From Voltaire's "Poème sur le désastre de Lisbonne," written in response to the Lisbon earthquake of 1755:
What crime, what sin, had those young hearts conceived That lie, bleeding and torn, on mother's breast? Did fallen Lisbon deeper drink of vice Than London, Paris, or sunlit Madrid? In these men dance; at Lisbon yawns the abyss. Tranquil spectators of your brothers' wreck, Unmoved by this repellent dance of death, Who calmly seek the reason of such storms, Let them but lash your own security; Your tears will mingle freely with the flood.
Popular Blog Posts
This message came to me from a reader named Peter Svensland. He and a fr...
An obituary for Mike Nichols.
A report from the macing incident at yesterday's AFI screening.
A report on Japanese animation at the 27th Tokyo Film Festival.