If you live long enough, you'll see that every victory turns into a defeat.
The day had been spent in the expectation of these hours, and now they were crumbling away, becoming, in their turn, another period of expectancy...It was a journey without end, leading to an indefinite future, eternally shifting just as she was reaching the present.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote reflects on the nature of time and the perpetual anticipation of future moments that often slips away.
Simone De Beauvoir's quote delves into the existential experience of time, emphasizing how moments of expectation can feel fleeting and elusive. It suggests that as we await the arrival of certain experiences or milestones, those moments can dissolve into the past before we truly grasp them, leaving us in a continuous cycle of longing and anticipation for what comes next, which can never truly be held onto.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about the importance of living in the moment, I could use this quote to illustrate how we often overlook the present while waiting for future joys.
More from Simone De Beauvoir
All quotes →Two separate beings, in different circumstances, face to face in freedom and seeking justification of their existence through one another, will always live an adventure full of risk and promise." (p. 248)
To catch a husband is an art; to hold him is a job.
Sex pleasure in woman is a kind of magic spell; it demands complete abandon; if words or movements oppose the magic of caresses, the spell is broken.
As long as there have been men and they have lived, they have all felt this tragic ambiguity of their condition, but as long as there have been philosophers and they have thought, most of them have tried to mask it.
Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day. The housewife wears herself out marking time: she makes nothing, simply perpetuates the present … Eating, sleeping, cleaning – the years no longer rise up towards heaven, they lie spread out ahead, grey and identical. The battle against dust and dirt is never won.
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A man has no religion who has not slowly and painfully gathered one together, adding to it, shaping it; and one's religion is never complete and final, it seems, but must always be undergoing modification.
I am concerned with only one thing, the moral and social conditions of my generation.
With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?
We all have to die a bit every now and then and usually it's so gradual that we end up more alive than ever. Infinitely old and infinitely alive.
Whence had they come The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome? What sacred drama through her body heaved When world-transforming Charlemagne was conceived?