[b]Guy de Maupassant
She was simple, not being able to adorn herself, but she was unhappy, as one out of her class; for women belong to no caste, no race, their grace, their beauty and their charm serving them in place of birth and family. Their inborn finesse, their instinctive elegance, their suppleness of wit, are their only aristocracy, making some daughters of the people the equal of great ladies.[/b]
Of course back in the 19th century this takes on a whole other meaning.
Right?
I said, ‘If other beings besides us exist on Earth, why didn’t we meet them a long time ago?’
On the other hand, they’re thinking the same thing about us.
The great artists are those who impose their personal vision upon humanity.
In other words, they think they do.
Since governments take the right of death over their people, it is not astonishing if the people should sometimes take the right of death over governments.
Two words: actual options.
For a number of years he had lived, eaten, laughed, loved, hoped, like everyone else. And for him it was over, over for good. A life! A few days, and then nothing! You’re born, you grow up, you’re happy, you wait, then you die. Goodbye! Man or woman, you’ll never return to this earth! And yet each of us bears within him the fierce, unrealizable longing for eternity, each of us is a kind of universe within the universe, and each of us soon vanishes completely into the dunghill of new organisms. Plants, animals, men, stars, worlds, everything quickens, then dies, in order to transform itself. And nothing ever returns, whether insect, man, or planet!
Go ahead, fit yourself in there somewhere.
Language dazzles and deceives because it is masked by faces, because we see it emerging from the lips, because lips please and eyes beguile. But words on paper, black on white, reveal the naked soul.
Right, like words on paper can’t in turn aim to con us.