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… of that tiny being, or better still, a su- perfluity, perhaps a toy. And no doubt she went home on foot ever meditating, ever dreaming, alone, always alone; for a child is troublesome, selfish, with- out sweetness or patience; and could not even, as a dog or a cat could, serve her as the confi- dant of her solitary sorrows.
…onvertible by the active and fertile poet. He who does not understand how to people his solitude is equally ignorant of the art of being alone in a crowd. The poet enjoys this incomparable privilege, that he can be at his pleasure himself or an- other. Like those wandering souls which seek for an embodiment, he enters where he will into the personality of each. For him alone all houses are to let: and if certain places seem to be closed to him it is because in his eyes they are not worth the trouble of being visited. The solitary and pensive st…
… the everlasting NO; mine serves the everlasting YES. Mine is a de- mon of action and of combat. Now his voice whispered this to me: He alone is the equal of another, who proves it; and he alone is worthy of liberty, who can win it. Instantly I leapt upon the beggar-man: with a single blow of my fist I bunged up one of his
…Ah! must one eternally suffer, of fly eternally before the face of beauty? O! no, piti- less enchantress ever victorious rival, leave me alone cease to tempt my passion and my pride! The study of the beautiful is a duel where the artist cries with fear even before he is conquered.
wine, and a great bed with linen, a little coarse, but clean; what better is there in the world? But returning alone to his house at that hour when the advice of wisdom is no longer suffocated by the roar of the exterior world, he said to himself: I have had to-day in dream three dwelling-places, which have given me one as much pleasure as the other; why inflict the trouble of travelling upon my body since my soul does it so easily, and why carry out plans, since planning is itself a sufficient pleas- ure?
…d, have pity, have pity upon the mad men and women that we are! Oh Creator, is it possible that monsters should exist in the eyes of Him alone who knoweth why they exist, how they have made themselves, and how they would have made themselves, and could not?
X ONE OCLOCK IN THE MORNING AT last alone. One hears no more of any- thing but the wheels of some belated and ex- hausted cabs. For some hours we shall be lords of silence, if not rest. At last the tyranny of the human countenance disappears, and I shall not suffer except from myself. At last! it is then allowed me to take mine ease in a bath of shadows. First let me double- lock the door. It seems to me that this turning of the key will intensify my solitude and strengthen the barricades that separate me from the world. Horrible life; horribl…
…g has made all the saints and all the sinners; it severs man from his fellows, and sets his feet upon a lonely road, where God and Satan alone, no lesser souls, com- mune with it. This yearning is the mother of all artists; in Baudelaire it reaches its highest and most con- scious expression. It is for this reason that I tremble and weep, being as it were the bearer of his ashes into those smug lands where the noblest of al languages is prostituted to no other uses than those of gluttony, snobbery and greed. The condition of England and America…
…orgotten, all wrongs pardoned. The duels which had been arranged were erased from memory, and ill-will fled away like clouds of smoke. I alone was sad, inconceivably sad. Like a priest from whom one should ravish his Divin- ity, I could not without heart-breaking bitter- ness tear myself from this sea, so monstrously seductive, from this sea so infinitely varied in its terrifying simplicity; this sea which seems to contain in itself and to represent by its play, its enticements, its rages and its smiles, the dispositions, the agonies and the ec…
…nows that I disdain his pleasures, and he wishes to sneak into mine, the ugly spoilsport! This great misfortune of not being able to be alone, says somewhere La Bruyère, as if to shame those who run to forget themselves in the crowd, fearing doubtless that they will be unable to tolerate their own company. Nearly all our misfortunes come to us from our not having the sense to remain in our chamber, says another wise man, Pascal, I think; thus summoning back into the cell of meditation all these wrong-headed persons who seek happiness in m…
…the sadder and more saddening widow? She who drags, holding his hand, a brat with whom she cannot share her reverie, or she who is quite alone? I do not know. . . . Once upon a time it happened to me that I fol- lowed during long hours a mournful old woman of this type; stiff, straight, under a little word- out shawl; she bore herself in all her being with stoical pride. She was evidently condemned by absolute solitude to the habits of a celibate of long standing, and the masculine character of her manners added something mysteriously pi- quant…
…e lady at the cash-desk, felt the contagious ec- stasy so strangely that they would forget their duties. In short, I lived for some time alone with a living phenomenon. She ate, chewed,
… my nurse. He drew his comrades nearer to him, and low- ered his voice. Oh, you do not know what a strange feeling it gives, not to be alone in bed, but with ones nurse in the shadows. As I was not asleep, I amused myself while she slept in passing my hand over her arms and her neck and her shoulders. Her arms and neck are ever so much fatter tan those of all other women, and her skin is so soft, so soft, that one would say it was letter paper, or silk paper. I had so much pleasure in this that I should have gone on for quite a long time if …