Frase de sobrecito de azúcar # 2

"De todo laberinto se sale por arriba"

(Leopoldo Marechal)

Jean Piaget #1

"Ahora podríamos preguntarnos: ¿de qué sujeto se ocupa la psicología genética, dado que no es del niño en particular que se interesa, sino de los mecanismos responsables de su comportamiento inteligente? A esto contesta Piaget que esta psicología se ocupa del sujeto epistemológico, que no se corresponde con el sujeto de la psicología del niño. En vez de ocuparse de las diferencias individuales se va a ocupar de lo que hay en común en todos los sujetos que están en el mismo nivel de desarrollo."

Colombo, María Elena, Psicología, la actividad mental.1ra ed. 3ra reimp. Buenos Aires: EUDEBA, 2000. p 50.

Jean Piaget # 2

"Piaget se va a diferenciar en la forma de conceptualizar el conocimiento con respecto a la filosofía, ya que para Piaget el conocimiento no es un estado sino un proceso activo, en el cual tanto el sujeto que conoce como el objeto a conocer cambian en el proceso de interacción, en el proceso de conocimiento. Es una posición que toma enfrentándose al empirismo. Para esta perspectiva filosófica, el conocimiento es un estado pasivo en el cual el sujeto incorpora conocimiento a partir de la experiencia sensible. El pensamiento es espejo o reflejo de la cosa. La imagen mental es copia pasiva de la experiencia sensible. Para Piaget esto no es así, esto es un mito. No incorporamos conocimiento a partir de la percepción sino que construimos conocimiento a partir de la interacción permanente entre el sujeto que conoce y el objeto a conocer. El conocimiento científico avanza por reorganizaciones de argumentos y reformulación de teorías y no por acumulaciones, y en este sentido es un proceso dialéctico."

Colombo, María Elena, Psicología, la actividad mental.1ra ed. 3ra reimp. Buenos Aires: EUDEBA, 2000. p 48.

Frase de sobrecito de azúcar #1

"Triunfan aquellos que saben cuáles batallas pelear y cuáles no."

The world is flat

Now she said, 'It's not really your car is it?'

I turned my head and saw Hell on her side, looking up at me, smiling. Tactically, I felt that now would be a good time to tell it like it was. Girls respect that. I'd be honest. Well, more honest.

'It's a mate's.' I paused. 'I wanted to impress you.'

'You didn't have to.' She rolled around, raised herself up on one arm and looked me in the eye. 'I wouldn't care what car you drove, Lee.'

'No?'

'No. Or what job you did or how much money you earned or how many gadgets you had.'

'No?'

'No. You care too much about that stuff. That's sort of why I brought you here. I wanted you to realize something.'

'Oh yeah?'

'I see you now and you're this big-shot dealer strutting around, and you're all pally with Danny, and it's funny.'

'What?'

'You're caught up with the little things, Lee. And people get so caught up in the little things - money and all that - they forget what's really important.'

'What?'

'You come somewhere like this, somewhere sacred, and you realize that, well, all that's just... details. It's other stuff that's important'

'What other stuff?'

'You know... Just being. Look at the birds, Lee, and the flowers, and the stones. They don't care about being big shots.'

I had a limit, even with her.

'Hell, what are you talking about? You tell me to look at the birds? Well I am. I'm looking at that one.' I pointed up a big, nasty-looking bird with blunt wings, a bomber of a bird, circling in the air above us. 'That bird got to be a big bird 'cause it eats little birds. All that other stuff, that comes after. When you're a big bird.'

'But Lee, Lee, it's not being a big bird that matters. Little birds are just as good. They're just as happy. What it's about, Lee, what I'm trying to explain, is that we're all one, we're all part of the, the-'

'The cosmic energy flow?' I said. It was a phrase she'd used earlier. I knew that, to stand any chance at all, I was just going to have to agree. If she said the world was flat, then it was flat, and would remain so till I was lighting a post-shag fag.


LEWIS, Simon. go. Berkshire: Corgi, 1999. p.35-36.

BCID: 211-7791958

Most of our parents attended the funeral, leaving us home to protect us from the contamination of tragedy. They all agreed that the cemetery was the flattest they had ever seen. There were no headstones of monuments, only granite tablets sunk into the earth, and, on V.F.W. graves, plastic American flags abused by rain, or wire garlands holding dead flowers. The hearse had trouble getting through the gate because of the picketing, but when the strikers learned the deceased's age, they parted, and even lowered their angry placards. Inside, neglect resulting from the strike was obvious. Dirt was piled around some graves. A digging machine stood frozen with its jaws piercing the sod, as though the union's call had come in the middle of burying someone. Family members acting as caretakers had made touching attempts to spruce up loved ones' final resting places. Excessive fertilizer had scorched one pot a blazing yellow. Excessive watering had turned another into a marsh. Because water had to be carried in by hand (the sprinkler system had been sabotaged), a trail of deep footprints from grave to grave made it appear the dead were walking around at night.

The grass hadn't been cut in nearly seven weeks. Mourners stood ankle-deep as the pallbearers carried out the coffin. Because of the low teenage mortality rate, mortuary suppliers built few caskets to their middling size. They manufactured a small quantity of infant caskets, little bigger than bread boxes. The next size up was full-size, more than Cecilia required. When they had opened her casket at the Funeral Home, all anyone had seen was the satin pillow and the ruffed cushioning of the casket's lid. Mr. Turner said, "For a minute I thought the thing was empty." But then, making only a shallow imprint because of her eighty-six pounds, pale skin and hair blending with white satin, Cecilia emerged from the background like a figure in an optical illusion. She was dressed not in the wedding gown, which Mrs. Lisbon had thrown away, but in a beige dress with a lace collar, a Christmas gift from her grandmother which she had refused to wear in life. The open section of the lid revealed not only her face and shoulders, but her hands with their bitten nails, her rough elbows, the twin prongs of her lips, and even her knees.


Texto: EUGENIDES, Jeffrey. The Virgin Suicides. New York: Warner Books, 2000. p 38-39.

Foto: autor sin identificar en
http://www.bbc.co.uk/wiltshire/content/image_galleries/radnor_street_cemetery_gallery.shtml?17