Cute Picnik Quotes Anyone?

March 1, 2011 February 15

THE "FRIENDS"

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- "If I read correctly - a woman who writes me a sign that a first name - and, teaching letters to young people, I think reading, only the couple consisting of a man and a woman your favor. I would have liked to see home, strong feminine, indulgent few lines, I would say merciful, for homosexuals, which I am.

"Would you like that Proust has so heavily committed to our ... Vice gibbet, the better to conceal his? Badly, by the way, thanks so much to write as soon as he abandons talks about his carnal knowledge of women. But no: I swear that you share with certain painters and poets, their fascination with "friends." What to see two women in their play - without being seen - is part of your fantasies, especially since you would leave Soon your hiding to mingle with them, you do the authorizing of their games, not doubting but to convert them to love considered normal! In short, if the sight of two lovers rejoice your eyes, their conduct does not appear unless you against nature. To wonder if you would not feel an injury to the man! What these women who, instead of reserving for the pleasure of the male, are going very well of it? There are definitely there astray. What happens, moreover, if the disease spread, so more and more women are discovering, to their sisters, what refinements can reach physical love - and deduced that their king is naked?

"Since you took the woman, can you imagine that some of us have the same great taste you? Are disrupted by a face, a woman's hair, for a female body they suspect or charged with languor that the greenness of a small page? Yes, why would not we share some of the glare that you experience to tell our bodies?

"You reproach us very badly and you caress little in love. How safe is that you would enjoy petting a summary torso, back, legs, muscular man, to touch a rough skin, bushy, or pungent to smell your scent?

"This expects your hand when it affects us - the smooth and solid and warm and elastic, like a lively sweetness that would flow to measure at your fingertips - why our palms much more refined than yours, do not like it? In the sensations you are looking to us stroking, is not it, basically, from childhood that you're looking for? Or rather-too-distant time when your tiny hand arose in a womb, a womb? Why deny women the right to such nostalgia, she, you know, was not with his mother's son 'relationship, she was so early weaned from fondling? I assure you: the woman who delights to feel the fabric, rubbing one cheek of a child, to hold her breast in his palm, to follow the finger at one of its curves, can not find his account to caress the man, except in his teens!

"Your body seems basic, without any contingency. We toured as a chamber full tour outwards. The shadow - the shadow wet and warm - not rooted in you. And if your smells are detected, sometimes involved, I think ill adapted to feed the imagination.

"A woman's body is quite another, and only a coarse man thinks he knows that of his companion. You who do not tire of us around, us open, we look at all angles, you know that has never finished with us, so we-my som grooves and furrows, ridges, hills, corners, beaches, cracks, creases, fos-settes, time ... All this merging with some happiness, right? It is not for you I will learn that for a clever and enthusiastic hand, a woman's body is limitless, or at least he speaks for its apparent contours.

"It is also necessary to meet such a hand. That of most men with the most urgent short. Consistently heavy, she forgets to be weightless when he should. It is intrusive is in order, but it is subtle, and in a conquered country. Do not ask him to comply with our natural slopes; to feel where it should linger with complacency and there where nobody wants it evasive. It will randomly febrile prodigal of cock-and-l'âne. ... No, not at random: a single place to truth requires it, even that great places on our bodies, waiting in vain that deigns Advise one of them.

"You dream to attend our games in love? You could benefit greatly, so you want that everything we learn and that our initiatives embarrassing. To witness the kind of ceremony, ritual, that is in us, perhaps some would they finally realize that caresses our favor.

"Woman, I know by nature those expected. In their path, their proper weight, their need for continuity of flowing waters, with disruptions that arouse surprise, shock. I have not had to learn everything about a woman delighted, or which project into the fun. For, to thoroughly explore the body of the Other, it's mine I hear, I rediscovered a lot better than the mirror or my hands on me. It is on my skin, my flesh, I am unwinding from my caress. These are my kidneys, my shoulder, my neck, my hips, I touch, hug or kiss or nibble; my folds that I spread my mucous that I'm mature. This vein beating in the hollow of the neck, and I also dimpled the kidneys. By the stomach, the breasts, these slight depressions in the upper thighs, I know my sweetness, my incredible softness. I am one, and de-doubled and redoubled in delight. I find myself confirmed in my singulari-ty, my taste of women. I give a specific answer, nuanced, as if I married me from head to foot, warm and consistent. So is there not, in our games, this feeling of loneliness that gives love with a man, when each of his words, his actions, is at odds with our expectations, despite this to meet with him so little resonance ... and permeability.

"You feel good, too, that love between women involves a time that has nothing in common with yours. With you, the end is immediately present, unavoidable. You bring in the love relationship, your time busy man for whom the act is an interlude, an interlude between two tasks deemed serious, and your hand is, who does not care preambles . But this time already is marked by haste, as soon 1'origine condemned. The jet puts your seed all-to-end jitters. However much you after you show tender, another time that begins and we see even better break than the initial time aspired to extend us beyond the pleasure - when we reach ! Nay: integrating blissfully fun.

"With the woman I love, I do not feel this change in time. We have the same: one that fits two people who never tire to discover, s'inventorier another. I would think that enough time or duration rather reluctant to dwell in man but rejoice in the wife. That why time in two lovers, does not really end, it gradually becomes exhausted and yet still there is always a starter in each. For the love you have with the price, you should first be made to act indefinite patience of the creator, not the time of the child who, by his haste, manhandles her toy. "

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The Murmurs of love

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The love

It's raining. I want to be the equal of female rain.

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The lover

Each morning, I will dedicate this day.

From a distance, close up, you come with me. I know feel the same flare, depth to deteriorate into a pulp rich juices. With, in my ear, a voice neither scholarly nor futile, distracted or impatient: just one vote. And it is far from near, the natural course of a heart.

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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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Everett Corrigan School

ALBERTINE

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III

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The reader feels a sense of mésaise, as if unaware that the "novel" Albertine is, essentially, to the person of Alfred Agostinelli, a former driver met in Cabourg, Proust took his home in May 1913 as secretary and The left abruptly after a few months imprisonment ... jealous. A leak that ended March 30 1914, the airplane he was flying crashed off novice having Antibes.

But other friends and acquaintances have expanded Proust's Albertine figure, including Bertrand de Fenelon, Albert Nahmias, Henry Rochet ...

Nature seems to provide some balance an individual a specific sexual identity. However, we do Albertine is not presented as an androgynous woman. It exhibits the tastes, behaviors commonly attributed to women. This is even her femininity, her inclinations carry it to his fellows, for greatest torment of his jailer.

"I advance masked. The narrator might endorse that oratorical. And even if it refrains from confusing it with the author, we can not forget that there is in Proust, interpolating the side of Combray as well as that of Guermantes, the ... toward Sodom. What no open mind can not blame him. What reader of this time would not support these lines Fugitive : "Personally, I found absolutely indifferent to the point of view of morality that we should find pleasure from a man or a woman, and too that the natural and human cherchât where one could find it?

It is only permissible to regret that "the taste of female world" in the narrator has confined itself to any external manifestations of this universe that are sets, toilet, comment, pipes, crew ... while the desire the pleasure is associated with a thousand young girls, young women interviewed - once owned in mind - are never just words without resonance, and as ... clauses. Only briefly, Albertine has the presence, have carnal, feminine creatures of Montherlant, a Cocteau a Tournier.

Contemporary Proust, Gustav Klimt draped large bourgeois Vienna fabrics that pass into splendid gowns Fortuny. Scrolls, inlaid, enamel, gold in abundance, do more than adorn the female body: they suggest the inestimable price; they relate to a floral kingdom, mineral, abundant; a â age, a mythical civilization; some lost paradise. But the flesh of the obsessed woman as a painter, he also composed nudes where each key has the value of stroking, touching, an artist dazzle the Venustic.

What is not yet enough for a man who said to belong to the "naive and lascivious race of sensitivities." So he asks his models to have naked on a bed and they do "when no one watches them, legs wide open and fingers to work. So, like Rodin, Klimt sets the woman's privacy, the woman in all states. Without, of course, omit or blur the focus of our fantasies of a man, the source mossy, dark but radiant.

No vulgarity in what seems to never take a snapshot, the whispered confidences but what power of suggestion! No cumbersome, as the pencil, vivid, accurate results and delicacy, emotion, artist, and the natural, well-established, excellent erotic gesture (this is evidenced by the faces that the rapture reversed.)

Why, then, refuse to paint women entwined? Klimt not failed, leaving us with serpentine "Friends" where triumph, with the fluidity lascivious lines, the same modulation shapes, suggesting proximity, convenience beings, analogies sensations, justifies the gleaming constellation where sail the prostrate bodies.

The narrator, himself, continues to stumble to the "mystery" real or illusory, woman, or at least his first tenure and specificity to the nature of pleasure experienced between them, tribades. And alone, could they tell us, but the reader of "novel" Albertine feels that he does not scrutinize, to listen to our companions, even watchdog, captious, to reach the closet where they stand. Empathy must be whole, and the intuition of a crucial component of femininity that feels escapes, with full palms, skin, the contours of a girl or young woman, the greed of the lime to the water.

In an interview on France-Culture in February 1977, Roland Barthes, Proust enthusiast, said: "I read Proust, The Captive and Fugitive ; I am also struck by the fact that it is extremely talkative and there are pages and pages of very big trouble. I did not realize that. That does not diminish my admiration for Proust, but finally we must see also [...] "

It seems that there are more serious than the charge of prolixity fact that Barthes to works cited. And we regret that The Search did not have to author the equivalent of a Klimt. Provided that the narrator had applied to the woman ... full, his genius as an analyst, the acuity of a divination exercised until the minute, his obsession to discover what lies behind the appearances, sensuality Alert multiple and changing facets of creation, its transfiguring power again, all this is making a heady language, friend of the bypass and of the gap,

- we would have had a contribution of first order on the mysteries of femininity.

Because the narrator is placed, by its very nature, out of the game ... or at least held by it at a distance, we are deprived of iridescence, the speckling - lights, the ignition of possessive ... a velvety skin had awakened in him and we had returned, not by summary ratings, embarrassed, or at least common, but with an astounding accuracy and lyricism that so often in Proust, preserve "this sharp incisor that life is not the same as in art, "as Charles Du Bos. In short, with the same joy that the sight of the steeples of Martinville, the voice of a grandmother on the phone, the banks of the Vivonne, a field of apple trees in bloom, the Board of Aunt Leonie in Combray, the small phrase of the sonata Vinteuil ...

What the majority of readers are to women, and they are in Research , qu'affadi, laconic, turned around, transvestite, is for each of them a unique experience, present, past or expected, the smooth the warm, the soft embodied in the volumes that come together harmoniously or engender, it is the good fortune of a symmetry adapted to delight both hands and four members. This is the layer where even resign from his burden of man where to file his inveterate weakness of a child.

After declaring that "It is jealousy that makes a prisoner Albertine [...]," said Ramon Fernandez, in his Proust "jealousy, that is to say the 'inability to possess the mind-consciousness of being loved, and inability to withstand his absence, otherwise said his presence somewhere far away, beyond our grasp. "

course, what did love irritated at not being able to penetrate the hidden agenda ... to be loved? In this closely, we repeat, that the ulterior tendencies-in the work - the narrator will have an additional screen interposed between the front sealed the Other, his inner irreducible, and what the eyes, ears we learn .

I mentioned earlier the famous "little patch of yellow wall." If I were to represent the extreme female pleasure, I questioned this part of the body what a face, such as face, ecstatic, the Viennese painter Water Snake II or Danae. Not that attempts to suggest the "novelist" Albertine.

pity that Proust could not read These pleasures, Colette, published in 1932! He would have found authentic portraits of lesbians, painted woman and connoisseur, with a sharp force, tempered by an understanding, clemency, which the narrator - thinking, by stigmatizing them, better hide his true nature - is devoid .

And it would have been able to meditate these lines, where Colette refers to "soft fraud" mimicking a woman's pleasure as her young lover! This, she says, was "the nightingale's complaint, full notes, repeated, identical, one by one prolonged, precipitated the break up of their trembling balance atop a torrential sob ..." However, it is possible that the Albertine inedible, strangely silent even after mating, has resorted to "mellow and merciful lie."

ó

These regrets expressed, not thin in view of the novelist's ambition, it remains to bend the neck when entering the Temple of Time vanished, recovered, revived, restored to its original novelty, in most large basilica with innumerable chapels, the French literary landscape, and subjugate, until the end of civilization, thousands of the faithful by the proportions of the building, the spiritual nourishment refined quintessential, that you will not dispense count. For as soon as gender-fades, everything becomes undeniable when the narrator depicts the pangs of jealousy, pain of the loss of a loved one, bumpy progress of oblivion, and at first the simple grace of life, all senses.

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The Murmurs of love

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The love

long time, I would have said nothing of death - the presence, power and assiduous in the margin, Sphinx from a distance ... But since she became your dead! ...

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The lover

I look at my hands - and I wonder how, caressing you, could they bring themselves to leave the curves on which they feed, they did honor? Without doubt they have thought - fatal illusion - may still have.

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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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Pokemon Heart Gold Desmume Mac

ALBERTINE

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II

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Homosexuals are said to enjoy the company - Reassuring - women, environment, climate of sweetness, delicacy that comes from them. And as they are, for them, men they have nothing to fear, they would willingly their Cajigal.

The emphasis on Research in to put ornaments and ladies, girls, girlfriends, mistresses and women of every condition, demonstrates the continued interest that the narrator gives them. (Even if one doubts that a woman, the Duchess of Guermantes, moreover, is working for kindly Albertine might take a copy of her dresses - in the fashion of Venetian Fortuny !)

The reader will learn how Albertine "was a direct awareness of his cap and Italian Straw [a] silk scarf" that in her wardrobe, there was a skirt canvas, a white shirt with blue spots, a nightgown, a bathrobe, a kimono ...

It does almost nothing will, however, to be carnal with a creature that creates yet in the narrator, looks "burning desire", according to the agreed formula.

"Before Albertine m'eût obeyed and had removed his shoes, I half his shirt. The two small high breasts so round they were put together seemed not to be part of his body than to have ripened like fruit, and its belly (the hiding place in humans as ugly Spike's still stuck in a statue niche) was closing at the junction of the thighs, by two valves of a curve too sleepy, so relaxing, cloistered as that of the horizon when the sun has disappeared. She took off her shoes, lay down beside me . "(The Captive )

It is true that the physical relations of the two lovers seem tinged with mysticism

" When I think now that my friend [...] had a room twenty feet from mine, down the hall, in the firm tapestry of my father, and every evening, very late, before I leave, she slipped his tongue in my mouth, like a nourishing food with the almost sacred character of all flesh in which the suffering we have endured because of it eventually confer a kind of spiritual grace, [...] "( The Captive )

What is affirmed in this vignette in the first chapter of The Fugitive :

"Albertine I remembered sitting at his pianola, pink under her black hair, I felt on my lips she tried to remove his tongue, his mother tongue, inedible, and holy Mother, whose flame dew were secret that even when Albertine was the only drag on the surface of my neck, my stomach, caressing the surface but somehow made the inside of his flesh, externalized as a fabric that would show his understudy, took even in the most external touches, like the mysterious sweetness of penetration . "

"A language inedible ..." The epithet is new. She never came to the thought of a lover of the common species? He never knew, by "touching the outermost" of his neck, his belly, "the mysterious sweetness of penetration? (Formulation he is allowed to try low if one recalls the remark of Charles Du Bos "Proust has always designed in every circumstance, to use his own words, the essential duty of the mind was" to go to the end of printing ".") But the narrator says in The Prisoner " I fulfilled the duties of an ardent devotion and painful as an offering dedicated to youth and beauty of women. "

But, then, are we not entitled to be surprised that we did not, so careful an observer, a shrewd aesthetic as the equivalent of these shields sixteenth century ^e celebrating the hair, eyes, mouth, breast, stomach, and others more or less noble of the female body? Blazon that would have the same incantatory force a certain "little patch of yellow wall" in the View of Delft , Vermeer.

What hymn to touch, feel important, would compound over feelings of being reported by any of antennae, palpi and tactile corpuscles, which gave us so many proofs of its subtlety of perception and ability to us send them!

barely know us, bit by bit, she had "long blue eyes ',' hair in flowers," which made her the morning, "above the smiling gaze [...] a crown curly black violets. " However his neck "that came entirely from his shirt, was powerful (emphasis added), walleye, coarse. " (It will still say "full and strong." Little Women, so.)

Is it fear of offending that strangles the narrator's pen? He would doubtless have shocked some of his players celebrating, even a prince of the image, metaphor, allusion he was, breasts and thighs and buttocks and sex Albertine; he offended more by heavily discoursing of inversion, early Sodom and Gomorrah ; by telling insisted the actions of Baron Charlus, stooping, entomologist, on the habits of lesbians, curry leaves to the ruling of Colette, strong experience in The Pure and the Impure "[Proust] was he abused, he was ignorant? Gomorrah when he assembles an unfathomable and vicious girls, denounced an agreement, a community, a frenzy of evil angels, we are more than entertained, complacent and a little soft, not having the comfort of the startling truth that guided us through Sodom. "

A truth that it denies Gide, gay found, writing in his Journal, December 2, 1921, after reading pages of Sodom and Gomorrah :" Knowing what he thinks, what it is, it is difficult to see something other than a sham, a desire to protect, a camouflage, could not be more clever, because it can be of benefit anyone to denounce it. "

Judgement is harsh? The author of Corydon could afford. The book, which he admits unvarnished pederast, appears first in small numbers in 1911 and 1920 before being published in current edition in 1924, the year Unless the seed dies .

Incidentally, the sulfur Ulysses by James Joyce is first published serialized in America from March 1918 to December 1920, before being published in Paris February 2, 1922, just months before the death of Proust. Lady Chatterley's Lover , deemed obscene, appeared in Florence in 1928, in Paris in 1932, with a preface by Andre Malraux.

To stick to books ... less scandalous Louys - who loves a woman - was published in 1885, The Songs of Bilitis . Jean-Paul Toulet contemporary of Proust - who loves women - issued in 1905 My friend Nane, "This friend I want to show under clothes, O reader, or adorned with miles adjustments that were like a second figure of her beauty [...]"

And even if Nane n is a silhouette, the discreet eroticism of the author alerts us again.

"Nane had chosen to heat his shirt itself. Squatting by the fire, it shines through the linen, and it seems that the flame is gold, or rather its flesh has the hue of a neighborhood of Mandarin. Now she is watching me from the corner of his eye and asks, less proud of the decisive geometry of her body as her voluptuous flesh which makes your soul to the fingertips of his hip which tightens or its secret shadows she sees my face still moved.

"And she smiled quite obscene. [...] "

Or this, from the Letters to oneself [March 11, 1906]:

" When you get home, my dear Paul, you'd think your friend? She is so tiny, with legs and hands useless, bones thin and there all around, a lot of rustling fabrics and beautiful she likes to dress. After so many tissues where it is irritated, being crumpled, when suddenly meets his flesh is like a summer day, to discover, in the grass, a cool spring and bare. "

Toulet is considered a" minor master ". I am surprised therefore to see so Nane crouching near the fire, and not send me to represent Albertine palpated "on all parts of his body, without waking her. It is true that she slept so deeply that the narrator can write " Sometimes [...] I used to hang my leg against his, like a train that drags and when you print from time to time a slight swing to the beat like intermittent wing What birds who sleep in the air. [...] The sound of his breathing was becoming harder to give the illusion of shortness of fun and when mine was at an end, I could kiss her without interrupting her sleep. It seemed these moments that I came to possess it more completely, like an unconscious and unresisting dumb nature. "

It seems that in 1905 Partage de Midi. Paul Claudel - the woman who loves and abhors the invert - is dialogue in those terms, in Act II, the protagonists:

"MESA - So / I told you before! and I want your body itself / In my arms and you do me no resistance, and I hear in my heart that beats your heart! / It is true that you're a woman, but I'm just a man, / And now I can no more, / I'm like a starving man who can not hold back his tears the sight of food! [...]

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

MESA - I prefer you, Ysé!

Ysé - O word as a blow to my side! O hand of love! O movement of our heart! / O unspeakable iniquity! Ah now come and eat me like a mango! Everything, and me! "

[...]

should solve it: the narrator will never have a single focus whose correctness, novelty - fearlessness! - Justify the desire he felt for said the female body, the pleasure he claims to shoot. Any attempt to evoke the one and the other turns immediately by a set of short memories, insights, considerations, whose relevance, happiness of expression, are forgetting the reader and writing borrowed from the above and they serve ... dodge.

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The Murmurs of love

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The love

I who 'm a painter, writer or composer, let me give up my position in this difficult art: draw up a screen between death and love.

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The lover

Even if it leads to death, what a beautiful slope lies before us ... Like those which the wind develops when the supplies of sand, and are a delight to the eye - the equal of your fall with your kidneys!

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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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How To Make Friendship Bracelets

January 15 February 1 January 1, 2011

ALBERTINE

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Having read the three brilliant books that Nicolas Grimaldi devoted to jealousy in Proust [1] , I took The Captive and The Fugitive . With the same malaise as the first reading.

"The taste of female world is superior geniuses." The word applies Baudelaire, of course, Proust.

First, Research replete with female figures that often the terrain, the authority, the heroines of great novelists, on the other hand, the universe in which they operate is recreated by a language that piles up, amalgam, intrigue, memories, observations, judgments, thoughts, comments the narrator, in the pages at once, overwhelming the reader with a continuous expression of happiness and just humiliate: since evocations , the reported remarks give at any time, the feeling of a flagrant, unimpeachable authenticity, how no one had it not been notified, even without possessing such a keenness of perception, an equal penetration of the innermost recesses heart, the same power, same magnitude of affective memory, combined with the luxuriance of imagination, all schools served Write a twining, twining, profuse, including a breadcrumb conjure the complexity of unwinding?

It remains only to agree on what Baudelaire meant by a "female world".

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Filigrana work, eroticism is omni-present. It is the motive of many major lines, the narrator of those first. Which, without makeup, portrays himself as a man of desire that can not see a girl in bloom or not, and any condition whatsoever, without dreaming of the hail, touch, kiss, knead, the "rumple" possess. This is the obsession, the obsession! This will find, with the figure of Albertine, his vitality.

The narrator brought Balbec one of the young girls in flower in his Paris apartment. Jailer suspicious, jealous to the extreme, torturing, it makes it live in near seclusion until she escapes. His tragic death, the posthumous jealousy lover designs, tracking him from oblivion, occupying the first chapters of Fugitive .

ago in Research , many female figures that are little more than stooges. But with Albertine voluptuous captive of a man, "said the player who knows the prodigious powers of introspection, suggestion, Proust, we will have on Male (capital of rigor) key evidence, or even" capitalissime. In his psychology, certainly, on the manifestations of the desire it arouses, the glare that causes her nakedness with a man who, like Ruskin, "the religion of Beauty," and a connoisseur who admires Giotto, Botticelli, Chardin and Monet. We will, on feelings, feelings of a lover caressing the body loved, coveted, views the finest, fresh, compelling. We will finally, the experience of carnal pleasure, for ineffable essence, an evocation that will really all that was written on the subject, including Lady Chatterley.

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one sketchbook of 1911, I extract these two quotes were not included in Research, and recount the narrator's carnal intercourse with the maid of Mrs. Putbus.

"And then when she gave herself, her face found a simplicity, a gentleness, a youth larger. It seemed that it seemed that giving kisses, she would add to the tenderness, tenderness so sweet and so trusting that it made him look a little girl. The time of possession is where a woman so much she erases any intention, any passion, is so passive and so sweet to let crumple like a flower at this time the woman most majestic and becomes more cruel in her sweet smile nice quiet woman. [...] "

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" I stayed so inert, leaving me to it. "Oh that," I said, tell me the truth is a farmer who taught you that - but no - But who is he? "It's always how I imagined a caress peasant . - Well I shall remember. - Who taught you? - But it's you. - What, me! - Yes, you're just now who told me: 'Just like that'. Then I looked at what you wanted. "I did as these fellows in good faith by giving a hand to a hypnotist who is blindfolded the lead without realizing it to the place where an object is hidden they believe that he discovered while it is only them who showed them. "[...]

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case of sketches, one must be indulgent for a style applied, without grace. The least we can note that the narrator appears in the scene, few ... party. Or when a woman gives herself to him (and a true experience of carnal knowledge of a number of them would have deterred the widespread attitude of the woman in the gift of self, nor in the "peasant caress" - the irrumation? - which is reported to us by inquisitive witness .... And this is not the following passage from the side of the Guermantes , Chapter II, which can dissipate our sense of inauthenticity:

"[...] Already, when I'd lay on my bed and when I started to caress her, Albertine had a tune that I do not know him, goodwill docile, almost childlike simplicity. Erasing all of her concerns, all pretensions usual, the moment before pleasure, such as this that after death, had rendered his face rejuvenated as the innocence of childhood. [...] "

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One of the greatest pleasures of a lover is difficult to contemplate the sleep of the beloved. So great length at the beginning of The Captive , the narrator portrays Albertine asleep and we shared thoughts, feelings, that this show inspires. It is a pity that only two or three notation, for "his hair down along her rosy face [that] was placed beside her on the bed," the pearls of her necklace as her breathing moved, we can replace the end to end it of the sleeper by a it Adonis asleep.

What is true in the passage where, feeling that the sleep of his mistress was "in full", the lover would spread to her: "I jumped on the bed quietly, I slept throughout her, I took the size of one of my arms, I put my lips on his cheek and his heart, then all parts of his body, only put my free hand, and was also raised as pearls, by breathing; myself, I was moved slightly from its steady motion. I had boarded the sleeping Albertine. "(The Captive )

We know nothing of tactile sensations, emotions of successive and varied, a man putting his hand "on all sides" of the body of the lover (seems that no power strokes awaken!)

So that the reader who himself has an experience of what Eluard evokes the term "shared Nights", sees in these pages, a mental construct within the plot, as it gives the feeling that there is ... mistaken identity.

* [1] Nicolas Grimaldi La Jalousie, study on the imaginary Proustian , Actes Sud, 1993; Proust, the horrors of love , PUF, 2008; Essay on jealousy, hell Proustian , PUF, 2010.

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The Murmurs of love

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The love

Whether you exist, you whom I have waited a long time, sometimes desperately, as a consolation past, future, and you look like you, that's me close my eyes in disbelief, gratitude to the spell.

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The lover

Ah, the joy of being able, thanks to you, then greet the woman without hesitation ... You do not know as you are those consoles home safe, mobile and talkative, and what price is your fondness for contemplative silence, when you allow the range of low water which is flush our doorstep to take place within our walls O woman of great amusement!

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François Solesmes The Murmurs of love , Ink Navy.

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How Common Is Dermatomyositis In Shelties

Mireille Balin

IV

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Mortes, women who posed for the Eve by Cranach the Elder, The Birth of Venus by Botticelli , The Venus of the mirror Velasquez, The Great Bather Ingres The woman in the waves Courbet, L'Arlesienne and Van Gogh. Dead models The Madonna of the rock Vinci, La Maja de Goya Nude the Bathers Renoir ... Dead, dead, those that inspired countless female figures of world art.

Yet, through the mediation of a great artist, their charm has escaped the landfill body, rotting flesh, the abyss where Oblivion precipitated dust which was a time object of desire, deposit enjoyment.

This deception seems frozen? It never ceases to flow down to us, constant, inexhaustible, when a master was interposed between the perishable and posterity, and has exalted the bottom of the settling model of reality, "crossing appearances "whose artwork shows.

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I imagine, in the distant future, facing a black and white film, which I know only that he is a mediocre director. I also enter in as one these caves that man has dug into the mountainside to retrieve a precious metal, and he abandons after the exhausted resources.

A half-day welcome me and I try to accommodate the walls where the shadows stir in human form ... If dull, so common, that is founded for the abandonment of the place . Yet suddenly the gray rock lights. For a few seconds, it remains a shining silver vein. Could it be that this cave renfermât traces? I had, for a time too short, the sensation of the unusual and, further, that's incomparable. This was surreptitious and seemed linked to the appearance of a young woman whose other actresses, without consistency, were it not for the Stooges.

And here I am, hoping the problem recur, confirming my sense of presence, which alone had escaped the general tarnishing. But yes, introduced each of its occurring in a medium ghostly shimmer of a raw silk, taffeta, handled under a raking light.

As to persuade me that I do not dream, projects suddenly enormous, the face of one who, without even moving, exhausting his cronies. And I am like one who, after discovering the remains of a vein of great price, would think that imposing vein, the radiance intact, miraculously remained unnoticed.

In truth, what comes to light up a whole section of wall is the face of a woman plenary provided with all its powers, starting with those of governing, dominating each of their attitudes ; to restore the nobility of the human face, to prove fertility, to transform the features. From what country come? Without references, without further justification that the opal or moonstone, it is even strangers, passing, without any asperity that would allow us to retain it for a moment.

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And so, thanks to the cinema, beauty corrosive missing some actresses still reach us as we reached the still starlight extinguished. A photograph is almost always acts as a reminder. We encounter the obstinacy of the model to keep the pose, her eyes cleared by the stubborn fixity of the face. Fault that has the pure, the seduction of it was stale and no longer operates, so that the film makes the great players, talented actresses of aura, duration singular - earnest if necessary, she infuses color as ours and sometimes supplants our breath scansions subject to the reply.

These are only shadows? That some women, projected onto a coarse cloth, give him the luster of satin. Their faces with a sudden close-up sheet, hustle and grabs our face, their curves, their behavior, their connection, authenticate the fascination of the man the scenario lends them. They love rusent, flee, suffering, wrong, it's a passion, a bitterness, a resolution which publish full sluggish or no scope, their eclipse.

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I have no doubt that a hundred years and more after the death of such actresses, men, thanks to a forgotten film, abandonment, will discover - delighted grateful and gently torn - what heights a Lillian Gish, Bette Davis a, a Anabella, a Edwige, an Anna Magnani, Ingrid Bergman a, a Liv Ullmann, induced magnetism, the iridescence of the feminine and they have exhume the same shock that, in a steppe, a Scythian jewel; to reveal whether modern bill, a cave painting, the same contentment as to collect a constant smile that makes us a Creation bruised yet, through a hovering seagull, a palm that bends from the hem on the beach of a sheet of foam, an undulating hills on the horizon ...

... but also one of those women's faces where mass for us to take control, clarity came from far away: - "Not like that, unexpected, I am lost as the face of Yvonne de Calais as the Grand Meaulnes has long sought. In my eyes, you will find reflections of Field, Castle, from "Strange Day". Lost, found, I am the channel, the channel, which overlook the sea, when most men have to stumble on the feminine side. Do you have a sense of increase, in front of my face prospect which aspire to leave quietly? Do you foresee, for him, the profusion of oases that conceals a woman capital? Forget about the roles they made me play fatal - and look at me like you would do with the Angel of Reims, exchanging smiles. "

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Ah! we must give thanks to inventions that allow faces death has rendered to nothingness, to arouse in us, when their image appears animated in a "Time Regained," a sense of event, coming. Of those, even tiny, make this world increased.

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The only biography, but sensitive, passionate, well documented, the actress is that of Daniel Arsand, Mireille Balin or beauty thunderstruck, Lyon, La Manufacture, 1989.

are available on DVD: Don Quixote , Pepe Le Moko , Naples kiss of fire, love Maw, Macao, hell the game , The murderer is afraid at night , Last asset.

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A head seductive and beautiful, a woman's head, I mean, it's a head that dream at a time - but in a confused way - of pleasure and sadness that has a sense of melancholy, weariness, even of satiety, or - an idea contrary, that is to say an eagerness, a desire to live, coupled with a bitterness flowing back, as from deprivation or despair. The mystery, the regret are also characters of Beauty.

* * * * * ( Charles Baudelaire

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And your smile, your smile, raise my heart in a snowstorm.

* * * * Serge Essenin

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ago women who inspire the desire to overcome them and enjoy them; but it gives the desire to die slowly under her gaze.

* * * * * * * Charles Baudelaire

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May I watch you long as you look at the flames.

* * * * * * * * Valéry Larbaud

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