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Amiel's Journal
This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide.
276 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1883
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About the author
Henri-Frédéric Amiel
55 books60 followersHenri Frédéric Amiel (27 September 1821 – 11 May 1881) was a Swiss moral philosopher, poet, and critic.
Born in Geneva in 1821, he was descended from a Huguenot family driven to Switzerland by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
After losing his parents at an early age, Amiel travelled widely, became intimate with the intellectual leaders of Europe, and made a special study of German philosophy in Berlin. In 1849 he was appointed professor of aesthetics at the academy of Geneva, and in 1854 became professor of moral philosophy.
These appointments, conferred by the democratic party, deprived him of the support of the aristocratic party, whose patronage dominated all the culture of the city. This isolation inspired the one book by which Amiel is still known, the Journal Intime ("Private Journal"), which, published after his death, obtained a European reputation. It was translated into English by British writer Mary Augusta Ward at the suggestion of academic Mark Pattison.
Although modest in volume of output, Amiel's Journal gained a sympathy that the author had failed to obtain in his life. In addition to the Journal, he produced several volumes of poetry and wrote studies on Erasmus, Madame de Stael and other writers. His extensive correspondence with Égérie, his muse name for Louise Wyder, was preserved and published in 2004.
He died in Geneva.
Born in Geneva in 1821, he was descended from a Huguenot family driven to Switzerland by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
After losing his parents at an early age, Amiel travelled widely, became intimate with the intellectual leaders of Europe, and made a special study of German philosophy in Berlin. In 1849 he was appointed professor of aesthetics at the academy of Geneva, and in 1854 became professor of moral philosophy.
These appointments, conferred by the democratic party, deprived him of the support of the aristocratic party, whose patronage dominated all the culture of the city. This isolation inspired the one book by which Amiel is still known, the Journal Intime ("Private Journal"), which, published after his death, obtained a European reputation. It was translated into English by British writer Mary Augusta Ward at the suggestion of academic Mark Pattison.
Although modest in volume of output, Amiel's Journal gained a sympathy that the author had failed to obtain in his life. In addition to the Journal, he produced several volumes of poetry and wrote studies on Erasmus, Madame de Stael and other writers. His extensive correspondence with Égérie, his muse name for Louise Wyder, was preserved and published in 2004.
He died in Geneva.
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Displaying 1 - 22 of 22 reviews
January 17, 2013
I have completed my journey with Henri. I was a little sad to lose him. Of course technically he died over 100 years ago and I could just start over at the beginning...maybe someday I will. It is not an easy read and it took me a long time to get through it but I feel my life a little enriched because I was able to get to know this sad but insightful man through his journals.
As all of my facebook friends know, as Henri and I traveled together on the El everyday, I sometimes found his quotes so moving that I just had to share; Pithy tidbits as relevant now as they were then.
There are some challenges. He does have quite a few critiques of his contemporary writers (mostly Genevese, French and German) and most of whom I have never heard of and obviously have not read. I skimmed those entries. And Henri and I do not always see eye to eye about everything, but he is a thoughtful and gentle philosopher so his antiquated ideas about women and democracy, I shrugged them off. He did die in 1881.
Finally he likes to discuss his faith and religion quite a bit and although I am not a believer he continues even on this topic to be a philosopher so I wasn't put off by the expression of his feelings about how he believed how religion and faith improved his life and lives of others.
I imagined a movie with me on the El reading and then cutting to Henri (played by Sir Anthony Hopkins) writing like Julie and Julia... Okay... it would be a really boring movie. But a good book. Let yourself read it really slowly and and you will enjoy it.
As all of my facebook friends know, as Henri and I traveled together on the El everyday, I sometimes found his quotes so moving that I just had to share; Pithy tidbits as relevant now as they were then.
There are some challenges. He does have quite a few critiques of his contemporary writers (mostly Genevese, French and German) and most of whom I have never heard of and obviously have not read. I skimmed those entries. And Henri and I do not always see eye to eye about everything, but he is a thoughtful and gentle philosopher so his antiquated ideas about women and democracy, I shrugged them off. He did die in 1881.
Finally he likes to discuss his faith and religion quite a bit and although I am not a believer he continues even on this topic to be a philosopher so I wasn't put off by the expression of his feelings about how he believed how religion and faith improved his life and lives of others.
I imagined a movie with me on the El reading and then cutting to Henri (played by Sir Anthony Hopkins) writing like Julie and Julia... Okay... it would be a really boring movie. But a good book. Let yourself read it really slowly and and you will enjoy it.
Read
February 21, 2013What an odd book-- Henri-Frédéric Amiel is one of those minds who's remarkably difficult to pin down. Deeply religious, but ultimately skeptical; aristocratic in spirit, but grudgingly realistic to know that democracy is the only way forward for a society; admiring of science, but simultaneously recognizing the dangers of positivism; and a lifelong conservative Protestant who as he got older began to embrace socialist and Buddhist thinking, and someone who, in his own way, seemed to be lighting the path for the future of French thought, a first sort of ur-existentialist emerging from the cave. And over the course of this journal, we see the arc of a man whose life is lonely, damaged, deeply romantic but necessarily pragmatic, over the course of a remarkable century. I've never read anything like it.
September 16, 2012
Reading this book took months, yet it only has 236 pages! Why did it take so long? Well, I had to stop after almost every journal entry and allow myself some reflection time. He taught philosophy and aesthetics in the mid-1800s. His journal covers literature (hates Victor Hugo), music, religion, ethics, weather, educational practices,child rearing, friendship, death, Facebook stalking and so much more. Despite the age of the book, it remains relevant. I will probably re-read it, or at least the hundreds of quotes in my Kindle clippings folder.
An example: January 23, 1881 [He is slowly dying from bronchitis and asthma.] We dream alone, we suffer alone, we die alone, we inhabit the last resting place alone. But there is nothing to prevent us from opening our solitude to God. And so what was an austere monologue becomes dialogue, reluctance becomes docility, renunciation passes into peace, and the sense of painful defeat is lost in a sense of recovered liberty.
An example: January 23, 1881 [He is slowly dying from bronchitis and asthma.] We dream alone, we suffer alone, we die alone, we inhabit the last resting place alone. But there is nothing to prevent us from opening our solitude to God. And so what was an austere monologue becomes dialogue, reluctance becomes docility, renunciation passes into peace, and the sense of painful defeat is lost in a sense of recovered liberty.
July 23, 2016
This is a very enjoyable read if you are one who likes to examine life. Also, a slow read.
The journal was filled with insightful aphorisms about truth, society, and life in general. Amiel was torn between living an introverted, mystical-philosophical life and a outward, productive one. He chose the former but seemed guilt-ridden for not pursuing the latter. His thought was religious and, fortunately, in a very open-minded way as he talked about following God's will in a Christian way but still discussed the Eastern perspective as if it had valid meaning to him.
My edition was translated by Mary A. Ward with no publication date. The journal runs from 1848 to 1881, a few months before Henri's death. Ms. Ward did not include the mundane entries but intentionally used only his philosophic musings which I thought was a good move.
It was apparently translated back in the time when anyone smart enough to read seriously was expected to speak culturally elite French. There were numerous untranslated passages in French and several in German, Spanish and Latin. I would recommend an edition that at least footnotes the translations.
The journal was filled with insightful aphorisms about truth, society, and life in general. Amiel was torn between living an introverted, mystical-philosophical life and a outward, productive one. He chose the former but seemed guilt-ridden for not pursuing the latter. His thought was religious and, fortunately, in a very open-minded way as he talked about following God's will in a Christian way but still discussed the Eastern perspective as if it had valid meaning to him.
My edition was translated by Mary A. Ward with no publication date. The journal runs from 1848 to 1881, a few months before Henri's death. Ms. Ward did not include the mundane entries but intentionally used only his philosophic musings which I thought was a good move.
It was apparently translated back in the time when anyone smart enough to read seriously was expected to speak culturally elite French. There were numerous untranslated passages in French and several in German, Spanish and Latin. I would recommend an edition that at least footnotes the translations.
April 21, 2019
A timeless meditation on life, from the highest peaks of spirituality and universal brotherhood to the deepest valleys of despair and hopelessness.
April 18, 2024
Amiel's Journal, once popular and heralded, appears to have fallen out of style. The angle which drew me was his friends' sorrow that Amiel never committed himself to a great work despite his great intellect, leaving this journal as his only legacy. Multiple times in the journal he examines himself for why he can not or does not rise to the occasion. Amiel could be judging himself when he is critiquing Joubert, in the early days of his diary: "His book, extracted from fifty years of his life ... is more subtle than strong, more poetical than profound ... a great wealth of small curiosities of value, than of a great intellectual existence and a new point of view." In this category to which both himself and Joubert belong, Amiel writes that Joubert "deals with what is superficial and fragmentary". It's as much true of this journal, given the breadth of topics Amiel flits between in his various entries. A few topics predominate, especially his wrestling with faith and his stubborn maintenance of a positive philosophy.
As early as 1851 he had a premonition of his ultimate lack of production if he did not act soon. "A shiver seizes us when the ranks grow thin around us, when age is stealing upon us, when we approach the zenith, and what destiny says to us 'Show what is in thee! Now is the moment, now is the hour, else fall back into nothingness! ... Show us what thou hast done with thy talent." Later in 1870, he charges his critical, intellectual faculty with having subsumed his creative force. His explanation which I found most affecting relates to what the author Anne Pratchett once described, that writing is the frustrating act of snatching a gorgeous butterfly (the idea) and crucifying it with a pin in hopes of thereby sharing the glory of that vision of its flight with others - conveying, in fact, only a shadow of that vision. I see shades of this in Amiel's unwillingness to commit himself to grander writing exploits because of the potential disturbance to his contentment, his sensation of enjoying living. It would turn his thoughts dark to confront discomforting facts about surrounding reality - politics of his day, religion, science - which did not hold a candle to the elation of retaining his thoughts and sensations internally rather than trying to formulate them in a way that would inevitably evade capture. He wanted to leave his butterflies fluttering.
There's little to indicate he took comfort in at least leaving this journal as his record, or had any intentional plan to do so. He shares no explanation for his habit of recording these sporadic entries over several decades. At one point he does cite another author's journal uncovered in postmortem and the sensation that it caused, but if he dared imagine the same achievement for his own he doesn't state it. At one point he even derides the time he's spent upon it: "This journal of mine represents the material of a good many volumes: what prodigious waste of time, of thought, of strength!"
There's scraps of wisdom and highlights to be had that suggest what he might have chosen to focus on if he'd done otherwise. I appreciate his thinking about how important it is to balance the intellectual life with being open to the wonder of daily, playful experience as the actual act of living. This meshes well with his many entries about the wonders and splendor of nature, literally smelling the flowers along the way. I appreciated his wrestling with love and loneliness. I am sure if he had applied himself, it would have been to a work of theocracy or philosophy. He offers a cogent argument for why philosophy cannot easily be substituted for religion, indicating he had the two subjects firmly delineated in his mind. But always he returns to the recognition that time has slipped past him as he admires the great works of others (Hugo's Les Miserables among them), separately noting that "A man esteems most highly what he himself lacks, and exaggerates what he longs to possess."
He writes that he did not pursue marriage because he did not find his one great love. Perhaps he did not write his one great work because he similarly could not settle on his subject? In this telling he becomes a man who waited for ideal moments that never arrived, and consequently was passed by on all fronts. It does not seem to be the story he told himself. Despite regret, there's the sense that Amiel enjoyed his life. He appreciated nature, appreciated art, appreciated others' wisdom, and always maintained an optimistic outlook and a strong faith which bolstered him through every trial: "Do all the good you can, and say all the truth you know or believe; and for the rest be patient, resigned, submissive. God does his business, do yours." He does not shift from this attitude, never assumes a deeper remorse, not even towards the journal's end when he feels fatal illness overtaking him. Putting aside the day-to-day enjoyment of limited mortality for the labour and sake of producing a legacy was not worth the exchange. I believe he found this unconscious decision understandable and inarguable, and died satisfied. How can anyone say he chose wrongly?
As early as 1851 he had a premonition of his ultimate lack of production if he did not act soon. "A shiver seizes us when the ranks grow thin around us, when age is stealing upon us, when we approach the zenith, and what destiny says to us 'Show what is in thee! Now is the moment, now is the hour, else fall back into nothingness! ... Show us what thou hast done with thy talent." Later in 1870, he charges his critical, intellectual faculty with having subsumed his creative force. His explanation which I found most affecting relates to what the author Anne Pratchett once described, that writing is the frustrating act of snatching a gorgeous butterfly (the idea) and crucifying it with a pin in hopes of thereby sharing the glory of that vision of its flight with others - conveying, in fact, only a shadow of that vision. I see shades of this in Amiel's unwillingness to commit himself to grander writing exploits because of the potential disturbance to his contentment, his sensation of enjoying living. It would turn his thoughts dark to confront discomforting facts about surrounding reality - politics of his day, religion, science - which did not hold a candle to the elation of retaining his thoughts and sensations internally rather than trying to formulate them in a way that would inevitably evade capture. He wanted to leave his butterflies fluttering.
There's little to indicate he took comfort in at least leaving this journal as his record, or had any intentional plan to do so. He shares no explanation for his habit of recording these sporadic entries over several decades. At one point he does cite another author's journal uncovered in postmortem and the sensation that it caused, but if he dared imagine the same achievement for his own he doesn't state it. At one point he even derides the time he's spent upon it: "This journal of mine represents the material of a good many volumes: what prodigious waste of time, of thought, of strength!"
There's scraps of wisdom and highlights to be had that suggest what he might have chosen to focus on if he'd done otherwise. I appreciate his thinking about how important it is to balance the intellectual life with being open to the wonder of daily, playful experience as the actual act of living. This meshes well with his many entries about the wonders and splendor of nature, literally smelling the flowers along the way. I appreciated his wrestling with love and loneliness. I am sure if he had applied himself, it would have been to a work of theocracy or philosophy. He offers a cogent argument for why philosophy cannot easily be substituted for religion, indicating he had the two subjects firmly delineated in his mind. But always he returns to the recognition that time has slipped past him as he admires the great works of others (Hugo's Les Miserables among them), separately noting that "A man esteems most highly what he himself lacks, and exaggerates what he longs to possess."
He writes that he did not pursue marriage because he did not find his one great love. Perhaps he did not write his one great work because he similarly could not settle on his subject? In this telling he becomes a man who waited for ideal moments that never arrived, and consequently was passed by on all fronts. It does not seem to be the story he told himself. Despite regret, there's the sense that Amiel enjoyed his life. He appreciated nature, appreciated art, appreciated others' wisdom, and always maintained an optimistic outlook and a strong faith which bolstered him through every trial: "Do all the good you can, and say all the truth you know or believe; and for the rest be patient, resigned, submissive. God does his business, do yours." He does not shift from this attitude, never assumes a deeper remorse, not even towards the journal's end when he feels fatal illness overtaking him. Putting aside the day-to-day enjoyment of limited mortality for the labour and sake of producing a legacy was not worth the exchange. I believe he found this unconscious decision understandable and inarguable, and died satisfied. How can anyone say he chose wrongly?
August 13, 2022
I set out to read the most self-pitying book in history and would seem to have found it. Once very widely read and now justly forgotten, the Journal Intime offers plenty of outdated navel-gazing on both moral philosophy and society, but also some quite unique metaphysical thoughts and is certainly one-of-a-kind. Every once in a while, a nice evocative or poetic image will also crop up to charm the reader.
The edition and translation by Mary Augusta Ward is absolutely excellent.
The edition and translation by Mary Augusta Ward is absolutely excellent.
March 29, 2008
This man had so many interesting things to say about such a WIDE variety of subjects, he was truly amazing. Unfortunately this was the "woe is me" bane of his life- he despaired that he was never able to let himself focus on ONE thing, and so never gained the fame and wealth he could have had. Thank God he didn't. This book was an international best-seller at the time it was published, after his death. Now, of course, you can't find it in a library.
October 4, 2013
Too dark and depressing for me especially struggling with my own issues at the time. His critiques of other works is also not useful to me since I have no idea who most of those people or works were. It's also sad that people died of easily treated diseases before modern times. Had Amiel lived today he would have had some antibiotics and been fine.
May 5, 2011
In between large chunks of convoluted digressions in a huge variety of topics he shares his - usually morose poetic - opinion on, you get a few insights of wisdom. I couldn't make it past the 172nd page, it's too dry a read.
September 22, 2011
The gems in this long journal are brilliant but overall it is a meandering text of personal reflections. In some ways, Amiel's reflections are so intellectual and reflective that his life and experiences are obscured.
December 5, 2014
a revelatory experience...
May 22, 2025
I've been with Henri for over 20 years now, and this may be the greatest book I have read - equally filled with faith, and doubt, and philosophy, and poetry: but above all with stupendous honesty.
The world thought him (as he thought himself) a failure....
I abhor equally the science-infatuated atheist and the religious dogmatist. I am a kind of militant agnostic. I may be the only one. But Henri is right up my street: the man I was born to meet in print.
Amiel had faith, but he struggled to keep it, especially when his horrible illness really started to take hold. His description of his final days is both heartbreaking and magnificent.
I won't say his faith never wavered - of course it did. But even in translation, his words have a glory and a glamour combined with a striking intellectual precision. And Amiel ultimately exemplifies the simple loving-kindness that is the best of Christianity.
Towards the end, our "failure" had an inkling of what he had achieved in 35 years of unsung solitude. There was a scramble to prepare portions of the journal for publication. And indeed publication brought commercial success and overwhelming critical affirmation. But Henri was gone.
"Emerson without the ego"? - yes, but so much more than that. This may be the book you have been waiting for all your life. The public excitement has long faded, but the Journal will assuredly go on forever in its tranquil fashion, capturing discerning spirits as it goes. 90% of it has still never been published in English!
Henri was a quiet genius: but he deserves to be enjoyed.
A word on editions: The best translation is by Mrs Humphrey Ward. Almost as good is Van Wyk Brooks' "Amiel's Private Journal" version , and it contains twice as much material. If you become - like me - an Amiel addict, you also should get "Philine", also translated by Van Wyk Brooks -more excavations from the mighty Journal, focusing on Amiel's sporadic but very real love-life. (Amiel is generally portrayed as a lonely recluse; but several women adored him and weren't shy of showing it.) Perceptive and occasionally hilarious. All titles published by Macmillan in hardcover back in the day.
The world thought him (as he thought himself) a failure....
I abhor equally the science-infatuated atheist and the religious dogmatist. I am a kind of militant agnostic. I may be the only one. But Henri is right up my street: the man I was born to meet in print.
Amiel had faith, but he struggled to keep it, especially when his horrible illness really started to take hold. His description of his final days is both heartbreaking and magnificent.
I won't say his faith never wavered - of course it did. But even in translation, his words have a glory and a glamour combined with a striking intellectual precision. And Amiel ultimately exemplifies the simple loving-kindness that is the best of Christianity.
Towards the end, our "failure" had an inkling of what he had achieved in 35 years of unsung solitude. There was a scramble to prepare portions of the journal for publication. And indeed publication brought commercial success and overwhelming critical affirmation. But Henri was gone.
"Emerson without the ego"? - yes, but so much more than that. This may be the book you have been waiting for all your life. The public excitement has long faded, but the Journal will assuredly go on forever in its tranquil fashion, capturing discerning spirits as it goes. 90% of it has still never been published in English!
Henri was a quiet genius: but he deserves to be enjoyed.
A word on editions: The best translation is by Mrs Humphrey Ward. Almost as good is Van Wyk Brooks' "Amiel's Private Journal" version , and it contains twice as much material. If you become - like me - an Amiel addict, you also should get "Philine", also translated by Van Wyk Brooks -more excavations from the mighty Journal, focusing on Amiel's sporadic but very real love-life. (Amiel is generally portrayed as a lonely recluse; but several women adored him and weren't shy of showing it.) Perceptive and occasionally hilarious. All titles published by Macmillan in hardcover back in the day.
August 20, 2025
The first thing you come to understand about Amiel from reading his journal is that he's a bit of a whiner. These pages – which, keep in mind, were never meant to be published – are filled with polemics against the democrats, the socialists, and women. Sometimes this antagonism manifests as outright unprompted screeds, but other times Amiel conceals it in his critiques. He can't seem to analyze any work of art without first knowing where the artist stands on the questions of suffrage and control of the means of production, and he can't appreciate talent unless it is coupled with capitalist republican principles. His journal gives the impression of an obsessive, someone too preoccupied with defending an ideology (and a pretty narrow and uninteresting one at that) to have anything important or insightful to say.
There are, however, some tidbits in here that I liked. Amiel's doesn't seem to have dedicated himself to developing a complete philosophical system, but the Journal Intime nevertheless can be viewed as a collection of aphorisms, the merit of which should be considered on its own terms. Amiel is also a very talented poet, and his vivid descriptions of European scenery earn him a spot among the great Romantics.
So how do I feel about Amiel's Journal? I would say I'm glad I read it, but I don't think I'll read it again. I got everything I needed from an initial, cursory reading. The experience was like trying to pick up pieces of candy on your grandparents' living room floor while they're watching Fox News at full volume; the reward is simply not worth the experience. Considering the reviews for this book and its historical legacy, my expectations were not met.
There are, however, some tidbits in here that I liked. Amiel's doesn't seem to have dedicated himself to developing a complete philosophical system, but the Journal Intime nevertheless can be viewed as a collection of aphorisms, the merit of which should be considered on its own terms. Amiel is also a very talented poet, and his vivid descriptions of European scenery earn him a spot among the great Romantics.
So how do I feel about Amiel's Journal? I would say I'm glad I read it, but I don't think I'll read it again. I got everything I needed from an initial, cursory reading. The experience was like trying to pick up pieces of candy on your grandparents' living room floor while they're watching Fox News at full volume; the reward is simply not worth the experience. Considering the reviews for this book and its historical legacy, my expectations were not met.
July 18, 2025
A grand book of personal thoughts by a great thinker. An interpretation of the world of man, both outside and inside, by a man of wisdom, with the highest integrity. High integrity because it is a private journal, never intended to be published, so there is no need to show off to the world. It is the book that inspired the masterpiece, and the greatest work of this century, "The Book of Disquiet" by Pessoa. No less revealing, and just as joyful to read.
May 23, 2017
Well worth reading.
June 16, 2024
没想到我拖了这么久才看完，其实挺不舍的，看到最后作者去世前夜挺难受的。在佩索阿的《不安之书》和亨利米勒的《北回归线》的前言中都提到了这本书，这不是偶然的。非常特别的一本书， 值得一读再读。
December 13, 2021
“26 Eylül 1866 Çarşamba.
(Sabah saat 9) Birkaç saat içinde kırkbeşinci yılım tamamlanacak! Bu rakam bana bir masal gibi ve her şey de bir düş gibi görünüyor. Kendimde her zaman bir çocukmuşum gibi bir etki uyandırıyorum ve bana bu kadar yıl yaşamışım gibi gelmiyor. Karşımdaki insana, ciddi karakterli, saygın işlevler yüklenmiş ve büyük bir sorumluluk taşıyan, çok olgun biriymişim gibi görünüyorum; buna karşın içimde ne otorite, ne de önem hissetmiyorum ve kendimle ve yaşamla dalga geçmekten başka bir şey yapmıyorum. — Belli hiçbir biçime girmedim, belirgin hiçbir yetenek kazanamadım, her rüzgârda uçan hafif bir şey olarak kaldım. Hiçbir şeyi derinlemesine bilmiyorum, özel olarak hiçbir şey istemiyorum, güçlü hiçbir şey yapamam. Varlığım hâlâ akışkan, dalgalı, önemsiz ve değişken. İşte bu nedenle bu yaş benim değil ve işte bu nedenle kimse değilim ve kendimi bir kimse olarak görmüyorum.”
Çok sahici bir ifade, bir buçuk yüzyıl öncesinden. Hâlâ güncel. Çeviri hataları hoşgörülebilir.
(Sabah saat 9) Birkaç saat içinde kırkbeşinci yılım tamamlanacak! Bu rakam bana bir masal gibi ve her şey de bir düş gibi görünüyor. Kendimde her zaman bir çocukmuşum gibi bir etki uyandırıyorum ve bana bu kadar yıl yaşamışım gibi gelmiyor. Karşımdaki insana, ciddi karakterli, saygın işlevler yüklenmiş ve büyük bir sorumluluk taşıyan, çok olgun biriymişim gibi görünüyorum; buna karşın içimde ne otorite, ne de önem hissetmiyorum ve kendimle ve yaşamla dalga geçmekten başka bir şey yapmıyorum. — Belli hiçbir biçime girmedim, belirgin hiçbir yetenek kazanamadım, her rüzgârda uçan hafif bir şey olarak kaldım. Hiçbir şeyi derinlemesine bilmiyorum, özel olarak hiçbir şey istemiyorum, güçlü hiçbir şey yapamam. Varlığım hâlâ akışkan, dalgalı, önemsiz ve değişken. İşte bu nedenle bu yaş benim değil ve işte bu nedenle kimse değilim ve kendimi bir kimse olarak görmüyorum.”
Çok sahici bir ifade, bir buçuk yüzyıl öncesinden. Hâlâ güncel. Çeviri hataları hoşgörülebilir.
July 26, 2011
philosophical book/journal by this unheard of legend. behind nietzsche and emerson one fo teh most interesting collection of philosophical musings i have ever read. there is literally something philospically engaging/questionning on every other page that gets themind pondering and thinking! highly highly recommended if you want a well written philosophy read.
May 13, 2009
Like Paul Klee, this man from the land of bank accounts that are anonymous save the face, writes a great journal.
June 24, 2009
Philosophical and timeless. A difficult read but well worth it. Taking my time and letting it sink in. ch
November 2, 2016
My favorite book of the year,
Displaying 1 - 22 of 22 reviews