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MIREILLE BALIN

III

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"Beauty promise of happiness, "says Stendhal. And setbacks. To contemplate the paintings of old, formerly of photographs, which set the favorite attractions, high-flying courtesans, we can hardly believe that the models had on those around them on a public magnetism that chronicle testifies .

The beauty when it is embodied, goes out of style, even if shown, determined, in its fullness. Human, it is demagnetized as happens to those that love, desire, threw one to the other. The weather cracks, eroding, crumbling, the faces of porcelain and works to forge the richest body under clothing.

If we could, with Mireille Balin, talk about "beauty thunderstruck" is that time alone did not decrepit, like the Gloria Swanson of Sunset Boulevard. Man, that beautiful assault; humiliated so distant a feminine beauty and refined, it denies or defies the man, served by circumstances, will take revenge with, for sure ally, disease. The multiple modalities thereof appearing derive from each other to make endless irreversible decay of the actress.

* Through film, through his affair with a pompous politician, she had from her 21 years, lived in an atmosphere of enchantment as the girl most romantic dared to dream. Should he give it up in an enslaved country, even blind to the cynicism, the villainy, extortion, crime, the powerful of the time? Affluent of the aura of stardom, had it not the duty to maintain , pointing at conquering the beauty, elegance, luxury, still had the right in a capital city of mâchurée swastikas? Born rebellious and stubborn- what had learned louts Hollywood - were to be influencing his behavior because we wiped insults and threats? She loved. No longer a singer whom - the misalliance spiritual, intellectual, well-she had been bored, but a young officer holding Viennese proud, cultured, musician, gifted with superb irony. For beings of absolute love, the passion of inalienable rights. In the monologue so just tone it lends Roger Grenier [1] , who approached, says: "During the war, it might be necessary that we hid. That we behave in the way of an adulterous couple. As if I was married with France and that I should receive my lover in secret, the Austrian officer. Not even a Nazi. A Viennese. He could not understand that I refused to accompany him to the restaurant, theater, in the boxes. Then they said I hold myself. [...] "

* I open the appointment German, Paul Eluard, poet of the Resistance "In those days / not to punish the guilty / be abused girls. / We went so far / shear them. / / Understand who wish / I was what my remorse / the unfortunate who stayed / On the pavement / The reasonable victim / At the torn dress / In relation to child lost / defaced uncrowned / / A girl carried a bouquet / And covered / From black spit of darkness / / Stained and did not understand / That it is dirty / A beast trapped / Amateurs of beauty [...] "

Tainted, yes, and raped repeatedly, September 28, 1944. For lovers of beauty!

Neither woman - sick, ruined, devastated the beauty - or the actress in disgrace, his face, his job is considered old, will, in the many interviews that punctuate its revocation, bitter remarks , resentful, for his condition, friends, disappointing the audience versatile.

It seems that the glory faded, adversity would allow the inherent virtues to the girl to come forward with nothing more to come warp or warp. With elegance m

oral delicacy of reactions, it is a copy of dignity in misfortune that hits the reader with memories of the actress. Early on, she had called fatalistic Early on, she had the feeling of a misunderstanding, and she later said: "I was covered with jewels. I was not made for this life. "

After an interlude where fame, fortune, him away, the detached until he was unconscious of his inner self, a tenacious adversity would allow it ... again coincide with the best of herself. The misfortune was to satiate satiety infuses his humility, his love of solitude, inveterate melancholy, his hunger for authenticity.

* It is no longer - and the mind stumbles at the thought - a little dust, splinters of bones in the cemetery of St. Ouen. Yet, men, revealing his still image or animated marvel to experience, with a particular license, the magic of her face to clear dense frost and the first of a front such as "large countries more chaste than death " evoked by Saint-John Perse, but could not appear unless the wall, no crack, a Fort inside as qu'inexpugnable endorsement. They would discover the secret of an enduring fascination in spite of the modes. Unless they ask him to ward off the evils of a time when flower negligence, vulgarity, meanness and violence. At least, yes, they are looking for some trace of a mood, behavior, endangered, they are called class or race. Which integrate and loyalty based child care, rigor, intransigence towards oneself, with remote socket glory and rattles - not least with the setbacks, the disfavour, destitution.

In the constellation of "stars" extinct whose light reaches us still, that of Greta Garbo was the largest magnitude. The brightness of her face with a pristine halo blurs the edges, imposed on us with the ascendancy of the peaks inviolate.

Clarity held in check the face of Mireille Balin, rather call the terms of shimmer of moiré, which depict the moods of the actress. Intense like reserved, we will perceive it, depending on the scene of the film, reflections of saline water from groundwater or silver vein. The distinction of maintaining inherent to women, adding to the radiance, a shade of rare, precious opal which would have its place, not far from the flower blooming magnolia.

[1] "Mireille" in Fragonard's fiancee, Gallimard, 1981.

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Whispers ...

* The love

thought I was distracted, absent, since I love you, the truth is the stationary inner contemplation of a great inconvenience.

Muette, fascinated, terribly careful, my life uivalent or plugged by a constant mental dialogue, now I oscillate between the alarm and impatience.

* The lover

Daughter, sister, friend, lover, alternately or together, in the hope of Heloise, but companion of First - solid, equal. Companion (vocation) of man. This is never more noticeable than in our silence, side by side, when our thoughts are preserved. When, even in our silent drifts, we will ... company.

* François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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December 15 November 15 December 1

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Mireille Balin

*

II

In the quarry from view it was the object, the "divine" is made, its beauty, an impenetrable mask and shelter. Gods and men made to pay heavily Mireille Balin unique luster that for ten years she gave to the screen.

Glory gave her face with makeup artists, hairdressers, so as to conform to outward signs of the vamp, an accomplice or an instrument of destruction, death, promised to man bold enough to fall in love with a woman triumphant.

And if she accepted roles of adventurer, came fame, were deeply-cons jobs that contributed to his loss?

is his first appearances - the right word! - I ask the secret of charm in the original sense of incantation, she exercised immediately on the public. At the young girl of good family in a misguided prom gravelly to the peasant, the niece of Don Quixote, the secretary of If I were the boss (pictured above) ; the servant who listens to singing Neapolitan restaurant "Catari. This is where to look on the native gold and not on what the jewelers will do, that is wanting to take the original clarity of a face before the glitter of jewelry, furs, do come the adulterate.

prettiness and beauty do not overlap exactly, and it feels good gradation from one to another. The young actress is pretty, but it will not break us, and very forward, a splinter also disturbing - and delicious - than what we had at the little face of Simone Simon in Lac-aux-dames , if this prettiness is summarized in a simple harmony of features, common to the rest, many extras.

A good grace, a distinction innate health of the beautiful which is close to a nature perceived as reliable and tasty, are massed in the oval of a face that would require the exclamation poet: "God! the fact that good looking! "The head comes in flowering tops of a body that has the slenderness of wicker. And one could extend the metaphor invoking, for this face, the fresh innocence of a hawthorn bush in bloom.

This face I would it so close, so I did not know Latin - without the extravagance of Anna Magnani, Silvana Mangano one? More: its extent, its balance, the light that is flush, it is the landscapes of the Loire Valley, more than the Mediterranean shores, as I connected.

The front retains its magnitude especially when reading a book open water clarity captive at reflux, a hollow rock, and that is pure beach tide low at dawn, when no one does it is still not printed!

can not detect, in this broad band, trace of vanity, presumption. Decency and honesty there spreading it, strengthened by a look that questioned, and where the expectation is incredulous tone: "Despite the certainty with which I rule my life, how to be sure what I'm worth, what I doing? The righteousness of people who approach me? The sincerity of their praise? "

That look right, given a hint to smile (laughter does not suit this face) persuade us that have insurance that gives women a fun to see mine. But the lucidity of which is not fooled by appearances do not cease to doubt themselves and others, which very soon would have to endorse the "Do not believe" Valery, or "I saw myself see "La Jeune Parque.

*

Then came fame and star status. Sanded, cleaned, locked in almost incisive contours - like those, conclusive, definite, necessary the artist after his sketches ... - Met face to extreme presence, and Beauty, unimpeachable, can exert its full empire quivering surface sufficient to suggest the terms of a character, a loyal wife of the man, became a icon evil. An icon, incidentally, also dated to us that Marlene Dietrich.

Mireille Balin Who sees its debut at its peak, has a sense of glaciation which extended from the mouth too well drawn, the deadliest of the eyelids, brows reduced a decisive feature of charcoal, a front that pits you against an inflexible end of inadmissibility. All the Beauty - upward - the highest creature in this serene piece of arrogance, which gives you "the punch, quick, to the heart, in passing," as Cocteau.

In vain we ask for this front to leave reflected a reflection of the virtues that one knows yet intrinsic to the woman: a timidity land, which goes to the lack of confidence, foresight about the corrosive social conventions, worldliness, luxury, false pretenses of any kind, a propensity to solitude and contemplation, as the crowd voracious trivial, does not admit, and who will judge by appearances woman musician, cultivated - reader of Marcus Aurelius - and world traveler enamored of the high places of art world.

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Whispers ...

The love

belong to your great hands, warm and sagacious, is a guarantee of great ease. It's between them ... I feel elevated!

* The lover

I bring everything to you. Has it snowed? (And then, on the plain, the same clarity acute rising from the foam, at the stream; sparking the same universal. The crow flies, the planting of cherry blossoms, whose brightness had invaded and subjugated any color ...) Yes, did it snow? I think so: The snow is a good shot fresh cloth, canvas a little rough - for love. The cloth is laid for those who love, in a side light glass crystal. *

François Solesmes, The Whispers of love , Ink Navy.

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*

Mireille Balin

*************************** ************** I

(Monte-Carlo July 20, 1909 * - Paris, November 9, 1968)

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Painters, sculptors, historians, writers, testify: always women surpassed their peers in Attractions and justified the word Cocteau: "The privileges of beauty are enormous. But long ago, these privileges, favors attached to the perfection of a face, with a continuation, were confined to the dimensions of a yard, a circle, a medium. When they were not within the only lyricism of a poet celebrating his mistress.

photography, cinema, who revel in the feminine world, provide in abundance in our imaginary pictures of creatures that make credible the power lent to such favorite on the monarch, such courtesans driving their lover to ruin and suicide.

There is no "small" seductive. Of those that are described as "large", the accommodation is made immediately, while still unclear what surrounds them, other women included.

Each is a messenger that the species we delegate to remind us of the feminine hegemony. She is the bearer of sovereignty, since no claim is obvious, almost palpable, and we suffer with gratitude his tyranny. Because it's a whole panorama of the feminine, with its background, the seductress pretends to deploy our eyes when our friends are the best office of indentation in the real. Hence the edges of a photograph of the screen, which frames a "great" seductress seem cramped, and its image invaded the margins of a kind of wealth to be.

*

Only certain players they come on the scene, they surround us with a satisfaction similar to that which gives us the chance encounter with a warm and familiar to the free amenity. Such actors immediately get us more attention, adherence to their lines, their behavior, as they fit correctly in space as they say, their reactions have a veracity that makes ease and the surrounding air, and silence the rustling of tissue paper qu'assemblent breaths assistance.

Thus women - many of whom become actresses - they have an innate presence compels our sensory system to how certain works of art we endow the soul. Like a painting, a sculpture, a monument, this is a musical chord and fertilization at a distance.

We knew the nature inexhaustible in its productions, it we will once again surprised by the vivid image that fills an expectation - of the order of nostalgia? - That we did not own, a man stuffed effigies.

is. For her, the world used, hirsute, will hand the damage we are causing it. For her, the alliances that we assume it, we just thought of everything on earth, still eludes the rapacity of man: the bird hovering below the horizon marine stratum umbrella of a cedar of Lebanon, the splay of the conch, whelk, the spar of the arum ...

She is even more alien than her sisters? It legitimizes the enthusiasm, gratitude, that we devote to them. It conjures everything that hurts our eyes and it touches them out of their distracted, the way of a pleasant surprise that we would be inconceivable. The word windfall from our lips before that which belongs to the rare, the fascinating.

We do not have the temerity to think she will distinguish us in the crowd of his subjects, it is enough that it accredits the myth of the goddesses, nymphs, Vestal , sirens, it is their incarnation, sculptural, but human. So vulnerable, which makes it close, moving to those who know that time goes on that face smooth as a laughingstock on a sea of young lady, and she will not be one day a shadow moving or static without more compact than a threadbare fabric. The most endangered are those who loudly proclaim, by the arrogance of their forms, the emphasis of their hair, the hemmed their lips parted, they are more than their sisters, promise, promise and expensive exquisite , indefinite, like the houris that the Koran promises the faithful.

There are men and the male is laudatory epithet. It is also among the "big" seductive women that females in the mouth, eyelashes, nostrils themselves, prefigure the major access road, as if sex admitted it without shame, and their flesh, falsely immediate, prompt appearing explicitly embrace, the ... deducted. An ounce of vulgarity for chili.

*

For seductive luscious, creamy, an omen that we are sinking deeper into the flesh (and a sip of America Confectionery - meringues, religious, whipped cream, drizzled with a flute of champagne - was recognized in a pink fluffy named Marilyn), is it permissible to prefer the beauty closed, lock, a Louise Brook, helmeted fiber ebony, detached an Egyptian frieze, unless she was the sister of Queen Karomama, whose profile medal continuous incision space?

Is it lawful to grant, as the crowd of idols that went to represent the fullness of universality of the feminine, a preeminent place to Greta Garbo? I never think about it without seeing, in a snowy country, a beam of morning light through a fog bank. Then needed, as one would speak of the imposition of hands, which features notes of perfection the highest statuary - the grain of the skin with the polish of the Cycladic figurines in the likeness of Mother Earth.

We forget the body: we have eyes only for clarity in this nebulous web and beyond the face, making it in Queen Christina, the archetype figureheads.

Seduction can be challenging. He happens to be chaste. By light clean the Nordic countries - Calvinists - who seems to have modeled Garbo; by sexuality of it, ambiguous, held a ... "healthy exercise," the actress shows femininity unknowable, inaccessible. Until the love scenes where she shows enterprising, bold, she comes from a Noli Me Tangere which, combined with the solitude that is the nimbus extreme beauty, keeps us at a distance, brooding verse of Baudelaire: "I am beautiful, oh mortals, like a dream stone! "

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* 1911 is the date stated on numerous documents. 1909 would be the exact date.

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Whispers ...

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The love

I can, with you, dreaming of more commonplace since nothing ever is. And so I dream of a road island - without knowing what they are! In a room with walls lined with books of poetry, of those who cause thirst - a burning room.

I dream of a smooth time, indefinitely, to love with constancy.

I dream of being around you like a sleep between sun and shade. To be a stuffed ball on which you rest your hand.

*

The lover

bulimia and I knew the frustration of the lover of museums here and those it does me more than anything: what gallery of paintings and sculptures grace overwhelm me like you do again? But I am advised that being convicted to attend beauty is a refined torture. Are we in his presence? She breathless, it constrains us. Engages she looks to others? A sense of dispossession, we grudge deaf comes. Present, absent, it is the thorn that reminds us of our dependence, we mean we do not know what exile.

*

François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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In marine margins

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The tamarisk

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you do not plant a charm, a maple, birch, beech, to the ocean. The tamarisk is dealing with the enemy. Frequent prunings manage to do a bushy shrub, small tree counterfeit port lopsided, trunk swollen armpits that bristle multiple branches pruned. And we doubt, see the bark, that the olive tree is shown more surly towards the hand we denounce it as abuse suffered - twists and floggings conjugated harshness of an area to which the answer node and excoriation.

Who harassment and crate without respite, the tamarisk between the flexibility of its branches and twigs on a close-sheet scales - thus reducing the ship's sails in heavy weather. The tenacity can be seen in the foliage of the slender asparagus, which holds the drive sizes, and density, the intricacy of its ramifications, its disregard for symmetry, make it look thick.

Combining flair and stoicism, he resists the blast so massive that the acrimonious carpet, as this diagram, the filigree of foliage where you would see both a greenish cloud in the clip, the ferns who shrug our tile Winter.

The man is enslaved, the man disfigured: the tamarisk is not intended to stake walks of seaside resorts, but to settle on a flange of dune s 'y branching from the ground. Let curls, for one day inclement weather, away from one of these clumps, and we know a remarkable ease.

The savagery of the huge stumbling block on this bunch, trying to dissociate insinuates anxiety and discord. She is an assembly of precision balances which are contradictory - the branches balked by nodding disordered. And then, by the grace of long antennae plant, the migration of space appears to us in its power and size. At various speeds. At its lowest, the sparkling tremor bent grass, and then the mass gap without air, assured of its trajectory, with the four-lobed leaf of a bird that pitches in drift and above, a fraying Cloud earned by the velocity universal - all fleeing the sea as wildlife escaping desperate, a savanna fire.

But more poignant still delights await those who, by bad weather, at the request of tamarisk stand between him and the ocean. Which leaves would do better than his own, acts as a filter - the water hard and bitter hastened the broad, mutating to the cross in fresh water breaks? What was the breath of fire and attested to this field of flames at the foot of the dune is more than whispers of fire collapses. And it stands, in the invasion, an enclave of warmth and mildness where the immortal can finally enjoy its aroma.

me up, I'll be arrested again by the invisible and transformed into a torch. But for now, allow me to enjoy the miracle of a spring day that would have gone astray in January: in lukewarm reduced spared the vicissitudes of tunes, the kind of constriction of the flesh more turbid than j 'experiences, the tarnishing of my soul and his stubborn distraction, attached to the feeling of being unanimous in turmoil, in a place impregnable, irresistibly persuade me to morose delectation.

*

¶

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panicaut The sea

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can have the acerbity gracile. Panicaut the sea, strongly branched, leaves and flowers floor skylight. So he does that little resistance to large wind - it scratches the passage. Because of the dune fresh eye, welcoming the palm which, breaking away from you, touches and flatters distance, rises the better the plant arranged to oppose the decision. Its leathery leaves are twitching to multiply the darts; inflorescence mimics, in miniature, the bug chestnut. Above the benignity of the sand, it brandishes the acrimony, it radiates resentment: that is the reckless showboating!

Yet as one who would find this plant looks ungracious about her. To admire the star of acuminate leaves, edged in white, upon which rests the capitulum. To enter a green money, as soon as panicaut occurs in the colony, it turns into light blue, ash, rising from a smooth sea, by the summer mornings.

I like to find in the dune flora, the marram grass, lilies, wild rye, immortal, without omitting or woolly hawkweed the talus, to remember those days when the ocean patient policy space equal to its rumor, muffled sighs when strung. But I appreciate the panicaut to testify for another face of the range: one where, in a climate of subversion unanimous, you put up a continuous volley of needles of ice. I also do not médirai it distributes with approval hostility.

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On silence III (continued from 15 October)

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Some quotes from Eugene Mersea *

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** Silence is for life , not to death.

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The music is more worthy than the words break the silence and more silence than words worthy of interrupting the music.

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If speech is, according Beigbeder, "an act which the individual is abolished," silence is the failure to act where the individual is affirmed.

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Silence is the sound that is transparent to light.

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Silence is the cornerstone of the building sound.

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is with stones the silence which erected the temple of music.

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The music is created out of silence spreads through him to finally get lost in it, where everything begins and ends.

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Silence propagates in waves, like light and the movements of passion.

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Prelude Air Lohengrin The elevation of the Missa Solemnis , reach the borders of silence ideal.

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Words fly away, the silence remains.

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Moment of silence Moment of Truth. Man needs speech to conceal his thoughts.

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Silence prepares the appointment of the heart and mind.

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Silence heals the wounds of the word.

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Nothing is more impressive than the silence of the major organs in a deserted cathedral.

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******* * * Born in 1911, died in the 1980s, he said "a nonviolent passionate, loyal, since his youth, the libertarian tradition.

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Whispers ...

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Love:

I'm breathless, broken, in great distress: I love you! Give me time to catch my breath, accept to bear the happiness of love .

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The lover:

I changed? Yes, like sap, effervescent spring becomes, by composing with light, phloem sap, rich in minerals which will nourish the plant.

As the river a little crazy, turbulent, upstream becomes a river - large by definition, assured of his drive and purpose.

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François Solesmes, The Whispers of Love, Ink Navy .

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1 November 1 October 15 October

AMBER GREY

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I open a drawer and rarely visited I advise a small glass jar closed by a metal lid - I loose. And soon, as well that in these oriental tales, where it opens a bottle, rises, rises, a genius, a magician with extraordinary powers, a spirit amounts, can be affixed to my face and overflowing. It subdue my nostrils, mucous membranes lining the immaterial whether a heady bloom, the soul that stumbles and falls backward.

they offer me once I forgot a cube of ambergris, and here his powers intact and preserved. It would be wrong to hope for the drab plumage of the nightingale what his singing. Wrong and only waiting a common scent of the substance of caramel color that sparkles in a fine sweat.

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Referring to what is known or suspected, citing similarities and contrasts, we can try to evoke a landscape, the movements of a symphony, the flavor of a dish. But what words, what images, report, who ignores them, a color or a pure? How to give, not to see, hear, taste, but to feel? For, notebook in hand, smelled the fragrance of which the air spring forward - from the acacia thorn, the mock orange honeysuckle - I can testify to the difficulty, if we refuse to approximation the poetic vagueness, to translate the spectrum of an odor and its effect on our sensibilities.

*

Except to come from a tree, a hedge in bloom, the plant species are often measured or selected. We must approach the pink look on the violet, to enjoy the fragrance.

We did not even inspire ambergris: a breath warm, a cohesion which leaves less chance of air gap, colonizes our face at once and lay a thin honeydew. We bathed our heads in a static exhalation and exhilarating. And the same time it suspends, won by the inertia of the blessed air.

If our breathing resumes, it is less to uphold the requirements of the body - we could remain motionless, fascinated as the beast - for foster, through the inspiration, the minute our host stranglehold on the whole being, the species fertilization there operates by instilling glimpses of sunsets from the sand, until the melancholy that attaches at this time.

Some detect in the aroma of ambergris, a hint of black moss, spices, vanilla, clove, tobacco. Even if the breathing, I see the shadow cast on a bright sky, a field of dried seaweed at low tide and sunshine, that's the offshoot of an organic material. Expelled from the intestine of sperm whales, the concretion floats on the sea or stranded on shore. Long enough for the sun, acting as a casserole, concentrated and transmutes the original items in a gifted gold volatility, and so precious that it was once sold for native gold.

Without doubt he would have less power, if it proceeded from the organization if he had obvious affinities - in the ladle! - With the civet and musk. With the gland excretion.

*

I, discovering that a man makes use of ambergris, a sense of incongruity, the time for dandies and fops is gone. However, this perfume has to find in the recesses of the female body, sensual aromas of which amalgamate to better incline our thoughts to a harem of East or the South Island where a celebrated painter of exotic beauties "gold of their body. " Moreover, this flavor does not it seem more dark and heavy hair? Duller skin to the extent that neckline, a halter, held under the chandelier, the coat of arms? Development does not he around her who chose a climate of indifference? Does it not point to the opulence of a body rather than brisket, but a woman full?

Ballasted, it is weighted, and as enlarged. A velvet gown, with train, slowing his progress. She does not disdain our homage, but does wish. Conscious of its price, it s'encense itself a nectar that we hear it is now, at age makes a delectable creamy flesh.

*

I closed the pot. So that the rare and sublime substance does not passed out in the open air? Rather because the mind surrenders to the balm so persuasive, compelling - and tough! - It puts you in front of an excess of sweetness to your own mask every pore, you infuse fullness that you be inclined to resign.

It is discreet messengers. It's imperceptible to the forget-me voice whispers: "Do not forget me ..." the purple dares us hail from between the leaves. In this he has to serve, ambergris is shown exuberant untimely. He speaks bluntly, in very explicit terms, the first fruits of pleasure in half day of an alcove with heavy drapes.

- But patience, my nostrils, I will not deprive a sweet air and, wish, clear: you will find in a few months, scents slender, likely to be diluted in space . Rustic, smells skeleton where we never lose sight of the sky.

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ON the silence (II)

From a reader humanist named Eugene Mersea ^** I received long ago, a letter in which he told me to collect a share in world literature, all the remarks about the silence on the other hand, recorded himself reflections on the same topic, clean, feed the praise of silence that he was planning and which would have entitled Le Tombeau Harpocrates ^** . We exchanged a few letters until his death put an end to our correspondence.

I give below a few sentences that the author sent me, and I beg your pardon his heirs to do without their authorization: I could not find trace of her offspring.

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Between the last word and the last sigh, there is always room for a final silence.

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Who wants to break my silence spears cons?

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Silence is also essential to the love that word knowledge.

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Eyes closed, lips closed: the perfect silence. .

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is closed when the lips are the best.

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is what you do not tell me the most hurt.

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You give birth in the silence.

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Silence, which can translate everything, is itself indescribable.

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The word of the French language which has perhaps the most rhymes, and richest, the word also in the richest shades and halftones.

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At a chatterbox, "Get out of my silence! "

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call may be the first triumph of freedom, and silence, his last defense.

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We communicate through speech, we communed in silence.

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is the silence that kills!

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Silence secret thought, which flows into the floor, lost in silence.

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Nothing is more impressive than the silence of the major organs in a deserted cathedral.

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* Born in 1911, died in the 1980s, he said "a nonviolent passionate, loyal, since his youth, tradition libertarian.

** Harpocrates: god of silence in Greek mythology.

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