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Quote by Michel Houellebecq

“Tanto quanto a literatura, a música pode determinar uma reviravolta, um transtorno emotivo, uma tristeza ou um êxtase absolutos; tanto quanto a literatura, a pintura pode gerar um deslumbramento, um olhar novo depositado sobre o mundo. Mas só a literatura pode dar essa sensação de contato com outro espírito humano, com a integralidade desse espírito, suas fraquezas e grandezas, suas limitações, suas mesquinharias, suas ideias fixas, suas crenças; com tudo o que o comove, o interessa, o excita ou o repugna. Só a literatura permite entrar em contato com o espírito de um morto, da maneira mais direta, mais completa e até mais profunda do que a conversa com um amigo — por mais profunda e duradoura que seja uma amizade, numa conversa nunca nos entregamos tão completamente como o fazemos diante de uma página em branco, dirigindo-nos a um destinatário desconhecido.”

Quote by Michel Houellebecq

Book:Soumission
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Soumission

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Michel Houellebecq
Michel Houellebecq

Michel Houellebecq is a French author known for his incisive social commentary and unique literary style. His works often explore themes of loneliness, consumerism, and the meaning of human existence in modern society. more

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Book:A Grande Pérola da Sabedoria
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“The two friends went on and on toward the sierra, at times keeping the highway, at times. deviating from it. Whenever they passed through a town or a hamlet, the slow peal of bells tolling the death-knell announced to our hero that the Angel of Death was not losing his time; that his arm reached to every part of the world, and that, though Gil felt it now weighing upon his breast like a mountain of ice, none the less did it scatter ruin and desolation over the entire surface of the earth. As they went, the Angel of Death related many strange and wonderful things to his protege. The foe of history, he took pleasure in scoffing at its pretended utility, in disproof of which he narrated many facts as they had actually occurred, and not as they are recorded on monuments and in chronicles. The abysses of the past opened before the entranced imagination of Gil Gil, revealing to him facts of transcendent importance concerning the fate of man and of empires, disclosing to him the great mystery of the origin of life and the no less great and terrible mystery of the end to which we, wrongly called mortals, are progressing, and causing him, finally, to comprehend, by the light of this sublime philosophy, the laws which preside at the evolution of cosmic matter, and its various manifestations in those ephemeral and transitory forms which are called minerals, plants,animals, stars, constellations, nebula, and worlds. ("The Friend Of The Death")”

DeathHistoryAngel Of Death
Book:Ghostly By Gaslight
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“Very well, but - who are you?' again asked Gil Gil, in whom curiosity was beginning to get the better of every other feeling. 'I told you that when I first spoke to you - I am your friend. And bear in mind that you are the only being on the face of the earth to whom I accord the title of friend. I am bound to you by remorse! I am the cause of all your misfortunes.' 'I do not know you,' replied the shoemaker. 'And yet I have entered your house many times! Through me you were left motherless at your birth; I was the cause of the apoplectic stroke that killed Juan Gil; it was I who turned you out of the palace of Rionuevo; I assassinated your old house-mate, and, finally, it was I who placed in your pocket the vial of sulfuric acid.' Gil Gil trembled like a leaf; he felt his hair stand on end, and it seemed to him as if his contracted muscles must burst asunder. 'You are the devil!' he exclaimed, with indescribable terror. 'Child!' responded the black-robed figure in accents of amiable censure, 'what has put that idea into your head? I am something greater and better than the wretched being you have named.' 'Who are you, then?' 'Let us go into the inn and you shall learn.' Gil hastily entered, drew the Unknown before the modest lantern that lighted the apartment, and looked at him with intense curiosity. He was a person about thirty-three years old; tall, handsome, pale, dressed in a long black tunic and a black mantle, and his long locks were covered by a Phrygian cap, also black. He had not the slightest sign of a beard, yet he did not look like a woman. Neither did he look like a man... ("The Friend of Death")”

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Book:Ghostly By Gaslight
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“We have a long distance to travel,' said the Angel of Death to our friend Gil, as soon as they had left the Villa. 'I will order my chariot.' And he struck the ground with his foot. A hollow rumbling, like that which precedes an earthquake, sounded under the ground. Presently there rose round the two friends an ash-colored cloud of vapor, in the midst of which appeared a species of ivory chariot, resembling the chariots we see in the bas-reliefs of antiquity. A brief glance would have sufficed (we will not disguise the fact from out readers) to show that the chariot was not made of ivory, but solely and simply of human bones polished and joined together with exquisite skill, but retaining still their natural form. The Angel of Death gave his hand to Gil and they ascended the chariot, which rose into the air like the balloons of the present day, but with the difference that it was propelled by the will of its occupants. ("The Friend of Death")”

DeathAngel Of DeathChariot
Book:Ghostly By Gaslight
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