torments you with the herbs in your footsteps.
"Step into a garden of plants, herbs, flowers. Be it as you like laughing. Both in milder season. You can not turn our eyes in any part that you do not find the suffering. All of this family of plants is in a state of souffrance, what individual more, some less.
There is offended that rose from the sun, which gave him life, wrinkled, langue, it withers. Beyond that lily is cruelly sucked by a bee in his most sensitive parts, the most vital. The dessert apples can not be manufactured by the industrious, patient, good, virtuous bees without unspeakable torments of those delicate fibers without ruthless massacre of sweet flowers. That tree is haunted by an ant hill, from that other caterpillars, flies, from snails, mosquito, and that is injured cruciate in the bark and from the air or the sun that penetrates into the wound, the one is offended in the trunk, or roots other one has more leaves, this one is eaten, bitten in the flowers, the pierced, pricked fruits. That plant is too hot, this is too cool, too light, too much shade, too wet, too dry. One is suffering inconvenience and obstacle and grow in size, the spread, the other is not to stand on, or fatigued and struggling to get there.
In the garden you can not find a single seedling in a state of perfect health. Here is a little branch or broken by the wind or its own weight, and there is a zephyr tearing a flower, fly with a song, a filament, a leaf, a living part of this or that plant, detached and torn away.
meantime you heartbreaks herbs co 'your steps, the crush, the bruised, they squeeze blood, break it, kill them. That maiden sensitive and gentle, be gentle bush, and breaking legs. The wise gardener truncating, cutting limbs sensitive adhesives nails, with the iron.
course, these plants live, some because their illnesses are not fatal, because even with other fatal diseases, plants, and animals also may take some little time to live. The spectacle of such abundance of life enters into this garden has welcomed the soul, and here is that this seems to be a holiday of joy. But in truth that life is sad and unfortunate, every garden is almost a welcoming large (more deplorable that a well-cemeterio), and if these beings feel, or want to say, feel, it is certain that it would not be much better for them that being. "
not only men, but the human race was and will always be unhappy necessity. Not only mankind but all animals. Not only animals but all other beings in their own way. Not individuals, but the species, genera, kingdoms, globes, systems, worlds.
G. Leopardi
[the garden of suffering.]
