O my fellow men, who consider me, or describe me as unfriendly, peevish or even misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. For you do not know the secret reason why I appear to you to be so. Ever since my childhood my heart and soul have been imbued with the tender feeling of goodwill. But just think, for the last six years I have been afflicted with an incurable complaint which has been made worse by incomplete doctors. From year to year my hopes of being cured have gradually been shattered and finally I have been forced to accept the prospect of a permanent infirmity....Yet I could not bring myself to say to people:"speak up, shout, for I am deaf." Alas! how could I possibly refer to the impairing of a sense which in me should be more perfectly developed than in other people...How humiliated I have felt if somebody beside me heard the sound of a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or if somebody heard a shepherd sing and again I heard nothing. Such experiences almost made me despair, and I was on the point of putting and end to my life. The only thing that held me back was my art
(Ludwig van Beethoven(1770-182-
from a letter to his brother
چقدر قشنگ بود...
مطلب رو کاملش کردم ترجمه اش رو هم گذاشتم یک نگاهی بنداز ببین نقصی نداره ؟
راستی درس می خونی ؟ چی ؟
می گه آرزوهای یک راهبه هیچوقت عملی نمیشه ولی دعاهای مذهبی اون همیشه مورد قبول خداونده...