#Zweig

[kitapvesarkisevenbirisi]

"Başkalarını çok fazla düşünen bir kimse,kendisini unutur."

[artssslut2]

Pregnant With Patrick’s Baby: Head-cons

Patrick does not get enough fluff

- You and Patrick were pretty young when you got pregnant

- You weren’t on birth control because you didn’t like how it made you feel, usually Patrick used a condom. But this time was different.

- “Let’s not use it.”

- “Pat cmon”

- “No I mean it, let’s just see what happens. I love you.”

- “We’re young Patrick” you reminded him

- “There aren’t any rules my love. I want a baby with you I’m serious.” He told you. You didn’t know what came over you but you agreed. And low and behold a few weeks later you found out that you were pregnant.

- Patrick was over the moon. He had never loved anyone like he loved you, and now you had created another person together. You were nervous but just as happy as he was.

- Patrick wasn’t naturally a very caring person. This all changed when he saw you go through morning sickness. He was there every morning with you through it all.

- Patrick told everyone right away. You had never seen him so happy. He would bring it up every chance he got, in interviews, with friends, on social media. He wanted everyone to know.

- You had never seen Patrick as emotion as he was the day he saw the ultrasound for the first time.

- “Jesus what are you doing to me.” He cried into your arms from peer joy.

- “I never knew you were such a softie” you teased

- Patrick was on a winning streak since you became pregnant. He wanted to make his little family proud.

- Patrick would drop anything and everything the second you needed something. Even if it was something stupid like ice cream.

- He couldn’t take his hands off of your bump. He loved feeling his baby kick and squirm around inside of you. He would talk to it all the time too.

- If you couldn’t sleep he would stay up too. He would bring you your favorite foods and talk to the baby to get it to calm down.

- You both decided to wait and be surprised with the gender of the baby. Although you were both 99% sure it was a boy. Patrick even referred to the baby as a him. You told him not to just in case but he was positive.

- Patrick picked out the name “Sam” after his favorite tennis player Pete Sampras. With the middle name Arthur after his best friend. You agreed because you just couldn’t say no to this man.

- Patrick got so many baby tennis things, like a mini Racket and net. Little tennis shoes and a sweatband, it was adorable.

- It seemed like your baby was kicking nonstop. Patrick would always say “he’s just practicing his footwork”

- When the day finally came and you went into labor he was ready. He had the bag in the car for weeks now. He wasn’t panicked at all like you thought he’d be. Then again he never panicked about anything.

- This man was by your side through it all. Got you ice chips, walked around with you, let you crush his hands. The doctors made you bounce on a yoga ball to move things along. You did not want to, you were tired and felt stupid. Patrick asked them to bring another one in and bounced with you the whole time.

- The labor had taken a very long time, you told Patrick to try and get some sleep. He refused, he was going to stay up with you for as long as it took.

- When the baby was born, to everyone’s surprise it was a little girl. A tiny little girl with Patrick’s big round ears that seemed bigger than her. It was adorable.

- Patrick was in shock. He had a daughter and not a son. You tried getting his attention but he seemed to be in a trance. You were worried he was upset that it wasn’t a boy.

- “Babe? Are you upset?” You asked with a crying baby on your chest,

- “What? How could I be upset? We have a little girl.” He said with a tear coming from his eye. You sighed with relief as Patrick wrapped his arms carefully around you.

- Patrick didn’t want to ever let go of his baby girl. The sight of him doing skin on skin with the newborn was precious.

- “We could still name her Sam you know.” You told him while sitting next to him on the hospital bed. He looked down at her in his arms.

- “No, she should have a different one that’s just for her.” He decided kissing her tiny head.

- He still wanted to name her after a tennis player. So he suggested “Billie” after Billie Jean King. The name fit right away. It felt right when you looked at her and said “Billie”. you were in love with your little family

- And patrick definitely nailed the hot dad walk out of the hospital.

[luvz-me]

model reader getting booked for a sports campaign with patrick. receiving the phone call from your agent and not even taking a break to think before exclaiming yes.

you get to set, some secluded tennis court, and are immediately ushered to the hair&makeup chair. the team is blabbering about how patrick zweig is always late but praise you for being punctual. saying you've never heard that name would be a lie, but you just never really paid attention to sports. hell, high school physical education was your least favorite subject and you'd rather watch a movie than sit through a full game of... well whatever.

they style you in a cute little white tennis dress with a pleated skirt and a fitted bodice, make you put some white socks and white sneakers on before sending you over to the court under scorching hot sun. you greet the photographer and the creative director who explain the entire vibe of the shoot.

they do a couple test shots while waiting for the main star of the shoot before sitting down on a chair and asking everyone else if the guy is always late. they confirmed and all you could do was sigh and make small talk as you waited.

just as you're about to ask the photographer if he's sure patrick is coming, you see a figure approaching from afar, walking calmly towards you all, making a half-assed apology about how traffic was chaos.

you get up and notice him eyeing you up and down before smiling and introducing himself with a wolfish grin "guess you're gonna be my partner today huh" you cant help bit feel slightly intimidated but you brush it off, following the photographers commands

"remember, this shoot is all about selling not only the clothes but tennis as a sport. and sex sells, so give us that." the man holding the camera explained, earning a loud chuckle from patrick

following the photographer's instructions you both walked over to the net, posing with the rackets.

you feel patrick’s presence beside you, his confidence overbearing. you try to match his energy, holding the racket with a seductive smile. the camera clicks and flashes a couple times capturing you, still separated.

the photographer instructs patrick to move closer to the net, almost to lean against it and to place a hand on your waist. his touch sends a shiver down your spine, but you maintain your composure, keeping the playful yet alluring expression on your face. “perfect,” the photographer praises, urging you both to hold the pose.

patrick leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re good at this,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but blush. you respond with a soft laugh, “just doing my job.”

you were used to this. co-workers flirting with you on set just to get invited out and then see them months later at a casting. not that you didn't take part in the banter but at this point, patrick made you wait for so long in the sun that he had to do better to get your full attention.

“okay, let’s take a break for an outfit change,” the creative director announces. you head back to the dressing room, where they hand you another outfit, this one more daring. it’s a shorter skirt, tighter top, and a visor to shield your eyes from the sun.

as you change, you think about patrick’s flirtatious comments. he's hot but he’s going to have to step up his game, literally. you step back onto the court, feeling the new outfit accentuate every curve enhancing your confidence

patrick is already there, waiting. he’s changed into shorts, and a t-shirt hung from his shoulders, showing off his athletic build. he looks you up and down, a spark of appreciation in his eyes. “looking good,” he says with a smirk.

“thanks,” you reply, giving him a coy smile.

the photographer and creative director reposition you both for the next set of shots. this time, the poses are more intimate, emphasizing physical connection. the photographer instructs patrick to stand behind you, his arms around you as if guiding your swing. his arms flexing against you

his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your clothes. his hands are firm on your waist, guiding you through the motion of a tennis swing. “keep your eye on the ball,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

you can feel your heart racing, but you keep your focus, following the photographer’s commands. the camera clicks.

“great job, you two. now let’s try something a bit more daring and then we can wrap this up”

the photographer tells patrick to sit on the ground, his back against the net, legs slightly apart. you are instructed to straddle his lap, your legs on either side of his hips, your bodies pressed close together.

patrick instinctively places his hands on your waist, pulling you even closer as you lean into him. your hands rest on his shoulders for balance, and the photographer asks you to tilt your head slightly, exposing your neck. patrick’s eyes follow the curve of your neck, his gaze intense and smoldering.

“perfect,” the photographer says, snapping several shots. “now, let’s add the racket for some dynamic action.”

you pick up the racket and hold it with one hand, resting it on patrick’s shoulder. patrick’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, his grip firm. his eyes lock onto yours.

“beautiful. now, patrick, lean in as if you’re about to kiss her neck,” the photographer instructs.

patrick’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your neck. you can feel the tension building, the proximity and the anticipation adding to the intensity of the shoot. you tilt your head further, giving the camera a sultry look, lips slightly parted. one of your hands on his chest, slowly travelling down his abs. just for the shot you thought to yourself.

you had to keep reminding yourself this was just a job. only a job. strictly a job.

“fantastic! let’s get a few more shots like this.”

patrick’s hands slide up your back, holding you close as you both follow the photographer’s commands. you feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, each pose is more intimate than the last, the line between professional and personal blurring.

finally, the photographer calls for a wrap. you and patrick stay in the pose for a moment longer, the energy between you almost tangible. you pull away and earn a groan of disappointment from him. you walk back to the dressing room and chugging from a water bottle. and briefly look back to see zweig adjusting his boner. you giggle to yourself.

suddenly, you hear hurried footsteps behind you, and you turn to see patrick catching up.

“you were incredible,” he says, his voice low and genuine, but there's a hint of cockiness in his tone. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself.

“thanks,” you reply, smiling, feeling a rush of heat from his compliment.

“give me your number. i need to see you again, outside of this shoot.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you athletes always this forward with the models you work with?” you ask, a smirk playing on your lips. "i'm not gonna fuck you just because we did all that back there."

patrick chuckles, not missing a beat. “aw.. why not?” he replies forcing a pleading look. he notices when you start to walk away "oh my god that was a joke.." it wasn't. "come on.."

"sorry, but i don't fall for the 'athlete charm' that easily," you retort with a grin "but alright, ill give you my number" just out of boredom, you thought. nothing else (liar!) "i walk for Versace tomorrow and i'll be at the afterparty so i won't be able to go out" saying this just to make sure he doesn't get his hopes up

patrick's grin widens, his eyes smoldering with determination. "oh i'll be there, donatella is friends with my mother" he promises, his voice low. "can't wait to see you strut your stuff on that runway."

is he trying to outwit you? of fucking course a professional tennis player like him had to have insanely rich parents. "okay, um... see you there then" you smile trying to hide your annoyance "you have to wait till the after party to see me"

"oh, i'm patient," he murmurs, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off him. "but when that afterparty starts…" his voice trails off suggestively, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

your breath catches as his hand ghosts over yours, sending tingles up your arm. "alright well, i need to change and get home, so excuse me" you say regaining composure "maybe i'll let you buy me a drink at the afterparty," you say with a sly smile

patrick chuckles softly behind you "looking forward to it," he replies, his tone carrying a promise of what's to come.

tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

fashion week is in full swing, with models, designers, and makeup artists all working in a synchronized dance.

the show goes off without a hitch, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as you strut down the runway, the flashing lights, applause and upbeat music boosting your confidence, posing for a few seconds at the end of it before walking back backstage and getting in line again to close the show.

it's fucking chaos backstage, assistants yelling at eachother and all you can think about is the afterparty. not because of patrick... to be honest you had forgotten about him already. like yeah he was one of the hottest guys you have ever seen but he wasn't the first to try anything and him being an athlete wasn't helping his case. you weren't trying to become a WAG so soon being that you're a promising new face. he also hadn't texted after exchanging numbers.

scratch that completely because the moment you even thought about him texting you you hear the faint sound of the notification from your purse. you dig your hand in and pull out a bunch of things - earphones, a pack of gum, cigarettes... messy girl - before finally grabbing your phone.

patrick: front row at the show. you should just bring that dress to the after party, save time ;)

of course he had to type like that. asshole. you huff and throw your phone back inside your cluttered bag, hurriedly changing into your night outfit. a white corset top alongside some black leather lace up shorties, black tights and some slightly heeled boots. you decided to keep your hair as is, because who would want to waste a professionally done hair-do? you didn't dare to change the makeup either. a black smokey eye was perfect for the event.

you leave the venue for the show hurriedly, saying goodbye to all your friends as you hail a cab back to your model apartment. you drop your bag there before hailing yet another cab to go to the afterparty.

the place was so luxurious you almost felt out of place until you saw some of your friends. you rush over to them, your faces lighting up as you embrace, laughter and excited chatter filling the air. you hang out for a bit before you walk off to the bar, promising to find them by the dance floor later.

you're about to ask the bartender for a mojito when you feel the warmth of a hand on your shoulder, fingers reaching to caress the curve of your neck. you turn back abruptly almost blurting out a "what do you think you're doi-" before cutting yourself off upon seeing who it was.

patrick stands there, his trademark grin in place. "i said i'd pay for the damn drink yesterday, or did you forget?" he teases "anyway" slightly guiding you to move out of the way "a whiskey sour and a...?"

"mojito." you repeat in annoyance "actually ask for 2 already" if he was gonna buy you a drink and startle you like that he might as well double it

"aight," he replies, never once letting go of that grin. aight, you repeat in your head, forcing yourself not to mock him. you have to be nice, he just got you two drinks. at once even.

patrick hands you the mojitos and gestures towards the dark leather couches in the corner. "let's take a seat," he suggests, his eyes twinkling with that same mischievous energy.

you follow him to the couches sitting down, the soft leather sinking under your weight.

"busy girl didn't even answer my text. nice shorts" he quips, almost cornering you

"you knew i was coming.. why would i answer?" you say softly batting your lashes and sipping from the straw, seemingly unamused by his attempts at getting closer

you roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to maintain composure when he doesn't divert his gaze. "flattery won't get you anywhere, zweig."

"who said anything about flattery?" patrick counters, his voice low. "i'm just stating the obvious."

you arch an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "yeah, for a pro athlete you don't seem very good at the straightforwardness thing." giggling and cutting through the tension "watch my drink for me"

patrick grins, watching you as you slide off the couch and head to the dance floor. he remains seated, his eyes following your every move with an amused expression. you lose yourself in the music for a while with your girl friends exchanging the newest gossip

"ugh, i don't know, he's obviously super hot and is into me but..." you say over the music, your voice almost cracking trying to make your friends hear you. they scold you saying it's patrick fucking zweig, telling you to let loose, and to go for it. you dance to one more song before dipping "i'm thirsty, gonna go back to grab my drink"

you strut towards patrick once again, who's lounging comfortably on the couch, his arms sprawled, eyes never leaving you. his fingers fidget with a pack of lucky strikes, a cigarette hanging from his lips. seeing your glance, he wordlessly hands you one, his lighter already poised, but a stressed employee interrupts with a warning that smoking inside is forbidden unless you use the smoking area.

patrick swiftly rises, grabbing your hand without a word and leading you towards the door. as he opens it, revealing a crowded smoking area typical of a fashion event, he smirks to himself, feeling one step closer to his goal.

"so, guess we have to brave the cold outside... or," patrick suggests with a playful glint in his eye, "we could head back to my place."

"your place sounds warmer" you concede, slipping your hand into his

outside, you find his van waiting discreetly in the shadows, slightly shielded from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. you duck behind patrick as he opens the door, cameras catch a glimpse of you both. once inside, the atmosphere shifts, the air thick with anticipation. he's gleeful once he realizes his stupid plan worked, cig still dancing on his lips he gets the pack of lucky strikes and places it back. zweig instructs his driver to go.

his hands playfully pull at the thin fabric of your thighs during the whole drive, sliding up and down to the hem of your shorts. your breath hitches, scooting his hand away a few times, trying to be discreet but his banter with the driver isn't helping your case at all.

the car finally stops by a luxurious apartment complex, he grabs your hand again and leads you off the car into the elevator. clicking on floor number 5 and frantically pressing the closing doors button. you lean back on the cold steel surface, eyeing him up and down with a smile "had to drag me back to your place for a smoke huh? addiction is a bitch zweig"

patrick takes a step towards you, cupping your face "such a smarty pants you are" he mocks in a higher tone before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. you quickly oblige, parting them and letting him in. the kiss is full of pent up tension, his hand cheekily squeezing your ass as the elevator door opens "come."

he slams the door open dragging you inside, almost making you trip. the moment the door clicks shut, he pushes you against it, his body pressing into yours taking a second to admire you. the rustle of his jacket coming off snapping you out of it.

"thought we were only coming here to smoke?" you raise an eyebrow, voice barely above a whisper

"oh fuck you" he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky. a smile creeping in. patrick wasn't used to your attitude at all

"i know you want to" softly reaching for his hair, pulling it just enough so he hisses and before you know it you're thrown over his shoulder squealing and being dropped onto the bed. his body now looming over yours, hands slipping under your top, pushing it up and over your head. no bra.

his eyes rake over your bare skin, fingers caressing your nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. back arching hoping to feel as much of him as you could. tugging at his shirt he smirks and leans back to take it off. eyes following his happy trail

patrick leaves a trail of kisses on your torso leading to your shorts, untying them with his teeth and then slowly pulling them off your legs revealing some black panties "you dont even know the amount of restraint i had not to fucking jack off on set in between the wardrobe changes. couldn't stop thinking about your body on mine"

"yeah?" you reach for his pants unbuttoning them

"fuck yeah, open that mouth up f'me don't be greedy" pressing his fingers on your cheeks and spitting into it. lightly slapping you when you swallow with a smile "holy shit.. "

your eyes widen when he just takes everything off. you sit up and patrick takes no time to grab a fistful of your hair guide his cock to your lips "now you're gonna be good and take it" he commands. you lick around the tip, cupping his balls, eyes on his and slowly begin to move back and forth when he just pushes your head in on his hairy crotch. eyes filling with tears as you gag on it. he groans, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrusts deeper into your throat

after a few intense moments, he pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft. he smirks down at you, wiping the saliva away with his thumb. "fuck you're better than i ever imagined"

you could cum right then and there at the sight

he pulls you up, flipping you onto your stomach and you just arch back out of instinct, your ass wiggling against him. extending your arms on the bed, almost stretching. you feel his hands on your hips, pulling down your panties, leaving you completely exposed. he spits and spreads it with his thumb, caressing your puckering hole all the way until he reaches your pussy. lowering himself and licking a generous strip of it. "please" you bite your lip, your pride battling with your desire. but the ache between your legs wins. "please, patrick. fuck me."

"so fucking wet for me" his voice hoarse

he thrusts into you with a force that makes you gasp, filling you completely. he sets a relentless pace, his hands gripping your hips as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room. "so good" you mewl gripping the sheets

your moans mix with his, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. you can feel every inch of him, the roughness of his thrusts, the way he hits that perfect spot inside you over and over.

he reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. the combination sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around him.

with a final, deep thrust, he follows you over the edge, his hot release filling you. "i love this tight pussy of yours" he collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily, the room filled with the scent of sex. he lingers inside for a while, until he catches his breath and pulls out.

you slowly turn and lay on your back reaching for your aching slit and bringing one of your fingers to your mouth, tasting him as he gazes with his mouth wide open

"you're gonna fucking kill me" he says, still out of breath

"you asked for it" you grin at his words, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "and here i thought athletes had the stamina to keep up," you tease, your voice breathy.

"whatever,” he begins, “time for the smoke break” he reaches for his nightstand, grabbing the pack of lucky strikes and his lighter handing you one.

[determinate-negation]

But everybody I spoke to in Vienna showed an honest unconcern. They invited each other to full-dress parties (little thinking that they would soon be wearing prisoner's clothes in a concentration camp), they were lavish customers at Christmas for their beautiful homes (little thinking that in a few months they would be confiscated and plundered). And this eternal gay unconcern of old Vienna which I had formerly so much loved and which, as a matter of fact, I am always redreaming, this gay unconcern which Vienna's poet laureate Anzengruber once caught concisely in Es kann Dir nix g'schehn- for the first time it gave me pain. In the last analysis it seems likely that they were wiser than I, all those friends in Vienna, because they suffered everything only when it really happened, whereas I had already suffered the disaster in advance in my fantasy, and then again when it became reality. In any event, I no longer understood them and could not make myself understood by them. I stopped warning people after the second day. Why disturb people who do not wish to be disturbed?

It is not a decorative afterthought but the sober truth when I say that in those last two days in Vienna I looked at all the familiar streets, every church, every park, every hidden corner of my native city, with a despairing, silent "nevermore." I embraced my mother with the secret thought, "It is the last time." I reached to everything in the city, in the land, with this "never again," knowing that it was a farewell, a farewell for ever. I passed through Salzburg where stood the house in which I had worked for twenty years without even getting off at the station. I could have seen my house on the hill from the train window, with all its memories of faded years. But I did not look. What was the use? I would never again occupy it. And the moment when the train rolled across the Austrian border I knew, as did Lot in the Bible, that all that I had left behind was dust and ashes, a past frozen to a pillar of salt.

Stefan Zweig, The World of Yesterday

[classic-asian-art]

Japanese White-eyes on a Branch of Peach Tree ca. 1805-10 by Kubo Shunman

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Les personnes qui sont à ce point à la merci de leurs humeurs ne devraient jamais se voir confier de responsabilités sérieuses.

- Stefan Zweig

[thebirdandthebee]

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A post shared by BLANCA ARIMANY (@blancaarimany)

This is so Patrick Zweig coded.

[olmayacakhayallervar]

"İlkbahardaki bir nehir gibi hızla akıp gidiyor ömrümüz, akıp giden ise geri gelmiyor."

Kitap:Rahel tanrıyla hesaplaşıyor

[detournementsmineurs]

Joan Fontaine dans “Lettre d'une Inconnue” de Max Ophüls (1948) - librement adapté de la nouvelle éponyme de Stefan Zweig (1922) - août 2024.

[zweigeist]

Into the Zweigeist

This is absolutely a passion project. I have to that first and really emphasize how much that will be my north star as I continue this page.

Stefan Zweig is an author who was born in 1881 and was born and raised in Vienna, Austria. His writing includes fiction, biography and autobiography. Often set in Europe, his stories detail amazing things and mundane moments that elevate in the smallest of occurrences and find the beauty in them. He's written countless biographies on historical figures including Nietzsche and Marie Antoinette and penned his auto-biography, The World of Yesterday, as the world turned abruptly into the 20th century and War was on the horizon.

He was a charismatic writer and avid traveler, things that not only jump off the page and into your mind but knock ever so gently on your heart. What Stefan Zweig muses after and about are some of the purest desires we as people share, love of the journey and love of one's culture. Like many people, I came to Stefan Zweig via The Grand Budapest Hotel, the film by Wes Anderson. There was a small dedication in the film via the opening sequence but it never directly addresses the way he influenced the film.

Set within a fictional version of Europe in the country of Zubrowka, it's quintessentially in the Zweigeist, but what does that mean?

I'll break that down in another post. For now, I welcome you to the Zweigeist my friend. I'm looking forward to the journey.

[the-timeless-founder]

Yo Bestie , you know who zweig is?

Heyyy anon!

Yes, if I am correctly aware: he is the new King of the Vibora in Lost Eden, after Burai has stepped down for unknown reasons. We know very little about Zweig other than that, other than the speculation that he is a cunning man. But like most characters in DL that are not love interests - except for Karl, sort of - we get very little of him in canon.

If I remember correctly, my friend @besnella had some sick headcanons for him on her masterlist. Feel free to check those out!

[kitapvesarkisevenbirisi]

"Söz konusu başkalarının derdi olunca nasıl da hep daha zeki ve daha nesnel oluruz."

[artssslut2]

Patrick Zweig as a Dad Head-cons:

- As soon as you brought your daughter Billie home from the hospital Patrick was in full dad mode. You had never seen him so grown up.

- When Billie would have rough nights or restless moments Patrick would watch tennis with her. He would explain everything going on like she understood it. It worked every time.

- Patrick was always doing skin to skin with his baby. He never wore a shirt to begin with but now he really never did.

- When your daughter got a little older Patrick would put her in the baby bjorn While he hit tennis balls, she thought it was the funniest thing ever. She would giggle nonstop, it was music to your ears.

- Patrick wanted nothing more than his kid to share his love for tennis. But of course she wanted nothing to do with it. She took lessons for a little bit but it wasn’t her thing. Patrick pretended he didn’t care but he was secretly heartbroken.

- His daughter loved to dance. She was an amazing dancer, it was her version of tennis.

- Patrick was at every recital and competition. He never missed one. He even built a little home studio in your basement for her.

- Patrick was such a girl dad, he would let her paint his nails and put makeup on him. Something he never thought he would do.

- He spoiled his little girl rotten. She got whatever she wanted, he could not say no to her. He even retired early because she asked if he could pick her up from school more.

[capsulas]

Algún amante de Zweig?

Con cual empiezo?

Zweig

¿Conoces a Stefan Zweig? Fue uno de los escritores más destacados del siglo XX, autor de obras maestras como “María Estuardo” y “Fouché”. Nacido en una familia judía de Viena, fue testigo de los horrores de la Primera Guerra Mundial y de la ascensión del nazismo. Su vida estuvo marcada por el exilio, la búsqueda de la paz y el amor por la cultura.

[determinate-negation]

“I had known Sigmund Freud, that great and austere spirit who, more than any other in our time, deepened and broadened our knowledge of the soul of man. When in Vienna, he was still appraised and opposed as an obstinate and difficult intellectual hermit. A fanatic for truth while yet fully cognizant of the limits of all truths, (once he said to me, "Absolute truth is as impossible as to obtain as absolute zero temperature,") he had estranged himself from the University and its academic scruples by his imperturbable venturing into heretofore unexplored and timidly avoided zones of the upper-nether realm of instincts, the very sphere on which the epoch had set a solemn taboo.

Unconsciously the optimistic-liberal world sensed that the well-spring psychology of this uncompromising mind utterly undermined its thesis of gradual suppression of the instincts by "reason" and "progress," that he menaced its method of ignoring whatever was uncomfortable by his relentless technique of disclosure. However, it was not merely the University nor the clique of old-school neurologists who resisted this inconvenient "outsider." It was the whole old world, the mind of another day, the "proprieties," it was the entire epoch that feared the unveiler in him. A medical boycott against him slowly took form and his practice dwindled; but as his theses and even the boldest of his theories were scientifically irrefutable they tried, Viennese fashion, to dispose of his theory of dreams by means of irony or by lightly distorting it to a humorous parlor game. Once a week a faithful group visited the solitary man and at those evening discussions the new science of psychoanalysis was molded into form. Long before I grasped the implications of the intellectual revolution which slowly shaped itself from Freud's first fundamental labors, I had yielded to the moral strength and steadfastness of this extaordinary man. Here, at last, was a man of science, the exemplar of a young man's dreams, prudent of statement until he had positive proof, but unshakable against the opposition of the world once he was satisfied that his hypothesis had become a valid certainty.

Here was a man of the most modest personal demands but ready to battle for every tenet of his teaching and faithful unto death to the immanent truth of the theories which he vindicated. A more intellectually intrepid person could not be imagined; Freud always dared to express what he thought even if he knew that his straight, positive declaration might disturb and distress; he never sought an easy way out by making even perfunctory concessions.”

Stefan Zweig, The World of Yesterday

[classic-asian-art]

Blue bird on maple branch by Utagawa Hiroshige (Color woodblock print; yotsugiriban)