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The pain of seeing another treated better than oneself is not always jealousy.
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I would not counsel anyone who wishes to know man to be either foolish or wise while he is young: let him give himself free rein and examine himself.
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There are three things in my country that time alone makes white: flax, hemp, and hair.
For five years, every morning, the young solitary had recognized a young girl on the distant summit of the Arzéem by her garment of white linen.
Eyes accustomed to great distances see far: and a man’s gaze is keener when he looks at a woman.
There are three miles between the Arzéem and the monastery. The monastery stood on the tip of a hill. One still climbs to it by thirty paths, monuments to a hundred thousand storms. All have been hollowed out by ravines; it is the bed of the torrents where man sets his foot as soon as the torrents have passed, flowing from the heights of heaven onto the hill, from the hill into the plain, and from the plain into the Avezer and from the Avezer into the ocean.
O you whom I am about to celebrate, whose very names I do not know, I shall give you none, young lovers! Who could bear to have her beloved’s name changed, and who could bear to have his beloved’s name changed?
Let us have this pity for the dead: to do nothing that might have grieved them had they been able to foresee it.
A thousand times I was told this story in my childhood; but never did the married women or their mothers or their venerable grandmothers (for these tales were the tales of women; young girls never told tales in my native country, and men never told any like them), never, I say, did any of them give the two lovers names.