"Here is the evening hour the poet Toulet loved. Here is the horizon losing its sharpness-a great ivory cloud in the west and, from the earth to the top of the heavens, a twilight sky, a vast loneliness, already chilling-full of a liquid silence. .. .Here is the poet's hour, as he distilled life within bis heart, in order to extract from it its essence, hidden, embalmed, baneful. Now the human swarm stirs in the shadows, with its myriad arms, its myriad mouths..."
Germaine knew how to love, which means that she fed within ber, like a fine ripen ing fruit, a curiosity after pleasure and hazard, the bold confidence of th ose who risk their whole fa te on one throw, brave an unknown world, begin afresh with each generation the history of the ancient universe.
Once again a young female animal, at the threshold of a lovely night, tries timidly, and then with frenzy, her adult muscles, her teeth and her claws.
Gropingly she opened her door, went down the stairs tread by tread, made the key grind in the Iock, and felt full in her face the outdoor air, which never had seemed to her so soft. The garden slipped by like a shadow. What was simpler? She had gone.
They recognized each other, both.
To run about the fields like a midsummer partridge.
Really admired her for the first time. A feeling other than desire, a kind of fatherly sympathy he had never before experienced, drew him toward this rebellious child, more eager and prouder than be, bis feminine comrade
The steel jaws of her father's dwelling, soon to snap closed upon her,
She had escaped, that was all; she quivered at the feeling of freedom. She had rushed to him as though to vice, to the long-indulged illusion of once and for all taking the decisive step, of ruining herself for good.
She wanted nothing better than to look him straight in the eye, to watch him from under her long lashes, to enjoy his confusion, her face pale at the thought of her being so dangerous and wily, as strong as a man.
Each falsehood was a fresh delight, which tightened her throat like a caress; that night she would have lied despite insults, despite blows, to the very peril of her life; she would have lied for the sake of lying.
The blood welled back into her heart.
"Tomorrow," she told herself, eating her heart away. Tomorrow forgetfulness will come and shall be free."
Let other girls cringe and die under the linden trees, their lives having lasted but an hour or a hundred years. Life for a moment opened, spread out in all its breadth, the wind of space striking full, then folded back, plummeting like a stone.
Delight in evil as through a dangerous game
She dearly loved as the very image and the symbol of her own degradation.
With this mere trifle of a body, this poor little fiat belly, these breasts which within the cups of the hands. I draw near the open window, as though were being called from outside; I wait am ready. Not one voice alone calls me, you know! But hundreds! Thousands!
She gloated over this depravity in full flower. Do you think you have known women like me?
An animal pride breathed in her voice
You are now the only man I can talk to without lying.
How it hurts, not to act out your own part but the very part which disgusts you most. The very walls were liars.
Up to the place where God awaits you, you will have to climb; climb, or be lost. Expect no human help.
This will of God upon his poor soul overwhelmed him with a superhuman weariness. Some thing more intimate than life itself seemed to be suspended within him.
It fought to have its way. It was it not himself?
In the very midst of joy, something yet continued to exist which the rapture did not consume.
What does it serve to dream?
A determination to deliberate violence.
He smiled with a child's smile. He is in the prayer of the Solitary One, in his fasting and in his penance, in the depths of his deepest ecstasy and in the heart's silence.
They made up one single pain. Everything had disappointed or cheated him.
Satan knows how to take advantage of too long a prayer or too harsh a mortification.
When the spirit of rebellion was in you, saw the name of Gad written in your heart. That which revealed itself in this hour to Father Donissan's eyes was not at all a symbol or a figure; it was a living soul, a heart sealed to all others!
Child's first vision is so full and so pure that the universe of which he has just possessed himself cannot at first be severed from the quivering of his own joy. All its colors and all its shapes flower at once
God helps us even in our madnesses. And when man arises to curse Him, it is He alone who supports that feeble hand.
You are like a plaything, like a child's toy ball, in the bands of Satan.
How little substance does the sin which devours us leave to life! A single ruby jet of blood.
"How you struggle in His hand," said he sadly. "Shall you again escape Him?"
A poor creature merely hastily reweaving the briefly torn web of her lies.
Have seen you as perhaps no other creature like you has ever been seen in this world have seen you in such fashion that you cannot escape me, with all your wiles. Do you think that your sin horrifies me? You have scarcely offended Gad more than do the animals.
You piler from God only the worst mud of which you are made, Satan!
Have seen you in them, and I them in you.
Every where sin was bursting its shell, was laying bare the mystery of its procreation: scores of men and women bound together in the fibers of the same cancer, the frightful bonds meanwhile retract ing, like the severed limbs of an octopus, into the very core of the horrible creature,
She was relinquishing her all. She yielded every thing, and it was as though the herd had come to devour her own life cupped in her own hands.
She felt in her wretched little life the huge deceit, the huge laughter of the deceiver.
The totally wakeful instinct of an animal far from its lair, on an unfamiliar path.
Surrounded by this new audience, she was what she had wanted to be, still resembling her favorite imaginary character, a girl of danger and mystery, with a unique destiny, a heroine
This dreadful emptiness was hollowed out within her.
When the soul itself cowers within its jacket of flesh, the most abject creature longs for a miracle and, if he knows not how to pray, at least instinctively, like a mouth spread wide to catch a breath, opens himself to God.
She had reached the point of deliberately provoking within her the powers of disorder, summoning madness as others summon death.
Her life a secret between herself and her master, or rather the secret of her master alone.
All her sentient life lay at the tips of her fingers,
"One compromises one's salvation only by useless activities outside one's proper path.
The Lord summons you to perfection, not to peace.
You need only be a poor priest to know what is the frightening monotony of sin!
Not peace, but a brief respite, a halt in the darkness
But the saint is always alone, at the foot of the cross. No other friend.
Between Satan and Himself, God hurls us, as His last rampart.
We don't know what a sinner is.
What is the devil, I ask you? Hardly do they dare utter his name without a smile. They whistle to him like a dog. What then do they think they have tamed him?
The mystery of human suffering, of God outraged in man, His refuge!
But suffering remains to us, which is our part in common with you, the mark of our election, The universe, of which sin stripped us, we shall recover, inch by inch, we shall hand it back to you just as we received it
Everywhere you hold out to us the tip of the blade; After me another, and then yet another, raising the same cry, holding embraced the cross
the saint's testimony is as though torn out by iron.