Chapter 6 1892

Wilde did me nothing but harm, I thought.With him, I can't think.I feel more, but I don't know how to organize it, especially I can't keep up with other people's inferences anymore.Sometimes I have some ideas, but I am too clumsy to straighten them out, so I have to discard them.Now I'm picking up my history of philosophy again, working with difficulty, but also with great pleasure, on the problem of discourse (while also reading Müller and Renan). Have I always tormented myself like this, and my thoughts, Lord, can no longer trust in anything certain from now on?Like a bedridden patient, tossing and turning trying to fall asleep, I was restless from morning to night, and woke up again at night.

I always wondered what I would be; I didn't even know what I was going to be, but I knew full well that I had to choose.I hope to walk on the sure road, to go where I am determined to go; but I don't know, I don't know what I should want.I feel that I have thousands of possibilities, and I am always unwilling to realize only one.Every moment, every time I write a sentence, every time I take any action, I tremblingly think that this is another stroke, added to my image that is about to be fixed, and it will never be erased: this is an indecision. a cowardly image, a cowardly one, because I would not choose, and bravely limit my own image.

Lord, let me pursue one thing only, and pursue that one thing relentlessly. A man's life is his image.At the moment of death, we will emerge from the past, look in the mirror of our actions, and our soul will recognize.Our entire lives are devoted to painting an indelible portrait of ourselves.The terrible thing is that I don't know it yet, and I don't intend to draw a beautiful image.When talking about ourselves, I think of putting it nicely and boasting; but in the future, our terrible image will not boast about us.Some people tell their own life to deceive themselves and others; but our life will not lie to others, we want to tell about our soul; and our soul will also meet God in an ordinary posture.

So, so to speak, I glimpse something like (the artist's) an inverted truth: What he should do is not to tell the life he experienced, but to live the life he wants to tell.In other words: the future becomes the image of his life, merged with the ideal image of his desire; to put it simply: become what he wants to be. ... This revelry of the holidays I used to love was at last found again.Intoxicated for a while, I couldn't help leaving the book and running around the room; the more I understand, the greater my desire is, and the more I want to understand further. I contemplated long hours of hard work alone, from early morning until late at night—taking time to play the piano to give my fevered mind a break and turn the brilliant ideas I had learned into passions.

Lord, I thank you for allowing the influence of women alone to always guide my joyful soul, who only recognizes the influence of Em, to the highest truth, and always maintain a respectful attitude in diligence. I thought with joy that if she could come back to me I would keep no secret from her. Some feelings in dreams still haunt you after you wake up, and you can't get rid of them anymore.I've had it twice, tasted it in my sleep--and it was nasty, and it kept coming back, unlike any other. I noticed this difference between intelligence and intelligence: intelligence, by nature, is selfish, whereas intelligence implies the intelligence of the person with whom one is speaking.

From this it follows that intelligence is good at telling (Tanner, Bourget, etc.); intelligence is only good at telling (seventeenth century). Wisdom is needed to speak well, and intelligence is enough to understand well. The eve of departure to Yuze. Go to Montpellier first, then Paris. Notes to be transcribed into notebook Every trip is a bit of a pity not to write down the books I brought with me.During the time when I went to live in Uze last time, I still remember that I discovered Carlyle; I read Danner's "History of English Literature" and Brune Thiel's "The Evolution of Species".I wrote about my fanatical voyage of faith.At La Fore, I watched Bouvard and Pecuchet.I must have noted on something the works I read.

One of my most precious memories is the day I read "Rene" for the first time, in a steep cave halfway up a mountain covered with regenerated forest.On the slope of the valley opposite me, there is Yuze under the sun-I stay alone in the comfortable shadow.The noise of the mountain city came faintly.A long time has passed; since then, I think, there has been no more charming scene. On this trip, I took with me the works of Damestre, Renan and Max Müller.During this trip, I did discover philology and was fascinated for a while.But I don't know what use this kind of research can be to me.In all the research I do, I worry about scratching the surface.I'm afraid I only have time to scratch the surface.But in this, I am too interested to be sensible.In every field, I try to go deep into it.

I also got to know the wonderful subject of astronomy.This is what Edgar Allan Poe's "There's a Way" revealed to me. I also read "The Old Mistress" and "The Convent of Parma" - but, that's not so important. Every day I recite "Drunken Boat". Only with Valery can one be truly at ease.How tightly our two hands held each other! I understand the annoyance of writing a book.You are judged by books, and Valéry thinks I am André Walter—I see him by himself, and I feel that we are very close. I was torn between two difficult choices; to be ethical, or to be candid.

Morality consists in replacing the natural man (ancient man) by a preferred imitation man.In this way, people are no longer candid.Old people are frank. I figured this out: The ancients are the poets.The newcomer that people prefer is the artist.Artists must replace poets.A work of art is produced in the struggle of the two. Back to Yuze again. Conversation, Discussion: Finally understand that I am a hearing person, and speak to a visual person.I thought we understood each other!What a difference! (This is one of them.) Two things intensified, which was great: my infinite weariness with myself, and my infinite attachment to pure thoughts.

As it should be, this is the triumphant march: worship kills the individual.God takes his place. I started again to work a little on the mediocre poems written by September.It's annoying to do.Today I found out from such a wonderful science that any joy of creation is self-denying in the face of the crazy joy of learning.It's an insane greed.know…… Know... know what? Or philology, but very little.Read Goethe's poems: "Prometheus"; read "Rafferstein", Banville's poems, "Adolphe". I felt that the time would pass before I would be thrown back into the frenzy of mysticism.

Learn logic, organize your thoughts... a mess in your head; every new thought stirs up all the others as soon as it comes into play.No boundaries at all, no outlines at all: The absence of outlines, which may make it easier to grasp the relationships, also confuses everything in my head, where every concept somehow connects to every other concept. If I don't keep a diary anymore, if I hate writing letters so much, it's because I have no personal passions; no personal passions, only what I want, or other people's passions.This is only on good days, when they come and go again: each one's spirit is stimulated, violently trembled, and it seems that it can turn into joy or sorrow at will; but none of them is more lovely.I am like a well-tuned harp, ready to play a cheerful scherzo or a melancholy andante, according to the poet's will. I believe this is an excellent state of creation.I myself also follow my own whim, doesn't that mean that I want to be as excited as my characters are?The key is to be able to be emotional; but only emotionally is a sad limitation. Either way, selfishness is hateful.I am less and less interested in myself, and more and more interested in my work and my thoughts.I no longer check myself every day and every hour to see if I am worthy of my God.However, this is a great fallacy: even the purest things should be able to reflect. Moreover, other people's comments do not necessarily attract my attention more than my own judgments;--nor at all: the statement of the relationship between the object and the person who judges it makes me better understand both. By.But for me, it is enough to affirm this other, and it becomes intolerable for him to explain and prove his reason.People can never prove anything. "Never judge." Any judgment itself bears evidence of our weakness.It seems to me that sometimes the judgments I have to make about things are as erratic as the mood swings they give rise to, and that accounts for the great uncertainty that overwhelms me, even though it should be a decision to act. "judge". I almost always see both sides of every thought at the same time, and my inner passions are always polarized.However, although I understand the two poles, I can also discern very clearly the limit where the understanding of the mind ceases, so that the mind decides to become purely personal, seeing only one side of reality, and forever choosing one of the two poles. or that pole. When I talk to a friend, I almost always take care to tell him what he thinks, while I myself am preoccupied with that, and with my whole being devoted to ascertaining and measuring the relations of his things. (This is especially true when talking to Valkner.) However, if I am with two friends and they are not at the same time, I am very annoyed to be caught between the two; Shake your head if you deny it. Besides, these psychological problems are also quite ridiculous and quite vulgar. The turmoil of the body and the restlessness of the mind may continue; but these phenomena arouse people's interest only during the period when they are considered important. The value of a thing depends entirely on the importance people assign to it.To tolerate one thing is to strip away all thoughts little by little, so that when it finally happens, it doesn't disturb our minds in the slightest. The poet's two abilities are indeed incomparable: the ability to indulge in things if he wants to, without losing his mind, and the ability to consciously maintain a kind of innocence.However, when it comes to talents with a dual personality, these two abilities are reduced. Have you noticed the consequences of the distance?Have you noticed that poets cannot do evil?Once a poet commits crimes, he ceases to be a poet.To a poet, to do evil is not to be a poet.The morality of a poet is to be a poet forever. Artists cannot do evil.This is really sad. There are always two or three times in my life when I drink something really cool and delicious. Some nights, we feel that we are about to grasp the illusion, and our hearts flutter with joy. Gide served in Nancy on November 12 and was incorporated into the 79th Infantry Regiment as a private. Yamal said: "...Since the whole life is busy increasing and strengthening the relationship with life, then we should wish that the end of life is not too far away—or we should live with openness." Things matter not because of us, but because of themselves. To be precise: It is because of God that we matter. (Military service.) It's been hard lately, and now I understand that my mind and abilities are not being used to the best of their ability, and that nothing has its own class.The noblest faculties lie idle.I also know that, if I were alone, I could transform these purely physical sensations into sublime impulses; yet I feel that other people are fond of mediocre impulses; A body can only make a sound if it senses the possibility of harmony around it. I feel melancholy in my heart, feeling that being friendly with others here is to lower my personality. The surrounding events can certainly be told, but the elements of fabrication are too great... - You feel like these things are made up because you don't fully appreciate their complexity.Therefore, the poet's work attracts you only because it is simpler.When a poet expresses only one truth in a work, he exaggerates.To simplify is to exaggerate.A work of art is an exaggeration. I'll see them coming at night like angels who come to pray. Angels - This day, we're all thinking about angels. "Restraint is to be as emotional as an angel." The angel walked in front of Toby, leaving a light belt from the earth to the sky behind him: "We know the way to heaven." I thought in my heart. Take my hand like this, M, and lead me on the path of all your virtues, and point out the light to me with the other hand—guid me—let us solemnly adore together. Courageously—as if with a force—a second life could only be a continuation of the first. Last night, I dreamed that I was going to die.I confess: I love myself more than anyone else; I love Madeleine more than myself--Love God more than anything--love God more than myself. Even though the world is so sad, I live a very happy life.Delicious and pure passion, holy to burn my soul.As for what comes after, I am not afraid; I cannot be afraid.If everything is empty behind me, I will also be silent.If there is life behind me, life after temporary death, I firmly believe that it will be very happy, just like what I expect and yearn for, and once I pass through death, I will break free from the shackles of this world, and I will rush to that kind of life . The gift of the poet; the capacity for frank exaggeration;--this painful, morbid faculty of exaggerating the most minute fluctuations of the mind. Drama, if you want to put it on the stage, that's another matter.It is no longer possible to taunt the audience: on the contrary, it must be respected.The script is no longer a whole, but a part.In the theatre, the two elements must coincide (and that is the whole art of theatre), the actor and the audience, the actor on the stage and the spectator in the seat, the two must agree.The performance part should be co-produced with the viewing part.Make an equation: Otherwise, the two are at odds. It might be well written and well acted - but that's another story.I'm talking about "drama", not works of art. No matter how wonderful a work of art is, it depends on whether it can be put on the stage.