Simon in Peru

When a man writes is it with the intent that it will be remembered in time? Is this the reason a man writes? I've never believed that. However, I should qualify that statement, or perhaps restate it and say "I don't believe that a man who writes only to be remembered will ever write something worth remembering!"

That said, I am always moved when I read something worthy of remembrance. I recently came across the below while reading of Simon Bolivars' trials in Peru. He was obviously in a rather dark place and managed to express his feelings in a way that's just plain amazing, tho it may be a bit loquacious for modern tastes. ;-)

Until now I have fought for liberty: in future I will fight for my glory, no matter what it costs. My glory now consists in ruling no more and in thinking of nothing but myself: I have always had this intention but it increases progressively by the day. My years, my ill health, and my disillusion with all the dreams of youth prevent me from taking any other way. The presence of another person kills me: I live amongst the tress of this miserable place on the coast of Peru and I have become a misanthrope overnight. But you must understand that I am not depressed, and this loathing for people and society does not come from a physical cause or from an personal trouble, but from a conviction deep within me. Ambition, says Rousseau, guides men when they reach the age of forty, and I have reached that age. But my ambition has died. I have nothing to hope for and everything to fear. Observe the breakdown in human affairs. At all times the works of men have been ephemeral but in our day they are like the emerging embryo that dies before it even develops. On all sides I hear the sounds of disaster. My ear is one of catastrophes. Everything comes life and dies before my eyes as though struck by lightning. Everything passes and I would be a fool to flatter myself that I can stand firm in the midst of so many upheavals, in the midst of so much destruction, the the midst of the moral subversion of the world. No, my friend, that cannot be! Since death has not decided to take me under it's protective wings, I must hurry to hide my head in the midst of oblivion and silence, before I am struck by blows from heaven and reduced to dust, to ashes, to nothingness. It would be madness on my part to watch the storm and fail to take shelter... Everyone falls, struck by be disgrace, or disaster. Can I remain standing? Impossible. I too must fall.

Feel free to return to your romance novels now.