L'Œuvre au noir Quotes

“Je sais que je ne sais pas ce que je ne sais pas.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“On n'est pas libre tant qu'on désire, qu'on veut, qu'on craint, peut-être tant qu'on vit.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Le souvenir n'est qu'un regard posé de temps en temps sur des êtres devenus intérieurs,mais qui ne dépendent pas de la mémoire pour continuer d'exister.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Sé que no sé lo que no sé; envidio a aquellos que sabrán más que yo, pero también sé que tendrán que medir, pesar, deducir y desconfiar de sus deducciones exactamente igual que yo, y ver en lo falso parte de lo verdadero, y tener en cuenta en lo verdadero la eterna mixtión de lo falso. Jamás me agarré a una idea por temor al desamparo en que caería sin ella. Nunca aliñé un hecho verdadero con la salsa de la mentira, para hacerme su digestión más fácil.
He soñado mis sueños; no pretendo que sean más que sueños. Me guardé muy bien de hacer de la verdad un ídolo, prefiriendo dejarle su nombre más humilde de exactitud. Mis triunfos y mis riesgos no son los que se cree; existen glorias distintas de la gloria y hogueras distintas de la hoguera. He llegado casi a desconfiar de las palabras. Moriré un poco menos necio de lo que nací.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“L'homme est une entreprise qui a contre elle le temps, la nécessité, la fortune, et l'imbécile et toujours croissante primauté du nombre, dit plus posément le philosophe. Les hommes tueront l'homme.
(La visite du chanoine)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“He, too, had dreamed dreams. Folk are usually content to draw from such visions portents which sometimes prove true, since they reveal the sleeper's secrets; but he surmised that these games the mind plays when left to itself can indicate to us chiefly the way in which the soul perceives things. Accordingly, he sought to enumerate the qualities of substance as seen in dream: lightness, impalpability, incoherence, total liberty with regard to time; then, the mobility of forms which allows each person in this state to be several people, and the several to reduce themselves to one; last, the sense of something akin to Platonic reminiscence, but also the almost insupportable feeling of necessity. Such phantom categories strongly resemble what Hermetists clam to know of existence beyond the grave, as if the world of death were only continuing for the soul the awesome world of night.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“In a sense, everything is magic: magic, for example, is the science of herbs and metals, which allows the physician to influence both malady and patient; magical, too, is illness itself, which imposes itself upon a body like a demonical possession of which sometimes the body is unwilling to be healed. The power of sounds, high or low, is magic, disturbing the soul, or possibly soothing it. Magic, above all, is the virulent force of words, which are almost always stronger than the things for which they stand; their power justifies what is said about them in the Sepher Yetsira, not to mention between us the Gospel According to Saint John. Magical is the prestige which surrounds a monarch, and which emanates from the ceremonies of the Church; and magical in their effect, likewise, are the scaffolds draped in black and the lugubrious roll of drums at executions; all such trappings transfix and terrify the gaping onlookers even more than they awe the victims. And finally, love is magic, as is hatred, too, imprinting as they do upon the brain the image of a being whom we allow to haunt us.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Ce n'était pas trop de toute une vie pour confronter l'un par l'autre ce monde où nous sommes et ce monde qui est nous.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“I have traversed at least one part of this sphere where we are; I have studied the fecundation of plants and the point at which metals fuse; I have observed the stars and have examined the inside of bodies. From this brand that I lift here I can deduce a concept of weight, and from these flames the concept of warmth. What I do not know, I know full well that I do not know, and I envy those who will eventually know more; but I know also that, exactly like me, they will be obliged to measure, deduce, and then mistrust the deductions so produced; they will have to make allowance for the part which is true in any falsehood, and likewise reckon the eternal admixture of falsity in truth.

I have never clung blindly to some idea for fear of the perplexity into which I should fall if I let it go. I have never seasoned a truth with the sauce of a lie in order to digest it more easily. I have never misrepresented the views of my adversary to get the better of him more readily, not even the views of Bombastus during our debate on antimony (though he showed no gratitude for my restraint). Or perhaps, yes: I have caught myself in the act of such misrepresentation, and each time reprimanded myself as if I were scolding a dishonest valet; I could trust myself again only after promising myself to do better. I have dreamed my dreams, but I do not take them for anything more than dreams. I have refrained from making an idol of truth, preferring to leave to it its more modest name of exactitude. My triumphs and my dangers are not the ones that people suppose: there are other glories than fame and other fires than those of the stake. I have almost attained to the point of distrusting words. I shall die a little less witless than I was born.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“une once d'inertie pèse plus qu'un boisseau de sagesse
(La conversation à Innsbruck)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Les escarmouches avec les théologiens avaient eu leur charme, mais il savait fort bien qu'il n'existe aucun accommodement durable entre ceux qui cherchent, pèsent, dissèquent, et s'honorent d'être capables de penser demain autrement qu'aujourd'hui, et ceux qui croient ou affirment croire, et obligent sous peine de mort leurs semblables à en faire autant.
(L'acte d'accusation)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“L'acte de penser l'intéressait maintenant plus que les douteux produits de la pensée elle-même. (...) Toute sa vie, il s'était ébahi de cette faculté qu'ont les idées de s'agglomérer froidement comme des cristaux en d'étranges figures vaines, de croître comme des tumeurs dévorant la chair qui les a conçues, ou encore d'assumer monstrueusement certains linéaments de la personne humaine, comme ces masses inertes dont accouchent certaines femmes, et qui ne sont en somme que de la matière qui rêve. (...) D'autres notions, plus propres et plus nettes, forgées comme par un maître ouvrier, étaient de ces objets qui font illusion à distance; on ne se lassait pas d'admirer leurs angles et leurs parallèles; elles n'étaient néanmoins que les barreaux dans lesquels l'entendement s'enferme lui-même, et la rouille du faux mangeait déjà ces abstraites ferrailles. (...) Les notions mouraient comme les hommes: il avait vu au cours d'un demi-siècle plusieurs générations d'idées tomber en poussière.
(L'abîme)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Filled with a reverent notion (for which he would have been put to death on any of the public squares of Christendom or the lands of Mohammed), he reflected that the most adequate symbols of a conjectural Supreme Good are those very ones which are held, absurdly, to be the most idolatrous: the fiery globe above is the only God visible for us creatures, who would perish without it. Likewise, the most real of angels was this seagull, which possessed what Seraphim and Thrones did not have, the clear evidence of existing.

In this world unburdened by concepts, even ferocity was pure: the fish wriggling beneath the wave would soon be only a choice morsel, bleeding under the beak of the bird fishing here, but the bird was giving no false pretext for its hunger. Both fox and hare (trickery and fear) inhabited the dune where he slept, but the killer did not evoke laws promulgated long ago by some wise fox, or handed down by a fox-god. The victim did not suppose itself punished for its crimes or, when dying, protest to the end that it had remained loyal to its prince.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“We are falling back into allegory," said the Captain, interrupting him. "If you mean by all that that the body is the most solid of realities, then say so."

"No, not exactly," Zeno explained. "This body, our kingdom, sometimes seems to me to be made of a fabric as loosely woven and as evanescent as a shadow. I should hardly be more astonished to see my mother again (who is dead) than to come upon you around a corner as I did, your face grown older and its substance recomposed more than once in twenty years' time, with its color altered by the seasons and its form somewhat changed, but your mouth still knowing my name. Think of the grain that has grown and the creatures that have lived and died in order to sustain that Henry who is and is not the one I knew twenty years ago.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“-¿Vuestra Reverencia hace de mí un luterano? -preguntó el filósofo con débil sonrisa.
-No, amigo mío, temo que no tengáis bastante fe para ser un hereje.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Il se servait de son esprit comme d'un coin pour élargir de son mieux les interstices du mur qui de toute part nous confine. Les failles grandissaient, ou plutôt le mur, semblait-il, perdait de lui-même sa solidité sans pour autant cesser d'être opaque, comme s'il s'agissait d'une muraille de fumée au lieu d'une muraille de pierre.
(L'abîme)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“quand je vois combien peu de gens lisent L'Iliade d'Homère, je prends plus gaiement mon parti d'être peu lu.
(La conversation à Innsbruck)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“On n'est bien que libre, et cacher ses opinions est encore plus gênant que de couvrir sa peau.
(La conversation à Innsbruck)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“His bowels, far greater alchemist than he had ever been, regularly performed the transmutation of corpses, those of beasts and of plants, into living matter, separating the useful from the dross without help from him. Ignis inferioris Naturae: those spirals of brown mud, precisely coiled and still steaming from the decocting process which they have undergone in their mold, this ammoniac and nitric fluid passed into a clay pot, were the visible and fetid proof of work completed in laboratories where we do not intervene. It seemed to Zeno that the disgust of fastidious persons at this refuse, and the obscene laughter of the ignorant, were due less to the fact that these objects offend our senses than to our horror in the presence of the mysterious and ineluctable routines of our bodies.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Another, more fluid metaphor for the world of thought gradually suggested itself to him, derived from his former voyages at sea. A philosopher who was trying to consider human understanding in all its aspects would behold beneath him a mass molded in calculable curves, streaked by currents which could be charted, and deeply furrowed by the pressure of winds and the heavy, inert weight of water. It seemed to him that the shapes which the mind assumes are like those great forms, born of undifferentiated water, which assail or replace each other on the surface of the deep; each concept collapses, eventually, to merge with its very opposite, like two waves breaking against each other only to subside into the same single line of white foam.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“All his life long he had been amazed at the way ideas have of agglomerating, divorced from feeling, like crystals in strange, meaningless formations; and of growing like tumors, devouring the flesh that conceives them; or of assuming certain human lineaments, but in monstrous wise, like those inert masses to which some women give birth, and which are, after all, only the incoherent dreams of matter. He found that a goodly number of the mind's productions are no more than such deformed mooncalves. Other conceptions, less impure and more precise, forged as if by a master workman, make for illusion when viewed from afar; though commanding our admiration for their parallels and their angles, like intricate iron grills, they are nevertheless only bars behind which the understanding imprisons itself, abstract fetters already eaten into by the rust of false premises.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“il existait sans doute entre les inquiétes créatures humaines des répulsions et des haines surgies du plus profond de leur nature, et qui, le jour où il ne serait plus de mode de s'exterminer pour cause de religion, se donneraient cours autrement.
(La promenade sur la dune)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Cette encombrante enveloppe qu'il lui fallait laver, remplir, réchauffer au coin du feu ou sous la toison d'une bête morte, coucher le soir comme un enfant ou comme un vieillard imbécile, servait contre lui d'otage à la nature entière et, pis encore, à la société des hommes.
(L'abîme)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Nunca podré dejar de maravillarme de que esta carne sostenida por sus vértebras, este tronco unido a la cabeza por el istmo del cuello y que dispone simétricamente sus miembros en torno a él, contengan y quizá produzcan un espíritu que saca partido de mis ojos para ver y de mis movimientos para palpar... Conozco sus límites y sé que le faltará tiempo para llegar más allá, y asimismo fuerza, si por casualidad le fuera concedido el tiempo. Pero existe y, en estos momentos, él es Aquel que Es. Sé que se equivoca y yerra, que a menudo interpreta torcidamente las lecciones que el mundo le dispensa, pero también sé que hay en él algo que le permite conocer y en ocasiones rectificar sus propios errores. He recorrido al menos una parte de la bola del mundo en que nos hallamos; estudié el punto de fusión de los metales y la generación de las plantas; he observado los astros y examiné el interior de los cuerpos. Soy capaz de extraer de este tizón que ahora levanto la noción de peso, y de esas llamas la noción de calor. Sé que no sé lo que no sé; envidio a aquellos que sabrán más que yo, pero también sé que tendrán que medir, pesar, deducir y desconfiar de sus deducciones exactamente igual que yo, y ver en lo falso parte de lo verdadero, y tener en cuenta en lo verdadero la eterna mixtión de lo falso. Jamás me agarré a una idea por temor al desamparo en que caería sin ella. Nunca aliñé un hecho verdadero con la salsa de la mentira, para hacerme su digestión más fácil. Nunca deformé el parecer del adversario para llevar la razón más fácilmente, ni siquiera, durante el debate sobre el antimonio, el de Bombast, que no me lo agradeció. O más bien sí: me sorprendí haciéndolo y cada vez que esto ocurrió, me reñí a mí mismo como se riñe a un criado poco honrado, y no me devolví mi confianza hasta obtener de mí mismo la promesa de hacer las cosas mejor. He soñado mis sueños; no pretendo que sean más que sueños. Me guardé muy bien de hacer de la verdad un ídolo, prefiriendo dejarle su nombre más humilde de exactitud. Mis triunfos y mis riesgos no son los que se cree; existen glorias distintas de la gloria y hogueras distintas de la hoguera. He llegado casi a desconfiar de las palabras. Moriré un poco menos necio de lo que nací.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, Opus nigrum

“(…) si aquel filósofo renegado que, sin embargo, no renegaba de ninguna de sus creencias verdaderas, era para ellos un chivo expiatorio, esto era debido a que cada uno de ellos, algún día, secretamente, o incluso sin darse cuenta, había deseado salir del círculo en donde moriría encerrado. El rebelde que se levanta contra su príncipe provoca en las gentes de bien la misma envidiosa furia: su No es una vejación para su incesante Sí. Pero los peores de esos monstruos que piensan de manera singular son aquellos que practican de alguna virtud: infunden mucho más miedo cuando no se les puede despreciar por entero.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Le temps, qu'il avait imaginé devoir peser entre ses mains comme un lingot de plomb, fuyait et se subdivisait comme les grains du mercure. Les heures, les jours, et les mois, avaient cessé de s'accorder aux signes des horloges, et même au mouvement des astres. Il lui semblait parfois être resté toute sa vie à Bruges, et parfois y être rentré la veille. Les lieux aussi bougeaient : les distances s'abolissaient comme les jours. (L'abîme)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Celui qui s'expose par ses propos n'est qu'un sot. (L'abîme)”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir

“Era una de esas épocas en que la razón humana se halla presa dentro de un círculo en llamas.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, Opus nigrum

“decididos a no aprender más de lo necesario para cazar una sinecura, pobres diablos cuya fermentación de espíritu no era más que un brote de sangre que desaparecería con la juventud. Poco a poco, este desdén se hizo extensivo a sus amigos cabalistas, espíritus huecos hinchados de viento, atiborrados de palabras que no entendían y que regurgitaban en fórmulas.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, Opus nigrum

“Érico, porém, era daqueles que preferem receber seu destino de fora, fosse por orgulho, pois achava belo que o próprio céu se ocupasse de sua sorte, fosse por indolência, para não ter de responder nem pelo bem nem pelo mal que trazia em si.”
― Marguerite Yourcenar, L'Œuvre au noir