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... I forgot about wild laughter, phone calls made for no real reason, handwritten letters, family meals (well, some of them), meals with friends, a beer at the bar, a glass of red or white wine, coffee in the sun, a siesta in the shade, eating oysters at the seaside or cherries straight from the tree, putting on a great show of anger, but only in pretence, making a collection (of stone, butterflies, boxes or cans, how would I know exactly what), the bliss of fresh autumn evenings, sunsets, waking up at night when everyone's asleep, trying to remember the words of old songs, searching for smells or tastes, reading the newspaper in peace, looking through photograph albums, playing with a. cat, building and imaginary house, setting a place at table attractively, drawing casually on a cigarette, keeping a diary, dancing (ah, dancing!), going out to parties....Françoise Héritier, The Sweetness of Life, 2011
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Exquisite moments of the pure pleasure of life: listening to the wind in the branches, reading several lines from Memoirs of a Midget then setting the book down, musing about my works in progress, observing a lizard perched on the apple I bit into last night, taking several contemplative video shots, waiting for T. and C. who will return from the market with plenty of abundant good foods, taking a cool shower in the sun, putting on a clean shirt, appeasing one’s hunger, all is delight.Hervé Guibert, The Mausoleum of Lovers: Journals 1976–1991
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You're 82 years old. You've shrunk six centimetres, you only weigh 45 kilos yet you're still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We've lived together now for 58 years and I love you more than ever. I once more feel a gnawing emptiness in the hollow of my chest that is only filled when your body is pressed next to mine.
André Gorz, Letter to D: A Love Story, 2006 -
One should always be drunk. That's the great thing; the only question. Not to feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and bowing you to the earth, you should be drunk without respite.
Drunk with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please. But get drunk.
And if sometimes you should happen to awake, on the stairs of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the dreary solitude of your own room, and find that your drunkenness is ebbing or has vanished, ask the wind and the wave, ask star, bird, or clock, ask everything that flies, everything that moans, everything that flows, everything that sings, everything that speaks, ask them the time; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird and the clock will all reply: "It is Time to get drunk! If you are not to be the martyred slaves of Time, be perpetually drunk! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please."Baudelaire, Paris Spleen, XXXIII, 1869
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I wish for nothing more than one thing: to return to solitude, anonymity, indifference to the world, the carelessness of childhood, afternoons in the garden, the birds, and when I used to dream of going to faraway countries, of knowing the world, of things happening to me. All that happened to me, and will happen to me again, perhaps, and yet I only want to return to that time when nothing had yet happened. Not to rediscover my desire and my dream, but precisely what I neither loved nor hated, which was my real life: the countryside, the distant sounds of cars, of a wood saw, my father's voice, the barking of dogs, the ringing of the grocery store bell. Anything that makes me relive that - Venice on a Sunday morning, writing, love sometimes, in 1984 - is happiness.
Annie Ernaux, Juin 1988, Écrire la vie -
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The Sweetness of Life: Selection #3
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