— these divine mathematics. — As the others guide us in physical mechanics. There is always rectitude in order; and consequently some transcendent geometry needs to be applied to it. We need to be guided in it by some axiom or theorem that takes the place of instinct and inner sense, which are not always in play. Twenty guides are needed in place of one.
March 2.
“Old age (says Chateaubriand) brings good and evil.”
Type. The works of the ancients, even the mediocre ones, are all stamped with so beautiful a type!
March 3.
The nectar and ambrosia with which one must perfume the verses that are the language of the gods. The phosphorus with which one must illuminate them. The philter with which they must be soaked. The pure essence with which one must season them.
March 5.
One scarcely remembers their life and their persons. It was nothing serious, nothing fixed. Even in their virtues there was a mobility and a lack of solidity that makes them apt to flow out of memory. Will-o’-the-wisps in their thought, vapor in their feelings, in short, in their character a confused configuration that the winds made their plaything.
March 6.
And happy perhaps those of whom one could say that they have taste and have no distastes.
March 7.
To choose the essential, inevitable idea, and then to conclude from the idea.
March 8.
One feels there a mind that is a friend to other minds.
A piece of furniture can have a pretty form and be in bad taste, as they say. It has a pretty form when the design pleases the eye. It is in bad taste when it does not immediately announce, or does not promise on reflection, the kind of convenience for which it ought to be made. They do not flatter expectation. Such are those great mahogany beds that look so heavy and so massive that they inevitably exclude all idea of softness and ease and consequently of rest. They invite neither lying down nor sleeping.
Profiles must be clear and contours... I have no idea. — And contours not very definite perhaps, and undulating though marked.
The dry profile is less clear than cutting. And it is because it is cutting that it is not clear, for then it wounds the sight. It is too clear in itself to be so in us.
A circle is not a contour. A contour is an indefinite and slightly undulating circle. Poetic mathematics!
Therefore: through the clarity of profiles and the indefiniteness of contours.
March 9.
— and one sees there at least a mind that digests well what it thinks.
March 10.
The very excellence or extreme aptness of these expressions proves that one has occupied oneself much with what should have occupied one little, that one has keenly felt what one should have felt only very lightly.
1
The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert, Volume II · Book Mode · Diotimos