Retomé mi lectura de The Man Who was Thursday (1907), de Chesterton. Extraigo del primer capítulo una cita exquisita, por decirlo así:
''- Yes, the poet will be discontented even in the streets of heaven. The poet is always in revolt.
- What is there poetical about being in revolt? You might as well say that it is poetical to be sea-sick. Being sick is a revolt. Both being sick and being rebellious may be de wholesome thing on certain desperate occasions; but I'm hanged if I can see why they are poetical. Revolt in the abstract is - revolting. It's mere vomiting.''