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There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.

-Guy De Maupassant

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There Are In France

Guy De Maupassant

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There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.

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And Taking Her Friend’s Hand, She Put It On Her Breast, On That Firm Round Covering Of A Woman’s Heart Which The Male Often Finds So Satisfying That He Makes No Attempt To Find What Lies Beneath It.

Travel, Like Dreams, Is A Door That Opens From The Real World Into A World That Is Yet To Be Discovered

Our Memory Is A More Perfect World Than The Universe: It Gives Back Life To Those Who No Longer Exist.

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Broad Daylight Does Not Encourage The Apprehension Of Horror.

I Entered Literary Life As A Meteor, And I Shall Leave It Like A Thunderbolt.

There Are Some Delightful Places In This World Which Have A Sensual Charm For The Eyes. One Loves Them With A Physical Love. We People Who Are Attracted By The Countryside Cherish Fond Memories Of Certain Springs, Certain Woods, Certain Ponds, Certain Hills, Which Have Become Familiar Sights And Can Touch Our Hearts Like Happy Events. Sometimes Indeed The Memory Goes Back Towards A Forest Glade, Or A Spot On A River Bank Or An Orchard In Blossom, Glimpsed Only Once On A Happy Day, But Preserved In Our Heart.

To Contest An Author's Right To Create A Poetic Or Realistic Work Is To Want To Force Him To Change His Temperament, Challenge His Originality, Refuse To Allow Him To Use The Eye And The Intelligence Nature Has Given Him.

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I Know Nothing More Enjoyable Than That Happy-go-lucky Wandering Life, In Which You Are Perfectly Free; Without Shackles Of Any Kind, Without Care, Without Preoccupation, Without Thought Even Of To-morrow. You Go In Any Direction You Please, Without Any Guide Save Your Fancy.

We Breathe Love As We Breathe Air; We Hold It In Ourselves As We Hold Our Thoughts. Nothing More Exists For Us.

There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.

I Love The Night Passionately. I Love It As I Love My Country, Or My Mistress, With An Instinctive, Deep, And Unshakeable Love. I Love It With All My Senses: I Love To See It, I Love To Breathe It In, I Love To Open My Ears To Its Silence, I Love My Whole Body To Be Caressed By Its Blackness. Skylarks Sing In The Sunshine, The Blue Sky, The Warm Air, In The Fresh Morning Light. The Owl Flies By Night, A Dark Shadow Passing Through The Darkness; He Hoots His Sinister, Quivering Hoot, As Though He Delights In The Intoxicating Black Immensity Of Space.

To Avoid Each Other, Their Eyes Had Developed An Amazing Mobility With All The Cunning Of Enemies Fearful Of Meeting Each Other Head On.

She Realized For The First Time That Two People Can Never Reach Each Others Deepest Feelings And Instincts, That They Spend Their Lives Side By Side, Linked It May Be, But Not Mingled, And That Each One's Inmost Being Must Go Through Life Eternally Alone.

Were A Man To Spend Only One Day In Sicily And Ask, "what Must One See?" I Would Answer Him Without Hesitation, "taormina." It Is Only A Landscape, But A Landscape Where You Find Everything On Earth That Seems Made To Seduce The Eyes, The Mind And The Imagination.

Abstinence Is The Worst Form Of Perversion.

We Are Accustomed To Use Our Eyes Only With The Memory Of What Other People Before Us Have Thought About The Object We Are Looking At.

In The East Men Know Panic, But They Do Not Know What Fright Is.

Those Men, Those Of Former Times, Had Soul And Eyes That In No Way Resemble Ours, And In Their Veins, Along With Their Blood, Flowed Something That Has Disappeared: Love And Admiration For The Beautiful.

The Essence Of Life Is The Smile Of Round Female Bottoms, Under The Shadow Of Cosmic Boredom.

There Is Only One Good Thing In Life, And That Is Love.

Good Things In Life

Everything Is False, Everything Is Possible, Everything Is Doubtful.

The Public Is Composed Of Numerous Groups Whose Cry To Us Writers Is: 'comfort Me.' 'amuse Me.' 'touch My Sympathies.' 'make Me Sad.' 'make Me Dream.' 'make Me Laugh.' 'make Me Shiver.' 'make Me Weep.' 'make Me Think.'

Ale, Not Beer, In A Pewter Mug Was Comme Il Faut, The Only Thing For A Gentleman Of Letters, Worthy Of The Name, To Drink.

The English Have Only Three Sauces - A White One, A Brown One And A Yellow One, And None Of Them Have Any Flavor Whatever.

There Is Only One Good Thing In Life, And That Is Love. And How You Misunderstand It! How You Spoil It! You Treat It As Something Solemn Like A Sacrament, Or Something To Be Bought, Like A Dress.

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To Love Very Much Is To Love Inadequately; We Love-that Is All. Love Cannot Be Modified Without Being Nullified. Love Is A Short Word But It Contains Everything. Love Means The Body, The Soul, The Life, The Entire Being. We Feel Love As We Feel The Warmth Of Our Blood, We Breathe Love As We Breathe The Air, We Hold It In Ourselves As We Hold Our Thoughts. Nothing More Exists For Us. Love Is Not A Word; It Is A Wordless State Indicated By Four Letters.

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