasno sagledavam sebe, okrzne me neko čudno osećanje

sumnje; ne znam da li postojim, osećam da je lako moguće

da sam nečiji tudji san, učini mi se, s gotovo telesnom opipljivošću,

da bih mogao biti lik iz nekog romana, koji se kreće, nošen dugim

talasima pripovedačkog stila, kroz stvarnost jedne opširne

pripovesti.

Zapazio sam više puta da pojedini likovi iz romana dobijaju

za nas značaj koji nikad ne bi mogli da dostignu naši poznanici

i prijatelji, oni koji s nama pričaju i koji nas slušaju u vidljivom i

stvarnom životu. I zato mi se javi, kao u snu, pitanje nije li sve u

ovom svekolikom svetu samo naizmenični niz snova i romana,

poput malih kutija u većim kutijama koje su, opet, umetnute u

druge, još veće – nije li sve samo jedna priča sazdana od mnoštva

priča, kao u „Hiljadu i jednoj noći“, koja se raspliće i razmotava,

lažljiva, u večitoj noći.

iz "Knjige nespokoja"

In the terrible night, natural substance of all nights,
In the night of insomnia, natural substance of all my nights,
I remember, awake in tossing drowsiness,
I remember what I’ve done and what I might have done in life.
I remember, and an anguish
Spreads all through me like a physical chill or a fear,
The irreparable of my past — this is the real corpse.
All the other corpses may very well be illusion.
All the dead may be alive somewhere else,
All my own past moments may be existing somewhere
In the illusion of space and time,
In the falsity of elapsing.

But what I was not, what I did not do, what I did not even dream;
What only now I see I ought to have done,
What only now I clearly see I ought to have been —
This is what is dead beyond all the gods,
This — and it was, after all, the best of me — is what not even the gods bring to life…

If at a certain point
I had turned to the left instead of to the right;
If at a certain moment
I had said yes instead of no, or no instead of yes;
If in a certain conversation
I had hit on the phrases which only now, in this half-sleep, I elaborate —
If all this had been so,
I would be different today, and perhaps the whole universe
Would be insensibly brought to be different as well.

But I did not turn in the direction which is irreparably lost,
Not turn or even think of turning, and only now I perceive it;
But I did not say no or say yes, and only now see what I didn’t say;
But the phrases I failed to say surge up in me at present, all of them,
Clear, inevitable, natural,
The conversation gathered in conclusively,
The whole matter resolved…
But only now what never was, nor indeed shall be, hurts.

What I have missed definitely holds no sort of hope
In any sort of metaphysical system.
Maybe I could bring what I have dreamed to some other world,
But could I bring to another world the things I forgot to dream?
These, yes, the dreams going begging, are the real corpse.
I bury it in my heart for ever, for all time, for all universes,

In this night when I can’t sleep and peace encircles me
Like a truth which I’ve no share in,
And the moonlight outside, like a hope I do not have, is invisible to me.

F. Pessoa

U prolece ne treba prolaziti ispod vrbe. Jer tamo nema drugog sveta osim sveta njenog mirisa (milovace vas i uplesti vam poglede u grancice) i ko se ne bi rastuzio kada na kraju shvati da mora da izadje iz njega. "Ne zaboravi kako smo se zajedno podsmevali racunanju vremena", saputalo je drvo na rastanku. "A treperenje jel vredelo tuge zbog kraja?" Ako jeste, onda u prolece treba prolaziti ispod vrbe. Reklo je drvo? Mislio je covek? Rekao je covek? Mislilo je drvo?