: Hell (): Henri Barbusse, Robert Baldick: Books. Hell has ratings and reviews. Huda said: قال سارتر الجحيم هو الآخرون ويقول باريوس الجحيم هو الخوف أول مرة قرأت عن هذه الرواية القديمة كنت ف. Henri Barbusse () was a French novelist and a member of the French Communist son of a French father and an English mother, Barbusse.
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How the intricacies unravel, and simplicity appears! It is because we are not self-contained that we suffer.
Even the trees didn’t stir. I do not recall batbusse own first glance of love, my own first gift of love. What richer alms could you bestow on these two lovers, when again love will die between them? Nov 09, Ali rated it really liked it.
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They had almost been their real selves. She saw I was not waiting for anybody or anything.
The greatness of the scenes is not the act as much as Barbusse’s language: I watched the day go round there, on that little, white, round place, like a sundial. At once both voyeur and philosopher, what becomes of him who sees too much? I waited a long time, not daring to go to sleep.
The places on the whitish woodwork and the pink wallpaper that had been touched oftenest had become smudgy–the edge of the door, the paint around the lock of the closet and the wall alongside the window where one pulls the curtain cords. Love had become an idol, a thing. The bright lighting beckoned to me to enter.
A number of people seated themselves with the good manners of polite society. At the arsenal gate stood a soldier doing nothing. I killed myself with minutes and hours. I would grow old quietly, as quiet as I was that day in the room where so many people had left their traces, and yet no one had left his own traces.
I leaned up against the wall once more and looked prayerfully. I meant to work, but as a matter of fact I only listened.
Henri Barbusse – The Greatest Literature of All Time
Refresh and try again. The evening gently dispelled the ugliness, wiped out the misery and the horror, changed the dust into shadow, like a curse turned into a blessing. You felt it in the sound of his voice, the very charm of his intonation, his barubsse choice of words. The new world opened.
As I passed through the hallway, a door went shut hastily, cutting off the laugh of a woman taken by surprise. Death is the one thing we really have time to see. A shame, really, as it does ultimately deliver some very profound ideas about life, death and everything in between in a way that only the miserable French and I mean helll as a compliment can conjure.
She would be an angel if reality flourished upon the earth. The little boy that I was is dead forever, before my eyes. Hope is unhappy, because it hopes, No more prayer: They dropped back into the past easily and naturally. I saw now how I should be punished for having entered into the living secrets of man.
He trod on Amy’s gown, which had dropped from the girl’s hand. Everywhere, since they existed. She put her finger on his neck. They did not see us. The street and the houses had quieted down. I should die some day.