Sarrasine by Balzac

"A good man, we had agreed, must at any rate be honest, passionate, and unworldly."

"'If we hadn’t learnt to read,' she said bitterly, 'we might still have been bearing children in ignorance and that I believe was the happiest life after all.'"

"She was the type of that hidden poesy, the link which connects all the arts and which always eludes those who seek it."

"By virtue of one of the strangest of nature's freaks, the thought half draped in black, which was tossing about in my brain, emerged from it and stood before me personified, living; it had come forth like Minerva from Jupiter's brain, tall and strong; it was at once a hundred years old and twenty-two; it was alive and dead."

"He saw before him at that moment the ideal beauty whose perfections he had hitherto sought here and there in nature,"

"He did not applaud, he said nothing; he felt a mad impulse, a sort of frenzy of the sort that seizes us only at the age when there is a something indefinably terrible and infernal in our desires."

"He had had such exquisite pleasure, or perhaps had suffered so, that his life had flowed away like water from an overturned vessel."

Pleasure and suffering go hand in hand.

"He met La Zambinella, spoke to her, entreated her, exhausted a thousand years of life and happiness with her, placing her in all imaginable situations, trying the future with her, so to speak."

"Sarrasine drew his mistress in all poses: he drew her unveiled, seated, standing, reclining, chaste, and amorous--interpreting, thanks to the delirious activity of his pencil, all the fanciful ideas which beset our imagination when our thoughts are completely engrossed by a mistress."

He created his own imagination visually. Oddly combining the real and unreal.

"The golden age of love, during which we enjoy our own sentiments, and in which we are almost as happy by ourselves,"

Interesting. Solitude and the impression is just as important as being with them.

"To talk of danger to a man in love is to sell him pleasure.

"I am an accursed creature, doomed to understand happiness, to feel it, to desire it, and like many, many others, compelled to see it always fly from me."

"I shall never cease to think of that imaginary woman when I see a real woman."

"'I shall always have in my memory a divine harpy who will bury her talons in all my manly sentiments, and who will stamp all other women with a seal of imperfection. Monster! you, who can give life to nothing, have swept all women off the face of the earth.'"

He's stuck with that idea forever.
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Woah! That was a very surprising ending! I cannot believe this was a story about a "trap". Even though it was all for a joke. It's so interesting how he imagined that Zambinella was a woman, and insipired all of these passions, and yet he didn't figure out that it was actually a man. I mean, what is Balzac trying to say with all of this? Because in the end, wouldn't it eventually be revealed that Zambinella would actually be a man? I think Balzac is trying to say something about the blindness of passion...maybe that Sarrasine saw what he wished so desperately to see. He developed his strongest passions for Zambinella when he was AWAY from her. Therefore, I think Balzac is trying to say that it didn't really matter who Zambinella really was, but what Sarrasine thought she was. This is stressing the importance of our mind, and what a large role it plays in the process of "falling in love". The imagination satisfies so much that the person that first stimulated them ceases to be important. It was just a stimulus, a trigger, but then gets lost as our fantasies reach new realms with a being that ceases to resemble the original. It makes me think how unfair it is to that being. But when one falls in love, doesn't the imagination eventually cool down, and starts to resemble the real? For instance, Virginia Woolf's Night and Day- the interesting balance between what one imagines in the person, and what it is. In the end, Ralph cooled his delusions and finally enjoyed the real. Well, as best as he could. The ending of this story though- I have no idea what to make of it. Sarrasine swears that he will forever uphold the imagine of woman he had made in his mind, and that the real woman for him is forever destroyed. Tragic, but the tone and the way Zambinella bows his head in despair, strikes me as rather comic? Or maybe that's just my odd way of thinking. I don't know, but personally, I thought the ending was rather humorous.

Anyway, Balzac makes a very interesting point- and of course, so eloquently. That ending- I think it depicts so much of who he was in real life.

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This is a very nice commentary on the book, mixed with a little bit of French, saying that of course the French original is much better. Which, I can imagine, is certainly true. Too bad my French is horrendous, or I would try it. (link)

This post (readear) says that the audio-which links it to-is extremely funny.
I listened to some parts of it, starting with the line "Suppose I were not a woman" which strikes me as extremely hilarious now that I know the ending! He proceeded to respond, "Would you venture to say now that you are not a woman?" Oh, little did he know! Zambinella's helpless voice at the end, and Sarrasine's question "Have you any sisters that resemble you?" depicts the marvelous genius of Balzac's wit. Shall we say "lol"? One needs to listen to this after one has read the book: makes it much more enjoyable.

other links:

An analysis of Sarrasine by Ronald Barthes (link) from which this Bibliophil references.

This post (making friends and enemies) goes on to further talk about Barthes' argument in which he says to separate the Author from the creation (in his work Death of the Author), as he talks about Sarrasine and "who" is actually speaking in the story. As it says in the post, "When, in the passage, the character dotes over her perceived womanliness, Barthes challenges his own readers to determine who is speaking, and about what. "Is it Balzac the author professing 'literary' ideas on femininity? Is it universal wisdom? Romantic psychology? … We can never know." Writing, "the destruction of every voice," defies adherence to a single interpretation or perspective."

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Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers

The Black City by Sand

Although in the beginning and at the end the translation got a bit annoying- too contemporary for my taste (translated by Tina Kover)- the story was pretty interesting. Not amazingly written though, since I didn't write down any quotes. The ending was also too perfect... I did like that the old man lived in delusion and everyone protected it.

The story was way too realistic for me, because I expected something very conceptual from Sand- like her Lelia. I guess she was trying to make a point?

Valentine by George Sand

"The poetic atmosphere of the fields, to which he was so susceptible, excited to delirium the intensity of the unfathomed cravings which were consuming him."

"She fancied that she could see behind that curtain, which the wind blew back and forth across the window, the whole brilliant, fairy-like scene of her younger years, the tower of the old manor-house, the venerable oaks in the great park, the white goat she had loved, the field in which she had plucked corn-flowers."

I often catch myself in reveries just staring at the way the light hits the wall just so- or the spiderweb floating in the small breeze that escaped into my room.

"[...] they regretfully left that spot, where their hearts had spoken secretly but forcibly to each other."

***
"He wept for the dream which had taken him away for an instant from the world, and had given him more joy in a few moments of illusion then he had known in a whole life-time of reality."

And that is what it means to be a romantic: to yearn after the unreal, while being unhappy with the real.
"Must we part with every ray of sunlight in order to assure the solidity of our own walls of ice?"

We have to extinguish any type of light in order to live in the darkness...

"Since have loved Valentine I have been another man; I feel that I exist. The dark veil which shrouded my destiny is torn away on every side. I am no longer alone on earth; I am no longer distressed by my nothingness (...)"

"Those fleeting moments, cast into their lives like a dream, formed already in their eyes a whole existence, which it seemed to them must last forever."

So little, and yet seems so eternal!

"He dared not even utter the world love, which frightens even love itself."

It's very odd how something so misused and misunderstood can lose its virginity by categorizing and labeling it. It is not mean to be labeled, but to let be. Flow and wander, not written on a greeting card.

"He considered that love was profaned bv taking from it the veil of mystery. He would have liked to encompass the women with so much respect that no one would know the object of her choice, and that people would be afraid of offending her by naming him to her."

Such a different view from the society of the time, and more so even now. Society kills this beautiful mystery by having love "placarded at the door of the mayors' office and in the church." The world placarded completely describes the vulgarity of it all- there isn't any delicacy about it. But one must learn to compromise! Unless one would like to be completely secluded- one must live among society. Benedict hinted at this seclusion a couple of times, and it is nice in theory- but one cannot avoid society completely- or the lovers will end up killing each other. I am saying this because that's exactly what happened in Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. They had fled from society, and yet, although it was supposed to be perfect, she killed herself because of jealousy. Paradise doesn't exist for a couple, because the flaws are too great to be ignored in total seclusion. At least, society provides a momentary distraction- a distraction that is necessary to be able to admire the one one loves. And also seeing the other among society can be quite charming- for society conveniently offers obstacles, which greatly strengthens a relationship in bloom.






















Arnolfini Wedding Portrait (1434)


"If the soul is not an empty breath which the wind blows away, mine will live always near you."

This acknowledges the fragile state of humanity, and how nothing is under our control.

"It was a fatal moment, sure to come sooner or later. It is most presumptuous to hope to overcome a passion, when two people see each other everyday, and are only twenty years old."

It is as if the inevitability of it all mocks these two- as if to say "Why are you even trying? How ridiculous you are!"

"Their life was a perpetual combat, a storm constantly renewed, a bliss without bounds, and a hell from which there was no issue."

Is such a "storm" healthy and natural? Passion is violent by nature, but is there a limit to that violence? Can it destroy just the same way it created?

***
"This Valentine, naturally calm and reserved, had become passionate to the point of delirium as a result of a combination of pitiless misfortunes and seductions which had developed within her unsuspected powers of resisting and of loving. The longer and more resolute her resistance, the more violent her fall. The more strength she had mastered to combat passion, the more elements of force and duration did passion find in her."

The amazing thing is that this was all within her- repressed. It is truly beyond our powers- to combat such a passion...the more one represses what needs to come out, the more trouble it will cause when it finally does- it will escape either way.

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Horrible ending! It reminds me of Romeo and Juliet- how they did give in to their passions- although with a lot less guilt. Valentine was not constituted for this sort of "escape" to the point where she was "fanatical in her impiety". The most devoted monk could be the most treacherous demon, if rebellion builds inside of his breast. If the being rebels against the constant repression, then it will shockingly when it does escape out of mere exhaustion and vengeance. I did like the complete realistic plot of it all- and the way it was described- who knows? This story might've happened thousands of times in different forms. For who hasn't been under some kind of passion or another?

There is an interesting connection between weddings and society, it being- society dictating weddings, and the concept of marriage in general.

Anyways I have no idea how I found this article, but here is portrayed the ridiculous nature of weddings, and my favorite being:























I guess this is emphasizing the need to publicly display something, which obviously isn't just love. These "themes" as simple as they can be, make a big deal about something that is sacred. But of course, society, as the society from Sand's time, feels the need to advertise. Anyways- I found this very entertaining.

Poor Liza by Karamzin

"He read novels arid idylls; he had a rather lively imagination, and often transported himself in thought back to those times (real or unreal, when, if one is to believe poets, everyone wandered carefree through the meadows, bathed in clear springs, kissed like turtledoves, rested under the roses and the myrtle, and spent all their days in happy idleness."

"It's a wonder, a wonder, my friend, that I could have lived quietly and happily before I knew you!"

How a whole lifetime can seem such a waste of time, how we can forget all those years filled with thoughts and dreams, filled with seconds.

I absolutely loved the marvelous descriptions of the pure thoughts, on both sides, how each wanted to be pure to the other. Especially the young man- unexpectedly- he too wanted to live like "brother and sister". And yet, Karamzin wisely asks, "Foolish young man! Do you know your own heart? Can you always answer for your actions? Does reason always rule your emotions?"

The dynamics of their love shifted after they had "intercourse", saying sex seems to almost insult their "accident", and they neither "made love" since they weren't emotionally ready or consciously to do so. Intercourse has changed everything,

"Platonic love had given way to those feelings of which he could not be proud, and which were no longer hew to him."

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No wonder Karamzin is thought to be one of the first Russian romantic writers. Similar to the style of Gogol, Karamzin binds the reader to the character, and creates this odd relationship. The way he asks theoretical and rhetorical questions, as if asking the reader why a certain action of the character took place, that is so attractive. We are no longer people in the 21st century reading about a character in a book, but conceptually we actually meet. That may sound odd, but I feel very attached to these characters.

Poor Liza! And so many have been betrayed. I thought it was interesting the way Karamzin first described Erast- only commenting on his appearance, that he was "nice looking." Reminds me of Balzac's Daughter of Eve. Female temptation is man.

Something I found while Googleing the book:

Indiana by George Sand

It took me a long time before I could finally get my hands on this book. I first read a cruel excerpt of this in a book about George Sand, and it ended right where they threw themselves off the cliff. Oh, the despair! I was dying to know what happened to them!


















"[...] everything was linked to a certain ability to create delusions, to an ardent aspiration towards something that was nor memory, nor expectation, nor hope, nor regret, but desire in all its consuming intensity. She lived like this for weeks and months beneath the tropical sky, loving, knowing, cherishing only a shadow, going only more deeply into a dream."

Maybe due to this "dreaming", she was all the more desperate to give herself to the embodiment of this ideal- or what she thought was her ideal. Do dreams bear desperation?

"She made for herself a world apart, which consoled her fro the one in which she was forced to live."

"Who can relate the dreams of the poet before his emotion has cooled so that he can write them down for us?"

He still loses something...he distorts it so that the mind's of cattle can criticize it. This sick reality is so cruel- this process of transferring from the dream to the practical.

"It was with these thoughts in mind that I asked you to put on this white dress; it's your wedding-dress, and that rock jutting out over the lake is the altar that awaits us."

Morbid romanticism.

"[...] and how the things of this life appear in their true light just when we are about to put an end to them."

And how miserably ironic. As if destiny mocks the pathetic attempt, letting us know that we still don't know the whole story. Oh, to live as if it was our last day! How different that would be!

"[...] there are memories we take the sine off by recounting them."

Memories can be pried open too much by the increasing dependence of the joy they provided. Then, they cease to become memories and instead turn into a source of a high, just like any other drug. This distorts their essence.
"What can the heart that has not suffered understand of happiness?"
One simple word: contrast!

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Which was stronger?- Ralph or Indiana? Indiana truly did sacrifice herself for most of her life, but then gave vent to her passions and wished to escape her vitues- claiming she deserved this freeedom. While Ralph had all the virtues of Indiana, and yet buried it within himself. I think Ralph was stronger because he didn't expect a reward unlike Indiana. He thought himself beneath a reward, giving him a noble character. Indiana broke and gave in to "temptation" over and over, even George Sand called her character weak.

The concept of suicide, and discovering this world once again is extremely interesting. (Of course, I only mean this from a literary point of view, since suicide in real life is of course tragic.) For only when we have nothing left to lose do we have everything to gain. To get to the pont where verything is viewed as temporary and insignificant-to treasure nothing-that requires a lot of suffering. And yet, when we let go of life, then we can truly grasp it, then one can become part of the "harmony", to quote Rilke. When one takes himself OUT of his existence, only then can he truly admire and observe it. But easily said, when one has things to treasure, one has the luxury of looking at this as a concept (even from a literary point of view), as a possible choice. How does one let go of one's treasures consciously, without any suffering required? Is it even possible, and if so, is it really sincere? It is so sad, because being "sober"one desires this uncaring attitude, and yet, it cannot soberly be achieved. It will remain an idea, something vague...

Suicide as a literary concept has a very romantic feel to it- a couple of books come to mind such as Balzac's Lost Illusions. The poet, through despair, knows there isn't a way out, and so- coward that he is (because they usually are cowards, and that's what makes them passive)- and weak, he gives in to the ultimate lure of the ideal suicide. And of course it is very tempting, to take control of the world and show fate that they too can choose their destiny, even though in reality they cannot. But after all, that is the charm of the poet, his weakness and loneliness makes him sensitive to Genius. I don't condemn them at all- actually I personally think that for the literary poet, happiness is impossible, and suicide is their only suitable death. Because there is this wonderful drama and tragedy about it, that gives their death such feeling and emotion. Which is so individual, depicting one last time the trace of their existence.

I was curious what the blogging world would say on such a topic: suicide as a literary concept. This blog was interesting, giving a historical view on this concept through literature. Then, unexpectedly, Wikipedia comes up with "Suicide in 19th Century Russian Literature" and there is Gogol! I did read the Nevsky Prospekt, and am very surprised that I haven't commented on it. Poor Liza by Karamzin was already on my to-read list. Must get to it! (I actually found it here in pdf format!)

In art, I found a marvelous blog that features this excellent collection of paintings/images on the topic of suicide. Tastefully picked.

My favorite, and appropriately French, The Suicide by Édouard Manet:

Cashback- concept of time

Another blog chase has led me to this unexpected movie. I read the Only Word's to Play With blog, and I was trying to find the Kubrick and Gogol comparison. I still have no idea what the comparison is. Searching on imdb.com, I looked up Kubrick, and the search came up with Cashback. So, what the hell, I Youtubed, and there it was. Extremely interesting movie, and it actually connects to a couple of the books I've read. White Nights by Dostoevsky comes to mind. Apparently, in Japan, it's appropriately called "Frozen Time". The whole world except me apparently already knew that Oliver Wood is this very attractive/talented actor? I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF HIM...but yes he is rather dashing. Some quotes from the movie:



"I wanted to freeze time. I wanted to savor that moment, to live in that moment for a week. But I couldn't stop it, only slow it. And before I knew it, she was gone."

"Within this frozen world I'm able to walk freely and unnoticed. Nobody would even know that time has stopped. And when it started back up again, the invisible join would be seamless except for a slight shudder. Not unlike the feeling of somebody walking over your grave. "

"Once upon a time, I wanted to know what love was. Love is there if you want it to be. You just have to see that its wrapped in beauty and hidden away in between the seconds of your life. If you don't stop for a minute, you might miss it."
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This movie was quite a treat, since he reminded me of the nameless character in White Nights. Especially the frozen in time moment. The most memorable quote from that story was the very end, saying that he could live on a moment for a whole lifetime. Freezing time, of course not literally, can make one live in that moment. Until that moment dies to make room a new one. But some people, such as the nameless character, don't ever let go of that moment, and try to cling to it as much as possible- damaging their reality through the process. So, there is a balance between the two. When one deals with time, it is easy to get lost in it, and lose all sense of reality. Bill started hallucinating and staring at objects deep in thought for long periods of time. The nameless character talks about the houses he goes to see everyday, and how he has different connections with perfect strangers off the street. All conversations with Nastenka seem like a dream, nights blurred by mists.
What Bill refers to though in the last quote, I believe, is the fact that we need to slow time down and actually THINK about each second of our lives. If time is just something to be breathed through, and ticking away, then our existence is worthless. We might as well be a plant...We have the privilege of recognizing beauty and therefore we need to step back in awe.
It also reminded me of American Beauty. Especially of the "electricity in the air".

Too Clever by Half or the Diary of a Scoundrel by Alexander Ostrovsky

The play was very amusing. Ostrovsky combines the art of the theatre with his writing..he expresses sarcasm not only thorugh words but actions as well- which greatly adds to the overall effect. The end was quite something: the climax it reached was intense because Glumou's career was in jeopardy- and yet, he started going even deeper into the grave by accusing them all. And it worked! He knew exactly what kind of person each was; and counted on that fact. What superficial people, it's quite amazing. These wishy-washy characters we are all familiar with- and one may even say- he had great patience with them.

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I was searching for blogs/videos related to Ostrovsky and I found this movie on this site:


(A Cruel Romance 1984)

I only got through part I...Honestly I couldn't finish it at all. The movie was too, the girl was insufferably naive and "airheaded". The way she smiled and oohhhd and ahhhd was too much to take. If I wanted to watch a stupid girl fall head over heels in love, I could pick any chick flick of today. But of course, that may always be in fashion. Also, I really had a problem with Sergey (as did my friend), because he was the same actor (only younger) from Burn by the Sun, and we didn't enjoy seeing him that first time either. I don't know, I just don't really like his face. And his voice was too low and was lacking enthusiasm.
I'm sure "A Dowerless Girl" by Ostrovsky would be much better. Add that to my to-read list.
But! I'm really happy I found digital-cake.net! The collection of russian films is astounding!!

Burnt by the Sun

I found this wonderful movie on a blog by accident. I was in the process of searching for blogs with any Russian-related topics, and there it pops out. Since I was just happening to be chatting with a friend (in another state), she immediately sent me the youtube link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpHsFsvsKS0. And so, instead of studying for our exams like good students would do, we proceeded (as unplanned as this was) to watch the entire movie. Procrastination works wonders. I really enjoyed this movie, except maybe the end. Of course, I don't want to give it away...

There were some hilarious scenes in it, especially with the (large) chested woman asking for the time. And of course let's not forget the spinster...she needs as much attention as she can get. So throughout the whole movie, I'm ashamed to admit (as vulgar as it may sound), my friend and I were basically screaming, "Why didn't they just get it over with and sleep together!? Because, we really condemned the age difference- compared to Dmitri's contrasting youth. We were going to be bitterly disappointed... But of course, it is supposed to depict reality, and most of the time, it does not consist of the ideal course of events. I loved hearing them speak Russian, and see their heritage portrayed through their actions.

It reminded me of a story written by Turgenev I believe. When the former lover comes back home after a long time, and sees how everything has changed... It must be horrible to see the world live on without you, as you are ripped away from anything familiar. And that familiarity will be forever buried in memories and never to live again.
I'm sorry for such a thought, but I guess the ending inspired it.

Night and Day by Virginia Woolf

So I got a Kindle, and therefore I can transfer all of the things I have highlighted right on my computer- without writing them down. This means a lot more quotes! ^_^

"A fine mist, the etherealized essence of the fog, hung visibly in the wide and rather empty space of the drawing-room, all silver where the candles were grouped on the tea-table, and ruddy again in the firelight."

Nature does not stop existing once we enter into a different realm that seeks to exclude it- but becomes a different form. Such as the fog, it transferred forms and colors.

"...fell into a pleasant dreamy state in which she seemed to be the companion of those giant men, of their own lineage, at any rate, and the insignificant present moment was put to shame."

When one dwells on the past, the present seems to ordinary and unexciting. And yet- the future brings so much promise. I loved how Katherine was so young and beautiful and still pondered over these great men. As if she forgot her own youth, to dwell on the past.

"...but Katharine only looked at him to wonder whether his face would not have come nearer the standard of her dead heroes if it had been adorned with side-whiskers."

Absolutely the first incident I have ever seen an author have a young person in bloom compare a living man to a dead ideal. She already had an ideal, and Ralph was expected to fit it. While Ralph on the other hand- created Katherine in his mind, based on her essence. Katherine created an ideal that is irrelevant to what Ralph could ever be.

"The desire to justify himself, which had been so urgent, ceased to torment him, and, as if released from constraint, so that they worked without friction or bidding, his faculties leapt forward and fixed, as a matter of course, upon the form of Katharine Hilbery. It was marvellous how much they found to feed upon, considering the destructive nature of Denham's criticism in her presence."

It is astounding how much abundance of imagination our mind can come up with when we are set upon embellishing someone with romantic thoughts. We create things that aren't really there.

"...she said, rather distantly, as if feeling her way among the phantoms of an unknown world."

"...occupied with her own thoughts. It was a habit that spoke of loneliness and a mind thinking for itself."

That struck me tremendously. For when one is in his own thoughts- he is not only independent in thought, but also lonely. That was the interesting part about Katherine: she was always in her mind, and yet, she suffered from loneliness, because she could not share her world with anyone.

"It passed through his mind that if he missed this chance of talking to Katharine, he would have to face an enraged ghost, when he was alone in his room again, demanding an explanation of his cowardly indecision."

The "demon" waiting at home. Goodness knows, I have had this happen to me so many times- when you know that you have failed in our proposed plan. The "logical" part of you does not care about your insecurities: it wants results.

"To walk with Katharine in the flesh would either feed that phantom with fresh food, which, as all who nourish dreams are aware, is a process that becomes necessary from time to time, or refine it to such a degree of thinness that it was scarcely serviceable any longer; and that, too, is sometimes a welcome change to a dreamer."

At this point- Ralph only views Katherine as a source of inspiration for his fantasies- "fresh food". He uses reality for his unreal version of Katherine, distorting the real to fit his desires.

"Being a frequent visitor to that world, she could find her way there unhesitatingly. If she had tried to analyze her impressions, she would have said that there dwelt the realities of the appearances which figure in our world; so direct, powerful, and unimpeded were her sensations there, compared with those called forth in actual life. There dwelt the things one might have felt, had there been cause; the perfect happiness of which here we taste the fragment; the beauty seen here in flying glimpses only. No doubt much of the furniture of this world was drawn directly from the past, and even from the England of the Elizabethan age. However the embellishment of this imaginary world might change, two qualities were constant in it. It was a place where feelings were liberated from the constraint which the real world puts upon them; and the process of awakenment was always marked by resignation and a kind of stoical acceptance of facts."

"And in five minutes she had filled the shell of the old dream with the flesh of life; looked with fire out of phantom eyes."

"How far she saw Denham, and how far she confused him with some hero of fiction, it would be hard to say. Literature had taken possession even of her memories."

But at the same time- he is doing the exact same thing, only Katherine is more dejected from Ralph. I love the fact that she cannot distinguish between what she read and reality- this shows how much she depends on her thought, and how much they take up her life- even her memories.

"If the best of one's feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is left us?"

Part of our reality is for our feelings to be reciprocated back to us.

"The old romance which had warmed his days for him, the thoughts of Katharine which had painted every hour, were now made to appear foolish and enfeebled."

Were those hours wasted?

"All things had turned to ghosts; the whole mass of the world was insubstantial vapor, surrounding the solitary spark in his mind, whose burning point he could remember, for it burnt no more."

"...he had somehow divested the proceedings of all reality."

"...she found her mind uncomfortably full of different trains of thought. She started one and then another. They seemed even to take their color from the street she happened to be in."

Feelings and environment motif. Which I so enjoyed.

"I've lived almost entirely among delusions, and now I'm at the awkward stage of finding it out. I want another delusion to go on with."

"He lost his sense of all that surrounded him; all substantial things—the hour of the day, what we have done and are about to do, the presence of other people."

Romanticism to realism.

"The people in the street seemed to him only a dissolving and combining pattern of black particles; which, for the moment, represented very well the involuntary procession of feelings and thoughts which formed and dissolved in rapid succession in his own mind."

Nature is independent from everything else.

"Ah, but her romance wasn't THAT romance. It was a desire, an echo, a sound; she could drape it in color, see it in form, hear it in music, but not in words; no, never in words."

"...but how terrible sometimes the pause between the voice of one's dreams and the voice that comes from the object of one's dreams!"

Motif nature affecting feelings.

"The best of life is built on what we say when we're in love."

"The far-away look entirely lacked self-consciousness"

For some reason I thought this was incredibly beautiful- showing how far removed she was from reality.

"He could recall himself, of course, by a word or a movement—but why? She was happier thus. She needed nothing that he could give her. And for him, too, perhaps, it was best to keep aloof, only to know that she existed, to preserve what he already had—perfect, remote, and unbroken."

He encouraged her other world.

"An occasional man with a beard is interesting; he's detached; he lets me go my way, and we know we shall never meet again. Therefore, we are perfectly sincere—a thing not possible with one's friends."

Control what goes on in reality to sustain the unreal.

"He seemed to see that beneath the quiet surface of her manner, which was almost pathetically at hand and within reach for all the trivial demands of daily life, there was a spirit which she reserved or repressed for some reason either of loneliness or—could it be possible—of love."

It was in her loneliness that Katharine was unreserved.

"When you're gone I shall look out of that window and think of you. I shall waste the whole evening thinking of you. I shall waste my whole life, I believe."

"Was he not looking at something she had never shown to anybody? Was it not something so profound that the notion of his seeing it almost shocked her?"

"It was true that he had been happier out in the street, thinking of her, than now that he was in the same room with her."

"Because if you're in love with a vision, I believe that that's what I'm in love with."

He suffered from the same exact thing.

"we see each other only now and then—"

"Like lights in a storm—"

"In the midst of a hurricane,"

They indifferently examine their current situation, as if they weren't living it.

"...his strongest wish in the world was to be with her immediately, since every second he was away from her he imagined her slipping farther and farther from him into one of those states of mind in which he was unrepresented. He wished to dominate her, to possess her."

It was essential for him to dominate her mind, because that is the only way he could make himself known to her mind.

"The sounds were inarticulate; no one could have understood the meaning save themselves. As if the forces of the world were all at work to tear them asunder they sat, clasping hands, near enough to be taken even by the malicious eye of Time himself for a united couple, an indivisible unit."

"The moment of exposure had been exquisitely painful—the light shed startlingly vivid. She had now to get used to the fact that some one shared her loneliness. The bewilderment was half shame and half the prelude to profound rejoicing."

"I was thinking of you—yes, I swear it. Always of you, but you take such strange shapes in my mind. You've destroyed my loneliness.

"But he persuaded her into a broken statement, beautiful to him, charged with extreme excitement as she spoke of the dark red fire, and the smoke twined round it, making him feel that he had stepped over the threshold into the faintly lit vastness of another mind, stirring with shapes, so large, so dim, unveiling themselves only in flashes, and moving away again into the darkness, engulfed by it."

This was their ultimate connection, they could enter each others minds.

They lapsed gently into silence, traveling the dark paths of thought side by side towards something discerned in the distance which gradually possessed them both.

How they came to find themselves walking down a street with many lamps, corners radiant with light, and a steady succession of motor-omnibuses plying both ways along it, they could neither of them tell;

They lost themselves together.

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I really enjoyed reading this story- something I haven't been able to do for awhile. Again, I am usually very judgmental when I attempt to read a female author, which of course is very sexist of me. But just like George Sand, Virginia Woolf pleasantly surprised me. She presents very delicate concepts- with a feminine touch. I guess sometimes, a woman's view can be very different from a man's- creating a very interesting perspective. What I enjoyed most from this story was the progression between Katherine and Ralph's so-called love. At first, they started out as very uncertain of their "attraction". As Ralph developed an idealistic version of Katherine (which had little to do with her in reality), Katherine tried to pull away from him mentally. The more dejected she became, and the more he obsessed over this sacred Katherine, their relations seemed to go downhill. And yet- somehow their minds "reconciled". She unconsciously wanted his presence, as he brought his idealistic image to a more down-to-earth version of Katherine. What struck me the most was that Ralph realized her "hidden self" and brought it out of her, even if she did not want it. Hereby, he crushed her loneliness, and so she was indebted to him emotionally. They each slightly needed the others presence, until they realized that, perhaps, they were in "love".

I also enjoyed the marvelous descriptions between the environment and the character. The most striking scene, as I even see it now, was Ralph's most disappointing moment, by the lake with the fog... Creates such a depressing scene, and yet mysterious at the same time. One can feel his loneliness and despair.

What made Katherine transition from her imagined "hero" to have Ralph incorporated in her daydreams? I think it was because he guessed her inner self, a self that she had refused to share with anyone else. Yes, that may sound extremely cliche but she "had the appearance of some one disarmed of all defenses and Ralph likened her to a wild bird just settling with wings trembling to fold themselves within reach of his hand". He had "caught" her, by her own will. In a sense, she had to be dominated, for she was so dominating in her own world. And so, he broke through her loneliness. That is something that automatically leads to trust and friendship. Then, she pretty much gave herself up to him (mentally), and that was the final step for her to fully trust and love him.

The scene where they walked out onto the street by Mary's house was absolutely stupendous. Woolf portrays such a dejection from reality, such delirium, that they do not even notice anything save their own worlds. I think this is essential for the meaning of the book, because the reader can see how much of each other they needed, to share a realm that in reality does not exist. This realm makes everything pale in comparison.

They both lived on delusions, and so, fused both of their worlds together. They had an extreme understanding between each other, without even using much of their words.

Such mental connections rarely exist.

--

The picture reminds me of my favorite scene in this book. I imagined him looking up at the glaring street lamp, and then seeing the rushing, cold water.

Pub by Kindle Version of Night and Day?

The Sorrows of Young Werther by Goethe

Before I quote from this book:
Having read Thomas Mann's The Beloved Returns, I think about those immortal scenes, and what Loette had said about them. How she didn't ask to be immortalized, and how she was just a pure and innocent girl enjoying her life while Goethe used her character to impact humanity. I love the energy and passion that Werther gives off, it's rare to see such energy on paper. he loves losing himself to nature, worshiping the "sublime and beautiful".

****
"That the life is but a dream is a thought which has occurred to many people, and I myself am constantly haunted by it. When i see the limitations which imprison the active and speculative faculties of man; when I see how all human activity is directed toward procuring satisfaction for needs that have n other purpose than prolonging our miserable existence; when I see, moreover, how any comfort we may derive from certain points of inquiry is merely a dreamlike kind of resignation, in which we paint our prison walls with gaily colored figures and luminous prospects- all this, Wilhelm, leaves me speechless. I withdraw into my inner self and there discover a world- a world, it is true, rather of vague perceptions and dim desires than of creative power and vital force. And then everything swims before my senses, and I go on smiling at the outer world like someone in a dream."

The marvelous "vague" and "dim" mind of a poet! Goethe distinguishes two worlds, a world of "vague perceptions and dim desires" and the "outer world". And how each world affects the other. As if the world of dreams spilled into reality...

"[...] But that grown-ups too stumble like children on this earth, not knowing whence they come or wither they go, acting as little according to true purposes, being ruled like them by cakes and birch rods, no one likes to believe; yet to me it seems quite obvious."

We are all children in essence- the difference is only that it comes in different forms.

"O my friends! Why does the stream of genius so seldom break out as a torrent, with roaring high waves, and shake your awed soul?"

"Since then, sun, moon, and stars may continue on their course; for me there is neither day nor night, and the entire universe about me has ceased to exist."

As if these forced has wiped out the universe, and only what one chooses (maybe involuntarily) to see remains.

--
I was thinking about Werther, and George Sand's Lélia, and how this passion was most inflamed by this noble creature- this obstacle of achieving their desire. Only this made them feel passion and set their whole being aflame. What contrast! I mean, true, the poets could have lived a life of debauchery, and gotten their "passions" out of this life. But then, they wouldn't have truly felt them and suffered from them. And suffering made them treasure these noble creatures all the more. They wouldn't have had to pine away in this alternative life, they would have easily achieved it. I think for the poet, it is a deliberate decision to love something that cannot return the same love without reserve. Only then do they realize that they have monster inside of them. What excites the poet in them, also starts to destroy them...Such is the fate of the poet, what a misfortune! What a curse! They are bound to suffer, and it is all voluntarily!
--

"[...] and He makes us happiest when He lets us stagger under a benign delusion."

The question then, is, is there really happiness in this delusion? maybe happiness in reality has a different essence, less made up of the mind, and more of the spontaneity and mystery of the uncontrollable. Because delusion is the mind tricking us.

"-Oh, the times when i longed to fly on the crane's wings, as it passed overhead, to the shores of the illimitable ocean, in order to drink from the foaming cup of the Infinite and elating sensation of life, and to feel, if only for a moment, in the cramped forces of my being one drop of the bliss of that being who creates everything and through Himself."

In this passage, Goethe includes God so delicately- and gives him the authorship of the "bliss", which is very peculiar. Because usually bliss is derived from the mind, but Goethe gives glory to this "infinite" Creator. Maybe he is trying to say that true "bliss" is more than what the mind creates, but what the Mysterious is able to produce. And such bliss cannot be compared to what our pathetic little mind tries to synthetically manufacture.

"Can you say, 'This is!' when everything passes, everything rolls past with the speed of lightning and so rarely exhaust the whole power of its existence, alas, before it is swept away by the current, drowned and smashed on the rocks?"

"[...]-The blossoms of life are only phantoms. How many fade, leaving no trace behind; how few bear fruit, and how few of these fruit ripen!"

"Therefore, our fortune and misfortune depends on the objects and persons to which we compare ourselves; and for that reason nothing is more dangerous than solitude. Our imagination, by its nature inclined to exalt itself, and nourished by the fantastic imagery of poetry, crates a series of beings of which we are the lowest, so that everything else appears more wonderful, everyone else more perfect. And that is completely natural. We so frequently feel that we are lacking in many qualities which another person apparently possesses, and we then furnish such a person with everything we ourselves posses and with a certain idealistic complacency in addition. And in this fashion a Happy Being is finished to perfection- the creature of our imagination."

What power our imagination has- to create! that is interesting, we are the lowest of the "hierarchy" in our imagination- instead of being superior to everyone else. This gives us more flexibility-for if we had everything we could only deduct- and eventually remain with nothing, but by being able to add to our qualities we truly can reach perfection- in our mind! That is delusion! How clever.

"-You see, dear friend, how limited and how happy were the glorious Aneients! How naive their emotions and poetry! When Ulysses speaks of the immeasurable sea and the infinite earth, everything is true, human, deeply felt, intimate, and mysterious. What is the use of my present knowledge, which I share with any school boy, that the earth is round? Man needs only a few clods of earth wherein to enjoy himself, and even fewer for his last rest."

The more we let go of our knowledge, the more we'll be able to purely and fully embrace Nature as it really is.

"[...] -oh, when this glorious Nature lives before me as immobile as on a little lacquered painting, and all this beauty cannot pump one single drop of happiness from my heart to my brain, and the whole man stands before the face of God like a dried-up well, like a broken pitcher-"

One little detail makes a world of difference! sure, one can attempt to enjoy nature in all its forms, and yet, something in us has to respond to the beauty, or else it might as well be nothing. It depends on us! Goodness, that a burned is placed not only on our moods and ever-changing feelings,but on the little tiny details that make up our events, and therefore our lives. Happiness depends on so many factors! And yet, when one strives to enjoy God, then, and only then, can one also enjoy Nature. For he is the Creator of it all. For when one looks outside of oneself, then he is able to see the whole picture. And that "whole" is God: infinite and immortal.

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The story is of course immortal. It describes the "classic poet", that chooses his density, his forbidden destiny, and suffers from it in the end. Such youth, energy, and innocence! Werther must have been extremely close to Nature, as long as his love lasted. As long as his love bloomed and grew into the surroundings. And the "classic poet" is also shown to be extremely confused as he tries to deal with Genius- which makes him even more lost. For some reason, it was too much for him to bear- and this led to the "classic" death of the poet- suicide, which is the most difficult of all. It reminds me of a quote from Balzac, I believe, asking how anyone can know what has gone through a poets mind, from the moment he entered the city with such hope and needed his life in such despair. It is as if the poet's fate is to soar where no one has soared before, to crash back down in the uttermost sorrow, and despair and even insanity. What these marvelous delights of the mind and soul can do to the poet! I'm sorry to mention, but he was a bit selfish to ruin the life of his beloved- showing that the "classic poet" is not so noble as he thinks. But his sort of immaturity and innocence is what makes the poet a poet.

Also, reading this story, a concept came to me. What if the "sublime and beautiful" goes beyond what we can see- what this does to our Beings- but into every detail of our lives, every concept, and idea, everything that is impacted by the Mystery and Majesty of the unknown, the uncontrollable? For it cannot end at our vision- it has to go beyond, into the spiritual- for only then it is infinite. If that makes any sense...

--

This image is so stupendous. Not only does it give this extremely vague and undefined energy to it- but the branches of the trees seem to float in the air- as if they have given up. This seems to me to be the world of the poet- alone and vague. Goethe echoed the theme that no matter how much the poet tries to be optimistic- and tries to outgrow his calling, destiny does not let him go. Loneliness and solitude both make up the poet- but that is where genius gets to thrive.



--
Published by Everyman's Library

Lost Illusions by Balzac

"Pride, untapered intercourse with the great world, becomes stiff and starched by contact with petty things; in a loftier moral atmosphere it would have grown to noble magnanimity."

What a horrible shame, that potential genius could be crushed down by shallow pride! It seems to be a crime against humanity!


"There are pleasures which can only be felt to the full when two souls meet, poet and poet, heart and heart."


"[...]there is a kind of being who is both prince and actor, and invested besides with a magnificent order of priesthood- that the Poet who seems to do nothing, yet reigns over all humanity when he can paint humanity"

Although I don't think this was his greatest masterpiece, as the Barnes & Noble edition claims, Balzac describes this character from "heaven". How fickle Lucien is! He is such a child- he could be an angel one moment, and a total demon the next, all the time believing he is doing the right thing, when he really is servicing his ego. Balzac seems to have sympathy for him, as most of the characters seem to do- even his enemies- they understand him. Those who loved him the most were the most blinded- and payed for it I did like the contest between the sister and David, and Lucien. To live a fair and honest life, and to be driven by the wold unknowingly worshiping the I Even the most naive can commit horrible follies. The book consisted of too many technicalities and details that which I ended up skipping.


--
Pub by Everyman's Library

I picked the picture below- Naive by ~vivalascorpion because it describes the character of Lucien. He imagine him to be a pretty boy- and yet extremely naive. His beauty and his talent makes him be loved by the rest of the characters- even though he is an egoist. The look in his eyes show such naivety and yet determination.

Atala/René by Chateaubriand

Atala
"Great passions are solitary, and when you take them out into the wilderness you are setting them into their very own sphere."

They remind me of demons, who supposedly roam the depths of the ocean.
"(...) O dreadful, sublime Nature, were you no more than a device contrived to deceive us, and could you not for an instant conceal a man's joy in your mysterious horrors?" "Man, thou art but a fleeting vision, a sorrowful dream. Misery is thy essence, and thou art nothing save in the sadness of thy soul and the eternal melancholy of thy thought."

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This story adresses a very unsual concept- religion in the savage. It was extremely heroic of Atala and how he could withstand the temptations when there were so many encouragements- culture, and the surroundings. Cachtas represented the reaction of the 'white man's' religion, and in the end, even he admired the powerful "force" he witnessed.

René *****
"These singers come of a divine race and possess the only sure power which heaven has granted earth. Their life is at once innocent and sublime. They speak like like immortals or little children. They explain the laws of the universe and cannot themselves understand the most elementary concerns of life. They have marvelous intuition of death and die with no consciousness of it, like new-born infants."

It is as if they involuntarily and naturally reject life's nonsense "elementary concerns of life" -they are above it, they don't need to meddle with such low and inferior things- contrary to this "divine race". Marvelously said. it is a race, of the select few who have graced us with their presences temporarily on this earth.

"I went down into the valley and up on the mountain, calling, with all the strength of my desire, for the ideal creature of some future passion. I embraced her in teh winds and thought I heard her in the river's moaning. Everything became this vision of my imagination- the stars in the skies and the very principle of life in the universe." "They consider me the victim of an imagination which plunges toward the end of all pleasures as though it suffered form their duration."

To suffer from pleasure! What hell that must be! On the contrary, René got pleasue from sufferin, because that is the only thing that lasted for him.
"The echoes of passion in the emptiness of a lonely heart are like the murmurings of wind and water in the silence of the wilderness- they offer their joy, but cannot be portrayed."


As if it was distant and unachievable. As if it was forever blocked and can only be seen, through glass.

"Our heart is a defective instrument, a lyre with several chords missing, which forces us to express our joyful moods in notes meant for lamentation." "(...) it seemed to me that life grew so strong in the depths of my heart that I had the power to create worlds." "Rise swiftly, coveted storms, coming to bear me off to the spaces of another life! This was my plea, as I plunged ahead with great strides, my face all aflame and the wind whistling through my hair, feeling neither rain nor frost, bewitched, tormented, and virtually possessed by the demon of my heart."

"[...] it seemed to me that life grew so strong in the depths of my heart that I had the power to create worlds."

Reminds me of the Hydrogen clouds in space, and how because of so much energy new stars are created...

"[...] my heart loved God, and my mind knew him not ... but does man always know what he wishes, and is he always sure of what he thinks?"

"Know that solitude is bad for the man who does not live with God. It increases the soul's power while robbing it at the same time of every opportunity to find expression. Whoever has been endowed with talent must devote it to serving his fellow men, for if he does not make use of it, he is first punished by an inner misery, and sooner or later Heaven visits on him a fearful retribution. "

It is as if it commands to be spread out and shared, to be used as a sacrifice for humanity, or it becomes a curse to the bearer. Genius can be a terrible thing if it is kept to one's self.

One can see why he was the father of French Romanticism. I think he has such a pure and non-vulgar style. The rest of the french are all about drama, but he describes the most beautiful thing: to be disillusioned and yet to be pure... I really enjoyed reading René- I wish I could write down the whole story... That it is all hopeless for a poet. He is doomed to die of love, whether it happened in the mind or not.

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Reaction to both:
The difference between Atala and Rene is that Rene managed to not find happiness and hope in anything, while Atala held on till the end. Rene let the mind eat at him through loneliness, and he indulged in it until it at all the happiness away. Shows how the mind, the imagination, can corrupt and prey on its host. That the mind needs to be put to good use "to serve fellow men" or it kills us internally. Very interesting concept- a very dangerous thing, especially for the romantic. It is extremely interesting that Chateaubriand makes this point- the Father of French Romanticism. What a great warning! Also, Rene seems extremely selfish in his indulgence. A certain arrogance develops- he constantly brought beauty in but never out. He was content enough to worhsip and idolize, because his ideal, his creation, was better than reality.

The German Classics Vol III by Friedrich von Schiller

The Ideal and the Actual Life

"Cast from thee, Earth, the bitter and real,
High from this cramp'd and dungeon being, spring
Into the Realm of the Ideal!"

The Homage of the Arts

"ARTS
We hate the deceivers,
Despisers of heaven;
We seek among morals
Who to virtue are given.
Where pure hearts have welcome
To give to a friend,
We will build habitations
To dwell without end."

"POETRY
O'er realms of thought- the Word my winged tool."

I love the concept of the arts dwelling not only in an individual, but through humanity, and using the individual to continue their eternal existence. Reminds me of Thomas Mann's The Beloved Returns when Goethe says, "Say, if you will that I am the flame, and into me the poor moth flings itself. Yet in the chance and change of things I am the candle too, giving my body that the light may burn." (See Mann label). It is as if the human body is nothing but a dwelling place to use our imagination to exist. Surprisingly, this genius is dependent on humanity- for without an imagination- it cannot be appreciated.

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Published by The German Publican Soc (1913)

Colomba and Carmen by Prosper Merimee

In both stories, the heroines have an extremely wild and rebellious character. I liked how he addresses the gypsy theme- showing much respect for them. In Colomba- I did not like the Englishwoman and how Orso accepted being "civilized"- which is what the English love to do. I hated how she was capricious and arrogant- thinking she was so special and unique. How Orso's wild and passionate personality submitted before her. Carmen was my favorite, portraying a very strong character, a strong woman.


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Pub by P.F. Collier & Son

Lélia by George Sand

"Isn't it sad to revive centuries that no longer exist and force them to entertain us now? Aren't these costumes of the past, which represent vanished generations, a frightening lesson to make us recall the brevity of human life in the midst of all this drunken festivity (...) They have passed on without dreaming of the generations that preceded them or of the ones to follow, without dreaming that they themselves, who were covered with gold and perfume and who surrounded themselves with luxuries, were awaiting the cold of the shroud and the oblivion of the tomb."

Morbid truth. Depressing!

"Nature has nothing rare enough within the treasuring of its naive joys to appease the thirst for happiness within us. We must have heaven, and we don't have it!
That is why we seek heaven in a creature like ourselves, and we expand on this creature all that high energy we've been given to use more nobly. We refuse God the emotion of adoration, an emotion which was put in us to return to God alone. We transfer it to an incomplete, feeble human being who becomes the god of our idolatrous cult."

"My God, is love only to be found in a desirous heart, in a suffering imagination, in the dreams which lull us during lonely nights? Is love an impalpable breath? Is love a meteor that burns and dies. Is it a world? My God, what is love?"

"Reverie can evoke nothing, because in the creations of thought nothing is as beautiful as brute, savage nature. One must look and feel before nature: the greatest poet invents the least."

Nothing in our minds can compare to the spontaneity of nature... it is the ultimate continuously living and refreshing masterpiece- the poet just needs to learn how to describe nature- something that is impossible to do perfectly. For to describe is to analyze. To analyze is to take away from the real meaning. A poet needs to learn how to enjoy nature- and let that be expressed.

"But what use have these voyages been to me? Have I ever seen anything which resembled my fantasies? Oh, how poor nature seemed to me, the sky leaden and the sea narrow, in contrast to the lands, skies and oceans that I crossed in my immaterial flight! What beauty is left to charm us in real life, what strengths are left to enjoy and admire in the human soul when the imagination has spend everything in advance by an abuse of its powers?"

This spending in "advance" was an abuse to the imagination's powers because it has a limit, it only goes so far as our mind has learned. The imagination cannot imagine something that is not connected to something that already exists: it is forever dependent on reality. It would be like craving some spice in a far off land that no one has ever discovered. I suppose the "pleasures" of the imagination consists mostly in the element of disillusion- taking reality and blurring it. Then it goes beyond the reality, into something more, or less- an added ingredient that creates the perfect realm. We fancy whatever we would like to happen in the reality. In the end, it always comes back to reality.

"How grave and solemn are those cries of time, which sound like a death cry, breaking indifferently on the resonant walls of dwellings or on echoless tombs."

"You are right to say that poetry has led men astray. She has desolated the real world, cold, poor, and wretched as it is compared to the dreams she creates. Drunk with her promises, lulled by her sweet mockeries, I could never resign myself to reality. Poetry has created other sensitives in me that nothing on earth could satisfy (...)"

The disadvantages of the imagination: it creates a gap between reality and dreams. This gap provides such a contrast that the poet dreams while looking at his own reality. This shocking contrast can "lead men astray". Meaning: they obsess over something they could never achieve.

"Day by day this power of love increased, exciting my sensitivity and spreading itself unrestrainedly around me. I threw all my thoughts, all my strength into the void of an elusive universe which sent me back all my sensations blunted."

"There is a refuge from God: nothingness."

"Rein in the desire of your ardent soul. Prolong this blind hope and this childishness of the heart with all your strength. These qualities live only for a day and never return. Govern wisely, guard vigilantly, and spend frugally the treasure of your illusions."

There is a fine balance between sucking your imagination dry, and enjoying them cautiously while they last. That is the difference between Sténio- who worshiped the present: nature and all its beauty- and Lélia- who craved for more and more and enjoyed them too much. To a point where they ceased to be illusions but food to feed the soul. They become a form of sustenance and ceased to be concepts and ideals.

"In the silence of the fields, amid austere country life, it is always acknowledged as the voice of God."

No one who lives so close to nature can really treasure and have respect for it without involuntary belief in God- as if believing was the same thing as acknowledging the existence of nature. this shows the wisdom of the ones who are surrounded by nature: an instinctive wisdom.

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I really enjoyed this book. It brought me a more in depth perspective on living in illusions, and living in reality. Sténio lived in a romanticized reality, that worshiped the real in such an honest and youthful way. His romantic ideas found source in the nature he saw. Lélia is a very interesting example on the life in the unreal- when the real becomes dull and unexciting while the mind is constantly spent in fleeting thoughts, thoughts that only give momentary pleasure. I take this character to be as a warning, as Sténio warned the young girl- to be careful how one uses one's illusions, and not to make more of them- expect more of them- than one is meant to. Because then, they cease to be what they are.

It was curious how she found refuge in the silent and solitary and urged the blazing youth to do the same. To give up his youth, and really, become her. She, who had so much suffering. She shouldn't have killed his love for reality by pointing out the cold aspects that make it up= she should have left him in his youth, instead of trying to et him out. I think she was threatened by it, and saw it as a sort of disease- because of her personal experiences.

Magnes was an example of the restraining of one's nature, and how one can't escape one's nature through suppression. It is bound to come out and be worse than before. I wonder why Sand had Magnes kill Lélia. What significance does it show? The one who suppressed his desires killed the one who indulged too much in them. Something to think about.