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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Victime des desirs, esclave des regrets, L'homme s'agite, et s'use, et vieillit sans progres Sur sa toile de Penelope; Comme un sage mourant, puissions-nous dire en paix J'ai trop longtemps erre, cherche; je me trompais; Tout est bien, mon Dieu m'enveloppe." Upon the small remains of Amiel's prose outside the Journal there is no occasion to dwell.
"Vouloir ce que Dieu veut est la seule science Qui nous met en repos." None of us can escape the play of contrary impulse; but as soon as the soul has once recognized the order of things and submitted itself thereto, then all is well. "Comme un sage mourant puissions nous dire en paix: J'ai trop longtemps erre, cherche; je me trompais: Tout est bien, mon Dieu m'enveloppe." January 28, 1881.
And so what was an austere monologue becomes dialogue, reluctance becomes docility, renunciation passes into peace, and the sense of painful defeat is lost in the sense of recovered liberty" "Tout est bien, mon Dieu m'enveloppe." Nor is this all.
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