Plus nous nous efforçons d'expliquer rationnellement ces phénomènes historiques, plus ils nous apparaissent dénués de sens et incompréhensibles.
Tout homme vit pour soi, profite de sa liberté pour atteindre ses buts personnels et sent de tout son être qu'il peut à chaque instant accomplir ou ne pas accomplir tel acte; mais une fois qu'il l'aura accompli, cet acte accompli à un moment précis du temps deviendra irrévocable et appartiendra à l'histoire qui, de libre qu'il était, le rend nécessaire. (...) L'homme consciemment vit pour soi, mais il sert inconsciemment d'instrument à des fins historiques et sociales. (...) a tort et raison celui qui prétend que c'est le dernier coup de pioche qui a fait s'écrouler la colline que l'on creusait. (Guerre et Paix, livre troisième, 1ère partie, ch. I)
Lorsque cinq semaines plus tard ces hommes quittèrent Moscou, ils ne formaient plus une armée; c'était une foule de maraudeurs, chacun portait sur lui ou transportait en voiture quantité d'objets qui lui sembaient précieux ou nécessaires. Leur but à tous en quittant Moscou n'était pas de conquérir, comme autrefois, mais de garder ce qu'ils avaient pris. Comme un singe qui, ayant introduit sa main dans l'étroit col d'une cruche et saisi une poignée de noix, se refuse à ouvrir son poing pour ne pas lâcher ce qu'il a saisi, et par là périt, ainsi les Français devaient périr parce qu'ils traînaient avec eux leur butin, et qu'abandonner ce butin leur était aussi impossible qu'au singe de lâcher la poignée de noix. (Guerre et Paix, livre troisième, 3ième partie, ch. XXVI)
Leo TolstoyS., a clever and truthful man, once told me the story of how he ceased to believe. On a hunting expedition, when he was already twenty-six, he once, at the place where they put up for the night, knelt down in the evening to pray -- a habit retained from childhood. His elder brother, who was at the hunt with him, was lying on some hay and watching him. When S. had finished and was settling down for the night, his brother said to him: 'So you still do that?' They said nothing more to one another. But from that day S. ceased to say his prayers or go to church. And now he has not prayed, received communion, or gone to church, for thirty years. And this not because he knows his brother's convictions and has joined him in them, nor because he has decided anything in his own soul, but simply because the word spoken by his brother was like the push of a finger on a wall that was ready to fall by its own weight. The word only showed that where he thought there was faith, in reality there had long been an empty space, and that therefore the utterance of words and the making of signs of the cross and genuflections while praying were quite senseless actions. Becoming conscious of their senselessness he could not continue them.
Leo TolstoyTag: faith
He saw either death or the approach of it everywhere. But his undertaking now occupied him all the more. He had to live his life to the end, until death came. Darkness covered everything for him; but precisely because of this darkness he felt that his undertaking was the only guiding thread in this darkness, and he seized it and held on to it with all his remaining strength.
Leo TolstoyTag: death despair darkness dying
Error is the force that welds men together; truth is communicated to men only by deeds of truth.
Leo TolstoyWhat's all this love of arguing? No one ever convinces anyone else.
Leo TolstoyTag: argument convincing
L’homme a conscience d’être un Dieu et il a raison parce que Dieu est en lui. Il a conscience d’être un cochon et il a également raison parce que le cochon est en lui. Mais il se trompe lorsqu’il prend le cochon pour un Dieu.
Leo TolstoyThen she thought of how life could still be happy, and how tormentingly she loved and hated him, and how terribly her heart was pounding.
Leo TolstoyMy brother's death: wise, good, serious, he fell ill while still a young man, suffered for more than a year, and died painfully, not understanding why he had lived and still less why he had to die. No theories could give me, or him, any reply to these questions during his slow and painful dying.
Leo TolstoyThen these moments of perplexity began to recur oftener and oftener, and always in the same form. They were always expressed by the questions: What is it for? What does it lead to? At first it seemed to me that these were aimless and irrelevant questions. I thought that it was all well known, and that if I should ever wish to deal with the solution it would not cost me much effort; just at present I had no time for it, but when I wanted to I should be able to find the answer. The questions however began to repeat themselves frequently, and to demand replies more and more insistently; and like drops of ink always falling on one place they ran together into one black blot. Then occurred what happens to everyone sickening with a mortal internal disease. At first trivial signs of indisposition appear to which the sick man pays no attention; then these signs reappear more and more often and merge into one uninterrupted period of suffering. The suffering increases, and before the sick man can look round, what he took for a mere indisposition has already become more important to him than anything else in the world -- it is death! That is what happened to me.
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