I am incapable of conceiving infinity, and yet I do not accept finity. I want this adventure that is the context of my life to go on without end.
Simone de BeauvoirTags: life old-age ageing inifinity
...which we welcomed precisely because it happened to suit our convenience.
Simone de BeauvoirOn the evenings when my parents held parties, the drawing-room mirrors multiplied to infinity the scintillations of a crystal chandelier. Mama would take her seat at the grand piano to accompany a lady dressed in a cloud of tulle who played the violin and a cousin who performed on a cello. I would crack between my teeth the candied shell of an artificial fruit, and a burst of light would illuminate my palate with a taste of blackcurrant or pineapple: all the colours, all the lights were mine, the gauzy scarves, the diamonds, the laces; I held the whole party in my mouth.
Simone de BeauvoirShe offered her mouth to him, as if enchanted. A Persian princess, a little Indian, a fox, a morning glory, a lovely wisteria--it always pleased them when you told them they looked like something, like something else.
Simone de BeauvoirA man attaches himself to woman -- not to enjoy her, but to enjoy himself.
Simone de BeauvoirThe word love has by no means the same sense for both sexes, and this is one cause of the serious misunderstandings that divide them.
Simone de BeauvoirBecause we are separated everything separates us, even our efforts to join each other.
Simone de Beauvoir...مرگ عزیز، مرگی که زیبایی گلها از اوست، شیرینی جوانی از اوست، مرگی که به کاروکردار انسان، به سخاوت و بیباکی و جانفشانی و از خودگذشتهگی او معنا میدهد، مرگی که همهی ارزش زندهگی بسته به اوست...
Simone de BeauvoirLes cas extrêmes nous attachaient, au même titre que les névroses et les psychoses : on y retrouvait exagérées, épurées, dotées d'un saisissant relief les attitudes et les passions des gens qu'on appelle normaux.
Simone de BeauvoirA life is such a strange object, at one moment translucent, at another utterly opaque, an object I make with my own hands, an object imposed on me, an object for which the world provides the raw material and then steals it from me again, pulverized by events, scattered, broken, scored yet retaining its unity; how heavy it is and how inconsistent: this contradiction breeds many misunderstandings.
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