Georges Duhamel Quotes
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We do not know the true value of our moments until they have undergone the test of memory.
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Suffering has roused them from the sleep of gentle life, and every day fills them with a terrible intoxication. They are now something more than themselves; those we loved were merely happy shadows.
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There is no French town in which the wounds inflicted on the battle-field are not bleeding.
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Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.
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A library is that venerable place where men preserve the history of their experience, their tentative experiments, their discoveries, and their plans... in books may be found the recipes for daily living - the prescriptions for the mind and the heart.
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No doubt about it: error is the rule, truth is the accident of error.
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Courtesy is not dead - it has merely taken refuge in Great Britain.
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The man who has entered into a beautiful union is sure of at least one person to whom he can give the best that he possesses.
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It is always brave to say what everyone thinks.
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To drink is a small matter. To be thirsty is everything.
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The swimmer adrift on the open seas measures his strength, and strives with all his muscles to keep himself afloat. But what is he to do when there is no land on the horizon, and none beyond it?
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You conquered the landscape with the soles of shoes, not the tires.
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In the beds which the piety of the public has prepared on every side, stricken men await the verdict of fate.
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When you are in it up to your ears, keep your mouth shut.
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The desire for order is the only order in the world.
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I can no longer think what I want to think. My thoughts have been replaced by moving images.
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I have too much respect for the idea of God to make it responsible for such an absurd world.
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It is strange what a contempt men have for the joys that are offered them freely.
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Let us lose none of their humble words, let us note their slightest gestures, and tell me, tell me that we will think of them together, now and later, when we realise the misery of the times and the magnitude of their sacrifice.
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We do not know the true value of our moments until they have undergone the test of memory. Like the images the photographer plunges into a golden bath, our sentiments take on color; and only then, after that recoil and that trans-figuration, do we understand their real meaning and enjoy them in all their tranquil splendor.
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We can know nothing till after this grave debate. The soul must withdraw, for this is not its hour. Now the knife must divide the flesh, and lay the ravage bare, and do its work completely.
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