"A top kept spinning by a twisted cord,
As boys, intent on their game, drive it along
In great loops through an empty courtyard,
Will whip arround curve after curve as the throng
Of entranced children hovers above it,
Mesmerized by the whirling boxwood toy.
Likewise Amata, driven through the cities
Of the fierce Latian peoples and throuh the forests,
Feigning the spirit of Bacchus, a greater sin,
And reaching new heights of madness.
She hid her daughter in the wooded mountains
To forestall her wedding to the Teucrian,
Shrieking:
'Hail, Bacchus! You alone
Are worthy of her. She waves the thyrsus
For you, worships you in the dance,
Grows her savred tresses for you, Bacchus!'
Rumor sprends, inflaming the Latian mothers
With fury, and they rise as one, abandoning
Their homes, hair streaming in the wind
As they fill the air with their quavering cries,
Dressed in fawnskins and carrying spears
Entwined with vines. The frenzied queen
Lifts up a blazing torch of pine and sings
A wedding song for her daughter and Turnus,
Rolling her bloodshot eyes and suddenly
Shouting:
'Hear me, mothers of Latium,
Wherever you are! If your hearts are still loyal
To unhappy Amata, if you still care about her
And a mother's rights---unbind your hair
And celebrate the revels along with me!'
Such was the queen, driven by Allexto
With Bacchic goads through the haunts of wild beasts." Aeneid book 7 line 464-95

突然明白了的感觉，然后觉得，嗯，很可悲？
"Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. Palefaces: they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another, O, I shall expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit robbens of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ads of Magdalen with the tailor's shears. A scared calf's face gilded marmalade. I don't want to be debagged! Don't you play the giddy ox with me!
Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms." Ulysses p.7
下面这段真的好棒
不过我觉得无论未来是怎样的，这个世界上的多数人都会是那个gardener一样