Albert Camus
Thus each of us had to be content to live only for the day, alone under the vast indifference of the sky. — Albert Camus, The Plague. (Vintage, May 7, 1991) Originally published June 1947. Advertisements
Category: French Literature
Tristan Tzara
The Death of Apollinaire (La Mort de Guillaume Apollinaire) We know nothing We know nothing of grief The bitter season of cold Ploughs long furrows in our muscles He would have rather enjoyed delight in victory We wise beneath calm sorrows caged Unable to do a thing If the snow… Continue reading Tristan Tzara
Pierre-Albert Jourdan
You cannot become attached to human beings, things, or landscapes without suffering immediately taking up a position at your side. This is probably a trite remark. Yet a much stranger fate brings you face to face with uprootedness. It is better, then, to accept the suffering at your side. And illuminate it with love. —… Continue reading Pierre-Albert Jourdan
Edmond Jabès
Silence is inside the word as something to be read. — Edmond Jabès, Edmond Jabès (Wesleyan University Press, 1991)
Arthur Rimbaud
Eternity It has been found again. What? – Eternity. It is the sea fled away With the sun. Sentinel soul, Let us whisper the confession Of the night full of nothingness And the day on fire. From humain approbation, From common urges You diverge here And fly off as you may. Since from you alone,… Continue reading Arthur Rimbaud
Gilles Deleuze
To become imperceptible oneself, to have dismantled love in order to become capable of loving. To have dismantled one’s self in order finally to be alone and meet the true double at the other end of the line. A clandestine passenger on a motionless voyage. To become like everybody else; but this, precisely, is a… Continue reading Gilles Deleuze
Simone Weil
I am not a person with whom it is advisable to link one’s fate. — Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace. (Routledge; Complete English ed. edition November 14, 2002)
