Var að klára Óvini ríkisins eftir Guðna Th. Jóhannesson, afar fróðleg bók og stórskemmtileg. Hlerunarmál aukaatriði, þetta er fyrst og fremst íslensk andófssaga seinniparts tuttugustu aldarinnar. Ys og þys út af engu á báða bóga. Dásamlegt. Er núna að lesa Skáldalíf Halldórs Guðmundssonar og skemmti mér einnig konunglega. Hlakka svo óskaplega að snúa mér að fyrra bindi ævisögu Georges Clemenceau (1841-1929), fyrrum forsætisráðherra Frakka, In the Evening of My Thought (algjörlega frábær titill). Fann hana hjá Friðriki vini mínum Erlingssyni. Fyrra bindið er 482 síður og virðist stútfullt af djúpri speki, sbr. upphafið:

Clemenceau from an Alphabet of Heroes 1919

1. KAFLI: THE FLEETING MOMENT

In the evening of my thought, when presumptuous life, its productive vigour exhausted, can but scatter to the winds its last and failing desires, comes the time when man stops in terror before the supreme question – less stupified and shocked by the life which he has improvised for himself from day to day than overwhelmed by the imminent ruin into which the personality which so infatuates him is to fall.

What, then, is life? To have lived and died? First of all, what is it to be born?

Birth? A continuation – the continuation of an ordained interplay of energies in perpetual flux and change.

To live? The sensation of an imaginary permenance amid the elusive whirl of that eternal Wheel of Things of which India had the vision, only to feel an irresistible temptation to escape from it.

To die? To continue forever in eternally changing forms.

Ókei. Gef skýrslu um hinar 481 og 1/2 blaðsíðurnar síðar.