The Mirror in the Entrance

C. P. Cavafy:

"...

But the ancient mirror, which had seen and seen again,

throughout its lifetime of so many years,

thousands of objects and faces—

but the ancient mirror now became elated,

inflated with pride, because it had received upon itself

perfect beauty, for a few minutes."

(The Mirrot in the Entrance, 1930)

"Cleopatra and Antony", from Genevieve Foster's "Augustus Caesar's World", 1947

 

Waiting For Erections To Go!

....

VLADIMIR:

It's for the kidneys. ( Silence. Estragon looks attentively at the tree. ) What do we do now?

ESTRAGON:

Wait.

VLADIMIR:

Yes, but while waiting.

ESTRAGON:

What about hanging ourselves?

VLADIMIR:

Hmm. It'd give us an erection.

ESTRAGON:

( highly excited) . An erection!

VLADIMIR:

With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that?

ESTRAGON:

Let's hang ourselves immediately!

...

― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot, 1949

Artist: Barry Blitt, The New Yorker, 2020

Pasttime or Food?

Miguel de Montaigne:

“When I play with my cat, who knows whether she is not making me her pastime more than I make her mine?"

[Montaigne. 1592. In Defense of Raymond Sebond. Chapter II, Section 3, Man's superiority over the animals a delusion based on pride.]

Artist: Carolita Johnson, The New Yorker, September 2018

The Last Sunset

This is how H G Wells describes 'the end' in his ‘The Time Machine’:

“The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all that was over. As the darkness thickened, the eddying flakes grew more abundant, dancing before my eyes; and the cold of the air more intense. At last, one by one, swiftly, one after the other, the white peaks of the distant hills vanished into blackness. The breeze rose to a moaning wind. I saw the black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping towards me. In another moment the pale stars alone were visible. All else was rayless obscurity. The sky was absolutely black.”

And just before that...

Artist: Harry Bliss, The New Yorker