*Phaedra

Phaedra -Jean Racine
A true tragedy, as no character is singularly true or evil, the guilt, the opprobrium lies in the form itself, as Melville would put it, the interstices through which we communicate. The guilt lies in the emptiness between us. Rather than in the vileness of humanity, true falsity and odium is in the listlessness of humanity, the will to not do, instead of to do.
“Not only have I spoken; but my frenzy / Is noised abroad.”
“Venus implacable, am I confounded / Enough for thee?”
“My heart / Can be unbosomed only to the gods / And you.”
“Then on the liquid plain arose / A watery mountain which appeared to boil.”