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Gustave Flaubert

Gustave Flaubert Books

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madame bovary

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Early Writings

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November

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Correspondance

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Letters

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Salammbo

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A Simple Heart

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Doamna Bovary

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Selected Letters

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The letters

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Three Tales

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“Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memories of my youth speak to me as I walk, just as the sea shells crunch under my feet on the beach. The crash of every wave awakens far-distant reverberations within me... I hear the rumble of bygone days, and in my mind the whole endless series of old passions surges forward like the billows. I remember my spasms, my sorrows, gusts of desire that whistled like wind in the rigging, and vast vague longings that swirled in the dark like a flock of wild gulls in a stormcloud... On whom should I lean, if not on you? My weary mind turns for refreshment to the thought of you as a dusty traveler might sink onto a soft and grassy bank...”

LoveMemoriesTrust
Author:Gustave Flaubert
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“Deep in her soul, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like a sailor in distress, she would gaze out over the solitude of her life with desperate eyes, seeking some white sail in the mists of the far-off horizon. She did not know what this chance event would be, what wind would drive it to her, what shore it would carry her to, whether it was a longboat or a three-decked vessel, loaded with anguish or filled with happiness up to the portholes. But each morning, when she awoke, she hoped it would arrive that day, and she would listen to every sound, spring to her feet, feel surprised that it had not come; then at sunset, always more sorrowful, she would wish the next day were already there.”

SoulWaitingSadDepressionSimileTranslationMadame BovaryLydia Davis
Book:madame bovary
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“An overwhelming curiosity makes me ask myself what their lives might be like. I want to know what they do, where they're from, their names, what they're thinking about at that moment, what they regret, what they hope for, their past loves, their current dreams ... and if they happen to be women (especially the young ones) then the urge becomes intense. How quickly would you want to see her naked, admit it, and naked through to her heart. How you try to learn where she comes from, where she's going, why she's here and not elsewhere! While letting your eyes wander all over her, you imagine love affairs for her, you ascribe her deep feelings. You think of the bedroom she must have, and a thousand things besides ... right down to the battered slippers into which she must slip her feet when she gets out of bed.”

LoveLifeWomenStrangers
Author:Gustave Flaubert
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“Inasmuch as existence originates from corruption, corruption from desire, desire from sensation, sensation from contact, I have ever avoided all action, all contact, and perpetually – motionless as the stela of a tomb, exhaling my breath from my two nostrils, fixing my eyes upon my nose, and contemplating the ether in my mind, the world in my members, the moon in my heart – I dreamed of the essence of the great Soul whence continually escape the principles of life, even as sparks escape from fire. Thus at last I found the supreme Soul in all beings, and all beings in the supreme Soul; and I have been able to make enter in to it mine own soul in which I have enclosed all my senses.”

Soul
Book:The Temptation of St. Antony
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“En efecto, aquellas mujeres, que acudían a la vez a su pensamiento, se estorbaban las unas a las otras y se empequeñecían, como bajo un mismo nivel de amor que las igualaba. Cogiendo, pues, a puñados las cartas mezcladas, se divirtió durante unos minutos dejándolas caer en cascadas, de la mano derecha a la mano izquierda. Finalmente, aburrido, cansado, Rodolfo fue a colocar de nuevo la caja en el armario diciéndose: —¡Qué cantidad de cuentos!”

Letters
Book:madame bovary
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“Znaš li da je mladi školski naraštaj silno glup ? Nekada je imao više pameti; zabavljao se ženama, mačevanjem, orgijama; sad se doteruje po Bajronu, sanja o očaju i do mile volje okiva sebi srce ... Utrkuju se ko će imati bleđe lice i najlepše reći : sit sam sveta ! Sit sveta ! Žalosno zaista : sit sveta u osamnaestoj godini ! Zar ne postoji više ljubav, slava, poslovi ? Zar je sve umrlo ? Nema više prirode, nema cveća za mladog čoveka ? Ostavimo se jednom toga. Dajmo se na tugu u umetnosti, pošto više osećamo tu stranu, ali dajmo se veselju u životu; neka puca zapušač, neka se drolja svlači, sto mu muka ! Pa ako nam neke večeri, u sumrak, dok za jedan čas traju magla i sneg, dođe neka dosada života, pustimo je neka dođe, ali ne često. Treba sebi češati srce s vremena na vreme sa malo bola, da sva gamad sa njega spadne. To je to što tebi savetujem, što se ja trudim da primenim. – Ernestu Ševalijeu, 15. Aprila 1839”

LettersPisma
Book:Correspondance
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“Ti se nadaš da čuješ nešto više o Viktoru Igou. Šta mogu da ti o njemu kažem ? To je čovek kao i svaki drugi, sa dosta ružnim licem i dosta prostom spoljašnjošću. Ima izvaredne zube i veličanstveno čelo, bez obrva, bez trepavica. Malo govori, izgleda da pazi na sebe i da neće da govori više nego što treba; vrlo je učtiv i pomalo usiljen. Veoma mi se sviđa zvuk njegovog glasa. Imao sam uživanje da ga posmatram izbliza; gledao sam ga sa čuđenjem, kao neku kasicu u kojoj bi se nalazili milioni i kraljevski dijamanti, razmišljajući o svemu što je izišlo iz tog čoveka, koji je tada sedeo pored mene na jednoj maloj stolici, i stalno upirući oči u njegovu desnu ruku, koja je napisala toliko lepih stvari. A to je, međutim, bio čovek zbog koga mi je najviše zakucalo srce otkad sam na svetu, i možda čovek koga sam najviše voleo od svih onih koje ne poznajem. Govorilo se o pogubljenjima, o osvetama, o lopovima, itd. Taj veliki čovek i ja upravo smo najviše razgovarali; ne sećam se više da li sam rekao pametne stvari ili glupe, ali sam ih rekao prilično mnogo. – Sestri, Pariz januara 1843.”

LettersPisma
Book:Correspondance
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“In the end idealism annoyed Bouvard. ‘I don’t want any more of it: the famous cogito is a bore. The ideas of things are taken for the things themselves. What we barely understand is explained by means of words that we do not understand at all! Substance, extension, force, matter and soul, are all so many abstractions, figments of the imagination. As for God, it is impossible to know how he is, or even if he is! Once he was the cause of wind, thunder, revolutions. Now he is getting smaller. Besides, I don’t see what use he is.”

GodReligionSpiritualityLanguageIdealismAbstractions
Book:Bouvard and Pécuchet
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“¿Sabéis lo que hace tan delicada al paladar la carne de esos patés trufados de Estrasburgo con los que os atracáis en la comida? Pues que al animal que os reservaban lo hicieron saltar sobre planchas de metal al rojo vivo, y que no lo mataron sino hasta que su hígado se puso lo bastante hinchado y tumefacto para resultar apetitoso. ¡Qué importa su suplicio si ha contribuido a hacernos disfrutar! También el genio se eleva en lento sufrimiento, esos gritos del corazón que admiráis, esos pensamientos elevados que os hacen vibrar, nacieron de lagrimas que no habéis visto, de angustias que desconocéis. ¿Y eso qué? Bien debía terminar comido el animal y bien había de hablar el poeta. ¡Mejor pues que hayan sufrido en sus entrañas, si la carne del primero es exquisita, si deleitosa la frase del segundo!”

PainVeganFlaubert
Author:Gustave Flaubert
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“And on the endless dusty ribbon of the highway, on sunken roads vaulted over by branches, on paths between stands of grain that rose to his knees, the sun on his shoulders and the morning air in his nostrils, his heart full of the night's bliss, his spirit at peace and his flesh content, he would ride on his way ruminating his happiness, like someone who keeps savoring, hours later, the fragrance of the truffles he has eaten for dinner.”

True Love
Book:madame bovary
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