Villiers de L'Isle-Adam

Dead voices, lost sounds, forgotten noises, vibrations lockstepping into the abyss and now too distant ever to be recaptured!...What sort of arrows would be able to transfix such birds?

Thoughts and feelings change sometimes, as one crosses the frontiers.

There are even some stars so remote that their light will reach the Earth only when Earth itself is a dead planet, as they themselves are dead, so that the living Earth will never be visited by that forlorn ray of light, without a living source, without a living destination. Often on fine nights when the park of this establishment is vacant, I amuse myself with this marvelous instrument (telescope). I go upstairs, walk across the grass, sit on a bench in the Avenue of Oaks _ and there, in my solitude, I enjoy the pleasure of weighing the rays of dead stars.

Uncertainty is a quality to be cherished, therefore _ if not for it, who would dare to undertake anything?

There are some wounds that one can heal only by deepening them and making them worse.

Nature was quick to pass the sponge of her deluges over these awkward sketches (dinosaurs), these first nightmares of Life.

Brunettes are full of electricity.

Within this new work of art a creature from beyond the reach of Humanity has insinuated herself and now lurks there at the heart of the mystery, a power unimagined before our time.

I have come with this message: since our gods and our aspirations are no longer anything but scientific, why shouldn't our loves be so too?

I am a man who knows nothing, guesses sometimes, finds frequently and who's always amazed.

And in any case...there are no more supernatural noises nowadays...

If I could record them and transmit them to the present age, they would constitute nothing more, nowadays, than dead sounds. They would be, in a word, sounds other than what they actually were, and from what their phonographic labels pretended they were _ since it's in ourselves that the silence exists. It was while the sounds were still mysterious that it would have been really interesting to render the mystery palpable and transferable.

Consider this: when you stand at the entry to a steel factory, you can make out through the smoke some men, some metal, the fires. The furnaces roar, the hammers crash; and the metalworkers who forge ingots, weapons, tools, and so on are completely ignorant of the real uses to which their products will be put. The workers can only refer to their products by conventional names. Well, that's where we all stand, all of us! Nobody can see the real character of what he creates because every knife blade may become a dagger, and the use to which an object is put changes both its name and its nature. Only our ignorance shields us from terrible responsibilities.