Like a volcano that casts from its bosom stones, earths, iron, and an infinity of materials, all red from the flames and fire of poetry.
(For Saint Denis.) That all-powerful hand that ceaselessly applies unhoped-for remedies to irreparable ills.
Mme de Ch. said very well of M.é [Molé?]: “more capable of doing good than of believing it.”
Everything composed needs some repetition in its parts to be well understood and well retained by memory, and also to appear to us as a whole. In all symmetry there is a middle. Every middle is the knot of a repetition, that is, of two similar extremities.
Mlle P. (of the publiciste) is like Mlle Bihérou: she makes wax skeletons of the human heart and mind.
That is only too true (one sees it only too clearly in the turn of our sentences and the obscure grandiloquence of all our words when we write gravely) “we inflate our conceptions.” And the man who found this expression (J.-J. R.) inflated his own more than anyone. (Above all, he inflated his feelings.)
March 25.
The style in which one speaks to God. How clear it is!
Few minds are spacious; few even have an empty place and offer some vacant point. Almost all have narrow capacities occupied by some knowledge that plugs them. What torture to speak to full heads, into which nothing from outside can enter! A good mind, to enjoy itself and let others enjoy it, must always keep itself greater than its own thoughts. And for this it must give them a pliant form, easy to contract and extend, fit, finally, to maintain their natural flexibility.
All those minds with short views see clearly in their little ideas and see nothing in those of others, like those bad eyes that see at close range what is obscure and at a distance can perceive nothing of what is clear. Minds of night and darkness.
Great minds are those that disguise their limits, that mask their mediocrity.
Hardly wise is one who has only his own wisdom, and hardly learned one who is so only through his own knowledge.
There are minds of which one can say, “it is light here,” and others of which one can say only, “it is warm here.” There is much heat where there is much movement (and conversely); and there is much light where there is much serenity. Without serenity, no light.
Music and familiar airs. Or: there is no music more agreeable than variations on familiar airs.
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The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert, Volume II · Book Mode · Diotimos