The Beauty is a terrible and frightening. Scary, because it is indefinable, and we can not define it, because God has not given us that riddles. Here the two sides come together, here all contradictions exist side by side. I, brother, I am very ignorant, but I thought a lot about these things. How many mysteries! Too many riddles on earth they oppress a man. Melt them, if you can, save and return to shore.
The beauty! I can not stand seeing a man, possibly of noble heart and mind doffing, begin with the ideal of the Madonna and ends with the ideal of Sodom. Even more terrible is when one has already in his heart the ideal of Sodom, and yet deny even the ideal of the Madonna, in fact, his heart burns for this ideal, and it burns really, honestly, as in innocent years of youth. No, the human mind is immense, too, I zoom out. Who knows exactly what is it? She knows the devil, lo! What seems to mind a disgrace to the heart, however, is all beauty. But maybe there's beauty in the ideal of Sodom? Believe me, right in the ideal of Sodom it is the vast majority of men! Did you know this secret, or not? The scary thing is that beauty is not only terrible, but it is also a mystery. It is here that Satan's struggle with God, and their battlefield is the hearts of men. Already, the language of beats where the tooth hurts ... And now we come to fact.
Play.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
(translation of Pina Maiani, Sansoni, 1966)
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