Quotes from Henri Barbusse

En la luz, la apariencia; en la sombra, nosotros. La sombra es la realidad de milagro que traduce lo invisible.

An aeroplane booms overhead. We follow its evolutions with our faces skyward, our necks twisted, our eyes watering at the piercing brightness of the sky. Lamuse declares to me, when we have brought our gaze back to earth, "Those machines 'll never become practical, never." "How can you say that? Look at the progress they've made already, and the speed of it." "Yes, but they'll stop there. They'll never do any better, never.

Due eserciti che si combattono, sono come un sol grande esercito che si suicida.

My silent comrade, who is making great strides with lowered head, points out a field: "The cemetery," he says; "it was there before it was everywhere, before it laid hold on everything without end, like a plague.

Andiamo avanti, non sappiamo dove. Non sappiamo niente, tranne che il cielo e la terra stanno per confondersi nel medesimo abisso.

Quando si viene a sapere, o la si vede di persona, della morte di uno di quelli che facevano la guerra accanto a te e che vivevano esattamente alla tua stessa maniera, prima ancora di capire provi un colpo al cuore. È come se d'un tratto venissi a sapere che tu stesso sei stato annientato. Il dolore arriva solo dopo un po'.

Human contact wears things out with disheartening slowness.

You can no more look destiny in the face than you can look at the sun, and yet destiny is grey

Apothéose. Ombre, musique. Mes yeux, lassés du jour qui ment, Ô ma sainte, seule en novembre, Vous cherchent adorablement Dans la prière de la chambre…

Le temps semble s'être arrêté… Tu baisses ton profil sublime, Et nous nous penchons vers l'abîme Dans un frisson d'éternité

J'ai rêvé de ce que j'oublie, Je vis de ce qu'on m'a laissé.

Et mi-rêvant, je ne sais guère Si c'est moi qui t'écris, ou toi…

Nous serons reconnus par les grandes douleurs.

Tu pleures, tant ta peine est grande, Dans un désert, sans rien savoir… Et moi, debout auprès du soir, Je suis triste comme une offrande

L'amour chante, silencieux, Les ténèbres ouvrent tes yeux.

Tu nous domines de silence, Tu nous hantes d'éternité.

Toi dont la douceur est si douce Qu'elle console l'Inconnu !

Hélas, ô sacrifice, ô gloire, Ô silence qui va saigner.

In a state of war, one is always waiting. We have become waiting-machines. For the moment it is food we are waiting for. Then it will be the post. But each in its turn. When we have done with dinner we will think about the letters. After that, we shall set ourselves to wait for something else.

I should die some day. Had I ever thought of it? I reflected. No, I had never thought of it. I could not. You can no more look destiny in the face than you can look at the sun, and yet destiny is grey.

It is an important experience to be in the presence of a thinking creature who is crying. A weak, broken creature who is crying creates the same impression as an omnipotent god whom one implores; for in its weakness and defeat it rises above the human condition.

Then, by dint of seeing the days born in the morning and miscarrying in the evening, I became afraid to die, and this fear was my first passion.

We deceive ourselves a good deal about love. It is almost never what they say it is.

To cease to love is worse than to hate, for say what you will, death is worse than suffering. I am crying because one is alone.