Emmanuel Quotes

He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.

Faith is not a question of the existence or non-existence of God. It is believing that love without reward is valuable.

As Emmanuel, Cardinal Suhard says, "To be a witness does not consist in engaging in propaganda, nor even in stirring people up, but in being a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one's life would not make sense if God did not exist.

Treat people as an end, and never as a means to an end

No, you're mistaken. Not 'What filthy weather' but 'It's a fine rainy day.

-Ça ne fait rien, disait monsieur Ibrahim. Ton amour pour elle, il est à toi. Il t'appartient. Même si elle le refuse, elle ne peut rien y changer. Elle n'en profite pas, c'est tout. Ce que tu donnes, Momo, c'est à toi pour toujours; ce que tu gardes, c'est perdu à jamais!

La souffrance physique on la subit, la souffrance morale on la choisit.

What you give, Momo, is yours forever. What you keep is lost for all time.

I thought I loved him when he went away; I love him now in another degree: he is more my own. [ . . . ] Oh! a thousand weepers, praying in agony on waiting shores, listened for that voice, but it was not uttered--not uttered till; when the hush came, some could not feel it: till, when the sun returned, his light was night to some!

Don't quit when you lose. You lose when you quit.

Cele mai interesante întrebări rămân întrebări. Și conțin în ele un mister. La fiecare răspuns trebuie să adaugi un "poate". Numai întrebările fără interes au răspunsuri definitive.

I will say this quite plainly, what truly human is -and don't be afraid of this word- love. And I mean it even with everything that burdens love or, i could say it better, responsibility is actually love, as Pascal said: 'without concupiscence' [without lust]... love exists without worrying being loved.

Viaţa e un dar buclucaş. La început ai tendinţa să-l supraestimezi crezând că viaţa pe care ai primit-o este veşnică. Apoi, dimpotrivă, îl subestimezi, găsind că-i o porcărie, scurtă de nu-nţelegi nimic din ea şi pe care uneori ţi-ar veni s-o arunci de să nu se vadă. Abia către sfârşit pricepi că nu-i vorba de nici un dar, ci de un simplu împrumut. Pe care trebuie să încerci să-l meriţi.

Au moment même où tout est perdu, tout est possible

For others, in spite of myself, from myself.

The universe is full of men going through the same motions in the same surroundings, but carrying within themselves, and projecting around them, universes as mutually remote as the constellations.

- Ştii, de fapt nu de necunoscut mă tem, ci de fapul că voi pierde toate câte le cunosc.

Je ne sais pas où l'on va, murmura-t-il, mais ce qu'il y a de sûr, c'est qu'on y va.

Si je m'intéresse à ce que pensent les cons, je n'aurai plus de temps pour ce que pensent les gens intelligents.

What could an entirely rational being speak of with another entirely rational being?

Emmanuel started learning the basics of his Blackness before he knew how to do long division: smiling when angry, whispering when he wanted to yell.

To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity. But this also means: to be taught. The relation with the Other, or Conversation, is a non-allergic relation, an ethical relation; but inasmuch as it is welcomed this conversation is a teaching. Teaching is not reducible to maieutics; it comes from the exterior and brings me more than I contain. In its non-violent transitivity the very epiphany of the face is produced.

Your love for her belongs to you. It's yours. Even if she refuses it, she cannot change it. She isn't benefiting from it, thats all. What you give, Momo, is yours forever. What you keep is lost for all time!"-Monsieur Ibrahim

Un homme, ça passe sa vie dans seulement deux endroits: soit son lit, soit ses chaussures.

Most hackers are young because young people tend to be adaptable. As long as you remain adaptable, you can always be a good hacker.

And white privilege is about the word white, not rich. It's having advantage built into your life. It's not saying your life hasn't been hard; it's saying your skin color hasn't contributed to the difficulty in your life.

Solitude, what a sad and beautiful thing it is! How beautiful when we choose it! How sad when it is forced upon us year after year! Some strong men are not lonely when they are alone, but I, who am weak, am lonely when I have no friends.

Mind makes a man of God.

People feel sorry for you if you sit down on a bench in the evening.

Il n'y a pas de solution à la vie sinon vivre.

What is the Third Estate? Everything. What has it been hitherto in the political order? Nothing. What does it desire to be? Something.

Sur terre, ce ne sont pas les occasions de s'émerveiller qui manquent, mais les émerveillés.

Tu es comme tous les jeunes gens, tu attends le grand amour et la vraie philosophie. Au singulier. Rien qu'au singulier. C'est cela le travers de la jeunesse : le singulier.

His veins were dark with a vivid belladonna tincture, the essence of jealousy.

كنت دائما أعتقد أن الأشخاص الذين يعترفون بخطاياهم يطورون وعيا أخلاقيا كى يكفوا عنها ، لكن هناك من يعترف كى يتخلص من خطاياه (كما لو كان يتقيأ ) ثم يعاود الكرة .

She rages through my blood, is etched in my alma, and fused to my corazon.” quote Ricardo Emmanuel De La Cruz. Hot & Enchanting, De La Cruz Saga

We breathe for the sake of breathing, eat and drink for the sake of eating and drinking, we take shelter for the sake of taking shelter, we study to satisfy our curiosity, we take a walk for the walk. All that's not for the sake of living, it is living. Life is a sincerity.

Lorsque tu veux savoir si tu es dans un endroit riche ou pauvre, tu regardes les poubelles. Si tu vois ni ordures ni poubelles, c'est très riche. Si tu vois des poubelles et pas d'ordures, c'est riche. Si tu vois des ordures à côté des poubelles, c'est ni riche ni pauvre: c'est touristique. Si tu vois les ordures sans les poubelles, c'est pauvre. Et si les gens habitent dans les ordures, c'est très très pauvre.

The spring which moved my energies lay far away beyond seas, in an Indian isle.

You only really discover a masterpiece after a third or fourth reading, don’t you agree?” “And how can you tell something is a masterpiece?” “I don’t skip over the same passages”.

Could God have justified Himself before human history, so full of suffering, without placing Christ's Cross at the center of that history? . . . But God, who besides being Omnipotence is Wisdom and--to repeat once again--Love, desires to justify Himself to mankind. He is not the Absolute that remains outside of the world, indifferent to human suffering. he is Emmanuel, God-with-us, a God who shares man's lot and participates in his destiny.

Животът на всеки от нас е съставен тъй, че погледът, който хвърляме към него, го прави ужасен или прекрасен. Едни и същи събития могат да бъдат разчетени като успех или като катастрофа.

Мислите, които не казваш, са мисли, които тежат, вдълбават се, от тях натежаваш, вцепеняваш се, те задръстват мястото за нови мисли и някак те омърсяват. Ако не споделяш, ще се превърнеш в бунище за стари, смрадливи мисли.

The true life is absent.' But we are in the world. Metaphysics arises and is maintained in this alibi.

Fericirea nu înseamnă să te ferești de suferință, ci să o integrezi în existența ta".

Love remains a relation with the Other that turns into need, transcendent exteriority of the other, of the beloved. But love goes beyond the beloved... The possibility of the Other appearing as an object of a need while retaining his alterity, or again,the possibility of enjoying the Other... this simultaneity of need and desire, or concupiscence and transcendence,... constitutes the originality of the erotic which, in this sense, is the equivocal par excellence.

Enfin, le soufisme n'était pas une maladie, ce qui m'a déjà rassuré un peu, c'était une façon de penser -même s'il y a des façons de penser qui sont aussi des maladies, disait souvent monsieur Ibrahim.

Women are pleasing because they come to us wrapped in the catkin of an enigma and they cease to please when they lose their intrigue.Do women believe that men are only interested in what's between their legs? That would be an error.:men are more attracted by a woman's romantic side than by her sexuality.

It sometimes happens that in relatively powerless and impoverished countries there arise men of enormous vision who are frustrated and offended by the limitations of their lives and seek to reach out for the stars on behalf of themselves and their nations.

The wise learn from their mistakes, the foolish make mistakes for others to learn.

Păi dacă-mi pierd timpul cu ce cred toţi tâmpiţii, când să mai găsesc vreme să aflu ce gândesc oamenii deştepţi?

Disabilities are not Liabilities but true test of abilities

To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity. But this also means: to be taught.” ― Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority

The beautiful thing about the piano is that you got white keys and you got black keys. And the only way to make the most beautiful, magnificent, and poetic noise is with both sets of keys working in tandem. You can’t just play all white keys, because you won’t maximize what the instrument has to offer. You can’t just play all black keys, because you won’t maximize what the instrument has to offer. But integrate the white and black keys together, and that is when the piano makes a joyful noise.

Monsieur Ibrahim: To find out if a country is rich or poor, look at the bins. If there are bins and no rubbish, it's rich. If there's rubbish by the bins, it's neither rich nor poor... it's touristy. And if there's rubbish but no bins, then it's poor.

a man like me, who does not work, who does not want to work, will always be disliked. In that house full of working people , I was the madman that, deep down, everyone wanted to be. I was the one who went without food, the cinema, warm clothes, to be free. I was the one who, without meaning to, daily reminded people of their wretched state. people have not forgiven me for being free and for not being afraid of poverty.

Whatever the cause, I could not meet his sunshine with cloud. If this were my last moment with him, I would not waste it in forced, unnatural distance. I loved him well - too well not to smite out of my path even Jealousy herself, when she would have obstructed a kind farewell. A cordial word from his lips, or a gentle look from his eyes, would do me good, for all the span of life that remained to me; it would be comfort in the last strait of loneliness; I would take it - I would taste the elixir, and pride should not spill the cup.

As your faith is strengthened, you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will and that you will flow with them to your great delight and benefit.

Si ce que tu dis n'est pas plus beau que le silence, alors tais-toi

- Ако се интересувах от онова, което си мислят тъпанарите, нямаше да имам време да се интересувам от онова, което мислят умните хора.

C'est une maladie d'être optimiste? Non, c'est une maladie de l'être trop. L'excès devient pathologique.

If I do start life all over again, I’ll do so very cautiously, but will I even start? Caution, understanding, it’s all useless. There is weariness, and nothing more.

L'homme à qui Dieu n'a pas révélé la vie directement, ce n'est pas un livre qui la lui révélera.

Mi-am dat imediat seama că veniseşi. Şi că-mi dezvăluiai secretul, marele tău secret: priveşte lumea în fiecare zi ca şi cum ai vedea-o pentru întâia oară.

the "small goodness" from one person to his fellowman is lost and deformed as soon as it seeks organization and universality and system, as soon as it opts for doctrine, a treatise of politics and theology, a party, a state, and even a church. Yet it remains the sole refuge of the good in being. Unbeaten, it undergoes the violence of evil, which, as small goodness, it can neither vanquish nor drive out. A little kindness going only from man to man, not crossing distances to get to the places where events and forces unfold! A remarkable utopia of the good or the secret of its beyond.

White privilege is about the word white, not rich. It's having advantage built into your life. It's not saying your life hasn't been hard; it's saying your skin color hasn't contributed to the difficulty in your life.

People say when something stops growing, it dies; I don't think it's the same with love. Even when love stops growing because there's nothing to nurtures it, it doesn't die; it just stays somewhere in a limbo.

What hackers do is figure out technology and experiment with it in ways many people never imagined. They also have a strong desire to share this information with others and to explain it to people whose only qualification may be the desire to learn.

I pensieri che non dici sono pensieri che pesano, che si incrostano, che ti opprimono, che ti immobilizzano, che prendono il posto delle idee nuove e che ti infettano.

« Boris Nicolaïevitch, la démocratie, c'est bien, mais sans élections, c'est plus sûr »

Писането е само лъжа, която разкрасява нещата. Работа за възрастни.

Szczęście, którego wyczekujemy, potrafi zburzyć to, które właśnie przeżywamy

Failure is never a bus-stop for students, it is just a check point for all successful student

Le présent, libre a l'égard du passé, mais captif de lui-même, respire la gravité de l'être où il s'engage

To clarify: defunding the police doesn’t mean abolishing the police, though there are more radical calls for that, too. It instead means redirecting money from police budgets to other government agencies funded by the city. Defunding the police could mean more money for underfunded schools, for mental health programs, or for drug recovery programs, all of which can help to reduce crime.

At first sight, joy seems to be connected with being different. When you receive a compliment or win an award, you experience the joy of not being the same as others. You are faster, smarter, more beautiful, and it is that difference that brings you joy. But such joy is very temporary. True joy is hidden where we are the same as other people: fragile and mortal. It is the joy of belonging to the human race. It is the joy of being with others as a friend, a companion, a fellow traveler. This is the joy of Jesus, who is Emmanuel: God-with-us.

There’s no White History Month because we celebrate the accomplishments of white people Every. Single. Day. White people have always been esteemed in this country, have always been celebrated. Black people have had to push to celebrate themselves and their culture in public.

-Tanti Roz, mi se pare că au inventat un alt spital decât cel real. Se prefac că oamenii vin la spital decât ca să se vindece. Deși unii vin ca să moară. -Ai dreptate,Oscar. Și cred că facem aceeași greșeală și în privința vieții. Uităm că viața e fragilă, fărâmicioasă, efemeră. Ne credem toți nemuritori.

Elle lui demanda en quoi un jour de pluie pouvait être beau : il lui énuméra les nuances de couleurs que prendraient le ciel, les arbres et les toits lorsqu'ils se promèneraient tantôt, de la puissance sauvage avec laquelle leur apparaîtrait l'océan, du parapluie qui les rapprocherait pendant la marche, de la joie qu'ils auraient à se réfugier ici pour un thé chaud, des vêtements qui sécheraient auprès du feu, de la langueur qui en découlerait, de l'opportunité qu'ils auraient de faire plusieurs fois l'amour, du temps qu'ils prendraient à se raconter leur vie sous les draps du lit, enfants protégés par une tente de la nature déchaînée...

In weariness, existence is like the reminder of a commitment to exist, with all the seriousness and harshness of an irrevocable contract. One has to do something, one has to aspire after and undertake [...] In weariness we want to escape existence itself, and not only one of its landscapes in a longing for more beautiful skies. An evasion without an itinerary and without an end, it is not trying to come ashore somewhere.

There is enough said. Trouble no quiet, kind heart; leave sunny imaginations hope. Let it be theirs to conceive the delight of joy born again fresh out of great terror, the rapture of rescue from peril, the wondrous reprieve from dread, the fruition of return. Let them picture union and a happy succeeding life.

This world, in which reason is more and more at home, is not habitable. It is hard and cold like those depots in which are piled up goods that cannot satisfy: neither clothe those who are naked, nor feed those who are hungry; it is as impersonal as factory hangars and industrial cities in which manufactured things remain abstract, true with statistical truth and borne on the anonymous circuit of the economy, resulting from skilful planning decisions which cannot prevent, but prepare disasters. There it is, the mind in its masculine essence, living on the outside, exposed to the violent, blinding sun, to the trade winds that beat against it and beat it down, on a land without folds, rootless, solitary and wandering and thus already alienated by the very things which it caused to be produced and which remain untameable and hostile.

Urmându-ţi aşadar sfatul, m-am străduit să-l pun în aplicare. Contemplând lumina, culorile, copacii, păsările, animalele. Simţeam cum aerul îmi pătrunde în nări făcându-mă să respir. Vocile de pe culoar veneau spre mine ca din bolta unei catedrale. Iar eu eram viu. Fremătam de o bucurie necuprinsă şi pură. Aceea de a exista. O bucurie care mă fermeca.

You want to know, companions of my youth, How much has changed the wild but shy young poet Forever writing last poem after last poem; You hear he’s dark as earth, barefoot, A turban round his head, a bolo at his side, His ballpen blown up to a long-barreled gun: Deeper still the struggling change inside.

Dear 2600: I think my girlfriend has been cheating on me and I wanted to know if I could get her password to Hotmail and AOL. I am so desperate to find out. Any help would be appreciated. Thanks. And this is yet another popular category of letter we get. You say any help would be appreciated? Let’s find out if thats true. Do you think someone who is cheating on you might also be capable of having a mailbox you don’t know about? Do you think that even if you could get into the mailbox she uses that she would be discussing her deception there, especially if we live in a world where Hotmail and AOL passwords are so easily obtained? Finally, would you feel better if you invaded her privacy and found out that she was being totally honest with you? Whatever problems are going on in this relationship are not going to be solved with subterfuge. If you can’t communicate openly, there’s not much there to salvage.

I lit a candle in a Catholic church for the first time that afternoon. Me, a Presbyterian. I lit a candle in the warm, dark, waxy-smelling air of Saint Adelbert’s. I put it beside the one that Mrs. Baker lit. I don’t know what she prayed for, but I prayed that no atomic bomb would ever drop on Camillo Junior High or the Quaker meetinghouse or the old jail or Temple Emmanuel or Hicks Park or Saint Paul’s Episcopal School or Saint Adelbert’s. I prayed for Lieutenant Baker, missing in action somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam near Khesanh. I prayed for Danny Hupfer, sweating it out in Hebrew school right then. I prayed for my sister, driving in a yellow bug toward California—or maybe she was there already, trying to find herself. And I hoped that it was okay to pray for a bunch of things with one candle.

Incerc sa le explic parintilor mei ca viata e un dar buclucas. La inceput ai tendinta sa-l supraestimezi crezand ca viata pe care ai primit-o este vesnica. Apoi, dimpotriva, il subestimezi, gasind ca-i o porcarie, scurta de nu-ntelegi nimic din ea si pe care uneori ti-ar veni s-o arunci de sa nu se vada. Abia catre sfarsit pricepi ca nu-i vorba de niciun dar, ci de un simplu imprumut. Pe care trebuie sa incerci sa-l meriti.

I had thought about forgiveness more and more...I knew it wasn't a light that could be switched on in an instant-it grew day by day, week by week, month by month-but something was changing inside me now during the hours when I sat alone and tried to calm my feelings. A seed had been sown, and I sensed that, just as I'd once faced a choice about whether to use violence on the night when I stared at the gun, I know had another choice: to remain trapped in the bitterness of the past or to find peace in the present.

El amor no es una posibilidad, no se debe a nuestra iniciativa, es sin razón, nos invade y nos hiere y, sin embargo, el yo sobrevive en él. Una fenomenología de la voluptuosidad -la voluptuosidad no es un placer cualquiera, porque no es un placer solitario como el comer o el beber-, parece confirmar nuestro punto de vista sobre el papel y el lugar excepcionales representados por lo femenino, y sobre la ausencia de toda fusión en el erotismo.

La phrase : "Je suis homme et rien de ce qui est humain ne m'est étranger" me semble être, sinon le dernier mot de la sagesse, en tout cas l'un des plus profonds, et ce que j'aime chez Etienne, c'est qu'il le prend à la lettre, c'est même ce qui selon moi lui donne le droit d'être juge. De ce qui le fait humain, pauvre, faillible, magnifique, il ne veut rien retrancher, et c'est aussi pourquoi dans le récit de sa vie je ne veux, moi, rien couper.

Incerc sa le explic parintilor mei ca viata e un dar buclucas. La început ai tendinta sa-l supraestimezi crezand ca viata pe care ai primit-o este vesnica. Apoi, dimpotriva, il subestimezi, gasind ca-i o porcarie, scurta de nu-ntelegi nimic din ea si pe care uneori ti-ar veni s-o arunci de sa nu se vada. Abia catre sfarsit pricepi ca nu-i vorba de nici un dar, ci de un simplu imprumut. Pe care trebuie sa incerci sa-l meriti.

А след това реши да се остави да погине. Уви, доброто му здраве го задържаше. Нямаше какво да стори. Мъката, отегчението и отвращението бяха достатъчни, за да вгорчат живота му, но не и да го отнемат. Докато четеше класически романи, завиждаше на онези времена, когато хората са умирали от скръб... Мадам дьо Клев успешно вехнеше, героините на Балзак също... А той не. Жени... - отбеляза той. Дали тяхната мъка е по-силна? Полът ли му пречеше да умре от някакво чувство?

Не съм оптимист за бъдещето на света. Проблемът на хората е, че умеят да се разбират, само ако се сплотят срещу другите. Врагът ги обединява. Привидно може да се помисли, че спойката между членовете на една група е общият език, общата култура, общата история, споделените ценности, но всъщност нито една позитивна връзка не е достатъчна, за да спои хората, онова, което е необходимо, за да ги сближи, е общ враг. Погледнете тук, около нас. Пред ХІХ век измислят нациите и цялата нация се превръща във враг, резултат: война на нациите. След няколко войни и милиони загинали, през ХХ в. решават да приключим с нациите, резултат: създаваме Европа. Но за да съществува Съюзът, за да си даваме сметка, че съществува, някои не бива да имат правото да идват тук. Това е все същата стара глупава игра: винаги трябва да има изключени от играта.

Разказът е скица за роман, сведен до най-важното. Този взискателен жанр не търпи предателства. Ако човек може да използва романа като килер за всякакви неща, това е невъзможно при разказа. Трябва да се премери мястото, полагащо се на диалога, на описанието, на обособената част. И най-дребната грешка в архитектурата веднага прозира. Самодоволството също. Понякога си мисля, че в разказа разцъфтявам, тъй като съм на първо място човек на театъра. .. Авторът на разкази има усещането, че води читателя, хваща го за ръка в първото изречение, за да го отведе до последното, без да спира, без почивка, както е свикнал да прави това в театра.

През последните векове европейците са ходили почти навсякъде, дълбали са почти навсякъде, строили са почти навсякъде, възпроизвеждали са се почти навсякъде, колонизирали са почти навсякъде, а сега се правят на ощипани, когато някой идва при тях, така ли? Не вярвам на ушите си! Тяхната територия европейците най-безсрамно идваха да си я разширяват при нас, нали така? Точно те започнаха да местят границите. Сега е наш ред и ще им се наложи да свикнат, защото всички ще дойдем при тях, африканци, араби, латиноси, азиатци. Аз, за разлика от тях не преминавам границата с оръжие, войници и благородната мисия да сменя езика им, законите или религията. Не, аз не нападам, не искам нищо да променям, искам само да си открия местенце, където да се сгуша.

Mi vergognavo ad essere affascinato da quella storia e da quel criminale mostruoso, Jean-Claude Romand. A distanza di tempo, credo che ciò che avevo tanta paura di condividere con lui lo condivido, lo condividiamo lui e io, con la maggior parte della gente, anche se per fortuna la maggior parte della gente non arriva al punto di mentire per vent’anni e poi sterminare tutta la famiglia. Penso che anche le persone più sicure di sé percepiscano con angoscia lo scarto che esiste fra l’immagine di sé che bene o male cercano di dare agli altri e quella che hanno di loro stesse nei momenti d’insonnia, o di depressione, quando tutto vacilla e si prendono la testa fra le mani, sedute sulla tazza del cesso. In ciascuno di noi c’è una finestra spalancata sull’inferno; cerchiamo di starne alla larga il più possibile, e io, per una mia precisa scelta, ho passato a quella finestra, ipnotizzato, sette anni della mia vita.

L'homme lutte contre la peur mais, contrairement à ce qu'on répète toujours, cette peur n'est pas celle de la mort, car la peur de la mort, tout le monde ne l'éprouve pas, certains n'ayant aucune imagination, d'autres se croyant immortels, d'autres encore espérant des rencontres merveilleuses après leur trépas ; la seule peur universelle, la peur unique, celle qui conduit toutes nos pensées, car la peur de n'être rien. Parce que chaque individu a éprouvé ceci, ne fût-ce qu'une seconde au cours d'une journée : se rendre compte que, par nature, ne lui appartient aucune des identités qui le définissent, qu'il aurait pu ne pas être doté de ce qui le caractérise, qu'il s'en est fallu d'un cheveu qu'il naisse ailleurs, apprenne une autre langue, reçoive une éducation religieuse différente, qu'on l'élève dans une autre culture, qu'on l'instruise dans une autre idéologie, avec d'autres parents, d'autres tuteurs, d'autres modèles. Vertige !

Come, Paul!" she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman. I thought he receded; I thought he would go. Pierced deeper than I could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression, I cried - "My heart will break!" What I felt seemed literal heart-break; but the seal of another fountain yielded under the strain: one breath from M. Paul, the whisper, "Trust me!" lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many a deep sob, with thrilling, with icy shiver, with strong trembling, and yet with relief - I wept. "Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass," said the calm Madame Beck. To be left to her and her cordial seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly - "Laissez-moi!" in the grim sound I felt a music strange, strong, but life-giving. "Laissez-moi!" he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke. "But this will never do," said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman - "Sortez d'ici!" "I will send for Père Silas: on the spot I will send for him," she threatened pertinaciously. "Femme!" cried the Professor, not now in his deep tones, but in his highest and most excited key, "Femme! sortez à l'instant!" He was roused, and I loved him in his wrath with a passion beyond what I had yet felt. "What you do is wrong," pursued Madame; "it is an act characteristic of men of your unreliable, imaginative temperament; a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent - a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in the view of persons of steadier and more resolute character." "You know not what I have of steady and resolute in me," said he, "but you shall see; the event shall teach you. Modeste," he continued less fiercely, "be gentle, be pitying, be a woman; look at this poor face, and relent. You know I am your friend, and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts, you well and deeply know I may be trusted. Of sacrificing myself I made no difficulty but my heart is pained by what I see; it must have and give solace. Leave me!" This time, in the "leave me" there was an intonation so bitter and so imperative, I wondered that even Madame Beck herself could for one moment delay obedience; but she stood firm; she gazed upon him dauntless; she met his eye, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort; I saw over all M. Paul's face a quick rising light and fire; I can hardly tell how he managed the movement; it did not seem violent; it kept the form of courtesy; he gave his hand; it scarce touched her I thought; she ran, she whirled from the room; she was gone, and the door shut, in one second. The flash of passion was all over very soon. He smiled as he told me to wipe my eyes; he waited quietly till I was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself - re-assured, not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life, and seeking death. "It made you very sad then to lose your friend?" said he. "It kills me to be forgotten, Monsieur," I said.

Mes amis, j'écris ce petit mot pour vous dire que je vous aime, que je pars avec la fierté de vous avoir connus, l'orgueil d'avoir été choisi et apprécié par vous, et que notre amitié fut sans doute la plus belle œuvre de ma vie. C'est étrange, l'amitié. Alors qu'en amour, on parle d'amour, entre vrais amis on ne parle pas d'amitié. L'amitié, on la fait sans la nommer ni la commenter. C'est fort et silencieux. C'est pudique. C'est viril. C'est le romantisme des hommes. Elle doit être beaucoup plus profonde et solide que l'amour pour qu'on ne la disperse pas sottement en mots, en déclarations, en poèmes, en lettres. Elle doit être beaucoup plus satisfaisante que le sexe puisqu'elle ne se confond pas avec le plaisir et les démangeaisons de peau. En mourant, c'est à ce grand mystère silencieux que je songe et je lui rends hommage. Mes amis, je vous ai vus mal rasés, crottés, de mauvaise humeur, en train de vous gratter, de péter, de roter, et pourtant je n'ai jamais cessé de vous aimer. J'en aurais sans doute voulu à une femme de m'imposer toutes ses misères, je l'aurais quittée, insultée, répudiée. Vous pas. Au contraire. Chaque fois que je vous voyais plus vulnérables, je vous aimais davantage. C'est injuste n'est-ce pas? L'homme et la femme ne s'aimeront jamais aussi authentiquement que deux amis parce que leur relation est pourrie par la séduction. Ils jouent un rôle. Pire, ils cherchent chacun le beau rôle. Théâtre. Comédie. Mensonge. Il n'y a pas de sécurité en l'amour car chacun pense qu'il doit dissimuler, qu'il ne peut être aimé tel qu'il est. Apparence. Fausse façade. Un grand amour, c'est un mensonge réussi et constamment renouvelé. Une amitié, c'est une vérité qui s'impose. L'amitié est nue, l'amour fardé. Mes amis, je vous aime donc tels que vous êtes.

Non faccio parte di quegli esaltati che sognano la realtà invece di vederla o che l'agghindano come un'amante lontana e appena intravista: la rivestono di mille qualità, mille parole non pronunciate, mille intenzioni inconfessate che concorrono alla loro felicità, mille silenzi che avranno una loro favorevole spiegazione. No, io non sono uno di questi amanti immaginari, fabbricatori di bellezza, artigiani di bontà, doratori dell'ideale, demiurghi della felicità. La realtà, io la conosco; peggio ancora, la sospetto. Mi attendo sempre che sia peggiore di quanto sembri, più violenta, più sinuosa, più torturata, ambigua, capziosa, vendicativa, interessata, egoista, tirchia, aggressiva, ingiusta, versatile, indifferente, vana; in una parola: più deludente. Di conseguenza io non abbandono la realtà, io la bracco, le resto attaccato al culo, faccio la posta a ogni sua debolezza e cattivo odore, la spremo sino a farne sprizzare il suo succo immondo. (da Il Vangelo secondo Pilato, pag. 101)