Monday, August 15, 2005
On the occasion of the withdrawal from Gaza, I am reminded of the following:
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
You might think I'm wrenching Wilde's words violently out of their proper context. I'm not so sure you're right.
And you might be disinclined to take comfort from one who "loved too little" but I assure you: we will live with this wound, and not die of it.