Culture: the cry of men in face of their destiny.
From Albert Camus
To abandon oneself to principles is really to die - and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.
I was born poor and without religion, under a happy sky, feeling harmony, not hostility, in nature. I began not by feeling torn, but in plenitude.
Every revolutionary ends up either by becoming an oppressor or a heretic.
The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.
Every artist preserves deep within him a single source from which, throughout his lifetime, he draws what he is, and what he says. When the source dries up, the work withers and crumbles.
Without freedom, no art; art lives only on the restraints it imposes on itself, and dies of all others.
We turn toward God only to obtain the impossible.
Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?
There is the good and the bad, the great and the low, the just and the unjust. I swear to you that all that will never change.
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