Beautiful- the very word; realms. Something beyond us, beyond our human life.
"Generally speaking, those [women] who fascinate us and resist us remain mysterious to us. Those who give themselves to us lose all prestige and after our senses have drunk to the full of them, we cease to follow the movements of their souls."
I haven't come across the concept of the motion of the soul...What does she mean by that? That our souls move within ourselves, a sort of person inside ourselves- yet it is the real us? Maybe it is the real us, and the physical, the flesh is just an accessory...
I am not talking about the actual "seeing" of the soul. Maybe each soul can see (feel) each other with their own eyes...
"No words can describe some things. The more one says, the less one sees. You see, Pierre, nature is like love, it's in the heart and you musn't talk about it too much. You diminish what you try to describe...I only what there is between the sky and myself. I have no part in it at all. If I think of you, in my odd way I am you and I cease to exist. That, to me, is real happiness, real poetry, real understanding."
Words ruin it. They really do. There is no possible way to describe accurately the purity, the perfection of nature. The human mind is too inferior to even begin to conceive of the beauty and majesty- let alone describe it with our language... Ceasing to exist is real understanding... that is an interesting idea.
"When I see the deeply thoughtful look on some peasant's face, when I see the exuberant joy in some children, when I see the apparently rapturous happiness of small birds and blissful peace of flowers in the moonlight, I often ask myself if having a sacrifice explanation of the world is an advantage. Does the effort of reflection remove from unconscious mental activity its greatest charm? And does it remove from sensation its greatest power?"
Very interesting idea. And throughout the book, the answer is yes it does remove the charm and power,one needs to admire nature for the sake of admiration, and not to try to analyze it. I myself tried so many times to pinpoint the sensation that nature had effected upon me- but it is impossible. One has to realize, the things themselves are poetry. They just exist to be poetry not to inspire it.
Of course men have come close to accurately describe it- as close as humans can get. It is the search for man, as they get closer and closer to the real thing, the real poetry. And yet, they shall never touch it- our humanity prevents it, we are bound to earth- not to roam the skies, the heavens... even if our imaginations want to...
But that is why I do like the classics- and goodness me, there are darn good descriptions! :)
"Our love of the countryside and of nature will no longer be tinged with melancholy as before."
This was the first time I came across the idea- which I elaborated on one of Turgenev's books. Very fascinating concept.
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I am not much of a fan of women authors. They have disappointed me many a time...But Sand is not like many women- throughout the centuries. She was beyond her times. I mean, she was so good, that the great masters of the time (Dostoevsky, Pushkin, Turgenev) idolized her. And that alone demands respect.
She is really pretty good. I can tell she was a remarkable woman, beautiful ideas, beautiful mind.
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Pub by Carroll and Graf
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