President Vaclav Havel of Czechozlovakia:
Please try to imagine the following, somewhat absurd situation:
A literary critic known for his merciless judgment and piercing look, capable of discovering any false tone in a novel or story, is suddenly confronted with the task of writing a novel. Everyone is waiting with curiosity, and even a certain amount of malicious joy, to see how he succeeds in meeting the high targets he himself had set before, not knowing that one day he would have to make the effort to satisfy them.
For years I used to criticize practical politics as a mere technology of vying for power and as a purely pragmatic activity whose objective is not to perform selfless service to citizens in accordance with one's conscience, but only to win their favor with a view to staying in power or gaining more of it.As an independent intellectual, I was continuously developing my concepts of politics as a selfless service to fellow human beings and as morality in practice, a high-principled politics which I tentatively termed "nonpolitical politics."
Fate has indeed played a strange joke on me, as if it were telling me that after having been so smart, I should now show all those whom I have criticized the right way to do it. No wonder my present position is hardly enviable: All my political activities, and maybe all the policies pursued by Czechoslovakia, are being examined under the microscope which I once built myself.
After a year and a half of the presidency in a country ridden with problems which presidents in stable democracies never dream of, I have not been compelled to retract anything. Not only have I not had to change my views, but I have even been confirmed in them.
Despite all the political misery I am confronted with every day, it still is my profound conviction that the very essence of politics is not dirty; dirt is brought in only by wicked people. I admit that this is an area of human activity where the temptation to advance through unfair actions may be stronger than elsewhere, and which thus makes higher demands on human integrity. But it is not true at all that a politician cannot do without lying or intriguing. That is sheer nonsense, often spread by those who want to discourage people from taking an interest in public affairs.
Of course, in politics, just as anywhere else in life, it is impossible, and it would not be sensible, always to say everything bluntly. Yet that does not mean one has to lie. What is needed here are tact, instinct and good taste. That, in fact, has been one of the things that surprised me most in the realm of high politics, where good taste is more important than all the education in political science.
All this is a matter of form: knowing how long I should speak, when to begin and when to finish; how to say something politely that the other party does not like to hear; how to pick out what is essential at the given moment and to refrain from talking about nonessential things that nobody is interested in listening to; how to remain steadfast in one's position without offending the other party; how to create a friendly atmosphere in order to facilitate demanding negotiations; how to keep the conversation going without imposing oneself on one's partner or creating in him the impression that he is being ignored; how to maintain a balance between the serious political subjects and the lighter, relaxing ones; knowing when and where to appear, and when and where to remain absent, and what measure of candor or restraint to choose.
It is also a matter of having a kind of instinct for the period, for the atmosphere that marks it, for the sentiments of the people, the nature of their troubles, and their mental disposition. That, too, is perhaps more important than various sociological surveys.
While education in political science, law, economics, history and culture is certainly invaluable for every politician, it is not, as I can see time and again, the most important thing. Much more important are establishing contact and maintaining a sense of measure; the ability to imagine oneself in one's partner's position and to address him, and the capability of perception and the quick assessment of problems and the condition of human souls.
I certainly do not mean to imply that I possess all these qualities. But when a man has his heart in the right place and good taste, he can not only do well in politics but is even predetermined for it. If someone is modest and does not yearn for power, he is certainly not ill-equipped to engage in politics; on the contrary, he belongs there. What is needed in politics is not the ability to lie but rather the sensibility to know when, where, how and to whom to say things.
It is not true that people of high principle are ill-suited for politics. The high principles have only to be accompanied by patience, consideration, a sense of measure and understanding for others. It is not true that only coldhearted, cynical, arrogant, haughty or brawling persons can succeed in politics. Such people are naturally attracted by politics. In the end, however, politeness and good manners weigh more.
Because the Madonna was gazing down on her son, all who looked must turn to her face, to see the sadness, the compassion for all men's sons, asking with despair: "What could I have done to save him?" And from the depth of her love, "What purpose has all this served, if man cannot be saved?"
All who saw would feel how insupportably heavy was her son's dead body on her lap, how much heavier was the burden in her heart.
It was unusual to combine two life-size figures in the same sculpture, revolutionary to put a full-grown man onto the lap of a woman. From this point of departure he left behind all conventional concepts of the Pietà. Once again, even as Ficino had believed that Plato could have been Christ's most loving disciple, it was Michelangelo's desire to blend the classical Greek concept of the beauty of the human body with the Christian ideal of the immortality of the human soul. He banished the lugubrious death throes of the earlier Pietàs, bathed his two figures in tranquillity. Human beauty could reveal sacredness as clearly as could pain. At the same time, it could exalt.
Para sa kaakit-akit na mga labi, gumamit ng mga salita ng kabaitan.
Para sa kaibig-ibig na mga mata, hanapin ang kabutihan ng mga tao.
Para sa maayos na pangangatawan, hatian ng iyong pagkain ang mga nagugutom.
Para sa magandang buhok, hayaan mong haplusin ito ng bata araw-araw.
Para sa postura, maglakad nang may kaalamang di ka naglalakad nang nag-iisa.
Ang mga tao, higit sa mga bagay, ay kailangang muling palakasin, baguhin, buhayin, kupkupin, at tubusin; huwag itapon ang sinuman.
Tandaan, kapag kailangan mo ng kamay na tutulong sa iyo, makikita ito sa dulo ng iyong braso.
Habang tumatanda, matutuklasan mong dalawa ang iyong kamay, isa upang tulungan ang sarili, isa upang bigyang kalinga ang iba.
Ang kagandahan ay wala sa pananamit, hugis ng katawan, o ayos ng buhok. Kailangang makita ang kagandahan sa mga mata, dahil ito ang daanang papasok sa puso, kung saan nakatira ang pag-ibig.
Ang kagandahan ay wala sa nunal sa mukha, bagkus nasasalamin ang tunay na kagandahan sa kaluluwa. Ito ay nasa pag-aarugang binibigay, matinding damdaming ipinapakita, at lalo lamang lumiliwanag ang kagandahan sa paglipas ng mga taon.
Hango ito sa tula ni Sam Levenson (1911-1980), "Time Tested Beauty Tips," na paborito ni Audrey Hepburn. Si Hepburn ay isang artistang ipinanganak sa Belgium, lumaki sa Netherlands, at nagtrabaho sa Estados Unidos. Binasa niya ito kina Sean at Luca, ang kanyang mga anak, noong huling Pasko bago siya sumakabilang-buhay sa Switzerland noong 1993. Inihahandog ko ang aking salin kay Coral, ang batang anak ng isang regular na bisita ng Café Voltaire. Gawa ang pampalamuting titik na may lakambini sa itaas ng Pranses na si Napoléon Landais.
