Julien Gracq Quotes

No, what numbed these fields, peopled with bad dreams was not the oppressive grip of a plague but rather an ailing retreat, a sort of sad widowhood. Man had started to subdue these vacant expanses, then had grown weary of eating into it, and now even the desire to preserve what had been claimed had perished. He had established everywhere an ebb, a sorrowful withdrawal. His cuttings into the forest, which were seen at long intervals, had lost their hard edges, their distinct notches: now a thick brushwood had driven its sabbath into the broad daylight of the glades, hiding the naked trunks as high as their lowest branches.

It was a fossilized path: the will which had cut this gash out of these solitary places so that the blood and sap would flow there was long since dead - and dead too were the circumstances which had guided this will. A whitish and indurated scar remained, gradually gnawed away by the earth like a flesh that heals itself, yet its direction was still vaguely cut into the horizon; a language and crepuscular sign rather than a way forward - a worn-out lifeline which still vegetated through the fallow land as it does on the palm of a hand. It was so old that, since it had been constructed, the very configuration of the land must have changed imperceptibly.

There are cities that are damned for some people by the mere fact that they seem created to close off the distances that are the only reason for living.

A redoubtable alchemy was at work behind impenetrable veils as the forest prepared it's nocturnal mysteries.

A history of literature, unlike history as such, ought to list only victories, for its defeats are no victory for anyone.

Often, beyond the next turning, footfalls of a herd galloping across stone were heard, or further in the distance, with reassuring grunts, a wild boar could be seen, trotting with steady stride along the edge of the road with her sow and a whole procession of young in tow. And then one's heart beat faster upon advancing a little into the subtle light: one might have said that the path had suddenly become wild, thick with grass, its dark paving-slabs engulfed by nettles, blackthorn and sloe, so that it mingled up time past rather than crossing country-side, and perhaps it was going to issue forth, in the chiaroscuro of thicket smelling of moistened down and fresh grass, into one of those glades where animals spoke to men.

Floating high on the waters of catastrophe

the very air I breathed in these empty, chilly halls ...seemed vaguely impregnated with a more volatile essence, the kind of which it is expressively said that they exist in the state of scents, traces which escape attention once they have roused it, and in whose subtle distillation time--a time which instead of devouring itself seemed here to decant and thicken itself like the lees of old wine, with that almost spiritual succulence by which certain noble vintages make the years themselves explode on the tongue--counted for almost everything.

And what can still delight an inert stone except to become, once more, the bed of a raging torrent?

On its own, having escaped my grasp, the spool I had loosed was unwinding.

but the force of traditions, as in all crumbling empires, grows proportionately with the explicit revelation, in the machinery of government and commerce alike, of the preponderant action of all principles of inertia...

This stretch through the fogbound forest gradually lulled Grange into his favorite daydream; in it he saw an image of his life: all that he had he carried with him; twenty feet away, the world grew dark, perspectives blurred, and there was nothing near him but this close halo of warm consciousness, this nest perched high above the vague earth.