Sarra Tebib

“I.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion—
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

II.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago);
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER14
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law;
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

IV.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

V.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
EDGAR ALLAN POE 15
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

VI.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh—but smile no more.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Fall of the House of Usher

“Toute cette solitude qui colle aux gens, ça fout le moral à zéro, c'est tout.”
― Lou Delvig, Jours sans faim

“Jusqu’au jour où cette enfance blessée lui est remontée d’un seul coup. Acide. Elle avait beau mâcher, ruminer, déglutir, ça ne passait plus. Elle croyait qu’elle était quitte, qu’elle avait eu sa dose. Elle croyait qu’elle pouvait s’en tirer comme ça, presque indemne, à peine un peu plus sensible, mais elle n’en finissait plus de faire rouler dans sa bouche ces petits morceaux d’enfance comme des cailloux terreux qu’elle refusait de cracher. Elle ne voulait pas grandir, comment peut-on grandir avec ces blessures à l’intérieur de soi ? Elle voulait combler par le vide ce manque qu’ils avaient creusé en elle, leur faire payer ce dégoût qu’elle avait d’elle-même, cette culpabilité qui la reliait encore à eux. ”
― Lou Delvig, Jours sans faim

“And thus, as a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing radiation of gloom.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, The Fall of the House of Usher