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YEAR 1791
The courageous man has courage, and the brave man likes to show it.
A martial or a warlike people. The martial people knows how to wage war, is practiced in that art, has a natural aptitude for all its exercises. The warlike people seeks to wage it, is happy only when engaged in it, has an invincible inclination for its agitations. Etc.
January 18, 1791. Tuesday.
Walk at the stern of the island behind the metropolitan church of Paris, at half past four in the afternoon, the Seine swelling with turbid waters, the sky covered with clouds. Yet a time pleasant and happy enough for me. Etc.
January 17.
Elegance and slowness. There is care in elegance. That very care must show.
January 19.
Success. Serves men as a pedestal. It makes them appear greater. If reflection does not measure them.
Vivacity. To say cold things vivaciously and with fire. A custom of southerners. It is because their ordinary vivacity comes from their blood, not their soul.
January 21, Saturday evening, 1791.
Imagination without erudition (he who has [it] has wings and no feet.
Sunday, January 23, 1791.
Flood. The Seine wished to see the Bastille destroyed. She called upon the waters of heaven, which carried her to the foot of the walls where those famous towers reigned, which the inhabitants of Paris brought to the ground three times three months and nine days ago.
Even when the poet speaks of things he wishes to make hateful, his style must be calm, his terms moderate, and he must spare the enemy, keeping the dignity that comes from the peace of his soul, superior to all things. Let him remember that beautiful saying in Lucan: Pacem summa tenent...
Do you hear those who are silent?
Familiar words, says Voltaire, are the springs of style. That is well said, for it is through them indeed that style bites and penetrates the reader. Through them great thoughts have currency, as it were, and are presumed to be of sound alloy, like gold and silver stamped with a familiar mark. These familiar words inspire, toward the man who uses them to make extraordinary thoughts more perceptible, they inspire, I say, confidence in him. For in his use of the common language one recognizes a man who knows life and things, who has been able to compare, who belongs to this world, who is awake, as it were, and does not sleep or dream. Moreover, these words alone make the style frank. They announce that the man who [writes] has long possessed the thought or feeling he expresses, that he has nourished himself on it, that they are entirely his own, and that he is so accustomed to them that common expressions suffice to express these things that have become ordinary within him through their long gestation.
Moreover, what one says seems truer for it. For clarity is so much a characteristic of truth that it is often mistaken for truth itself. Now among words none are so clear as those called familiar.
January 26, 1791.
Oblivion! How can this word be so sweet!
January 28, 1791.
This kind of beauty captivates thought, isolates it, and holds it apart from every other communication... These gentle thoughts, by contrast, allow other impressions, mingle with our memories, with every state of our souls, with all our occupations, occupy and isolate our mind, our soul, and our attention. Those are the best.
A winter without cold and without fire.