Science is history arranged according to the superstition and taste of the moment. The vocabulary of scholars has no wit, no salt. These heavy tomes have no soul, they are filled with distress.
Blaise CendrarsRead
One's life, from being an exterior thing, grows inwards. Its intensity stays the same; and, d'you know, it's most mysterious, the corners in which the joy of living can sometimes hide away.
Interpretation
Life's true essence is often found within, revealing unexpected joys even in the smallest corners.
In this quote, Blaise Cendrars reflects on the nature of life, suggesting that while our experiences may seem outwardly focused, the true depth and richness of life are discovered when we turn our gaze inward. This inward journey can unveil hidden joys and mysteries that might otherwise go unnoticed, emphasizing that life's intensity remains constant regardless of external circumstances.
In practice
During a motivational speech about personal growth, you could use this quote to illustrate the importance of introspection.
Science is history arranged according to the superstition and taste of the moment. The vocabulary of scholars has no wit, no salt. These heavy tomes have no soul, they are filled with distress.
My poor life This shawl Frayed on strongboxes full of gold I roll along with Dream And smoke And the only flame in the universe
Writing is to descend like a miner to the depths of the mine with a lamp on your forehead, a light whose dubious brightness falsifies everything, whose wick is in permanent danger of explosion, whose blinking illumination in the coal dust exhausts and corrodes your eyes.
Only a soul full of despair can ever attain serenity and, to be in despair, you must have loved a good deal and still love the world.
I'm not an extraordinary worker, I'm an extraordinary daydreamer. I exceed all my fantasies-even that of writing.
Life is not orderly. No matter how we try to make it so, right in the middle of it we die, lose a leg, fall in love, or drop a jar of applesauce.
It was a marvelous night, the sort of night one only experiences when one is young. The sky was so bright, and there were so many stars that, gazing upward, one couldn't help wondering how so many whimsical, wicked people could live under such a sky.
There's that bubble of childhood that makes you innocently do anything. Then, when you get older, that pops, and you're aware of limitations and judgment and social pressures and things like that.
The object of living is work, experience, happiness.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses. Out of a misty dream, our path emerges for a while, then closes, within a dream.
I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life.
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