How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by
misfortune, having lost those they loved, awakened
from the dream of a tardy compensation, from the illusion
of another existence where God will finally be just,
after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused
of the mirages of happiness, have given up the fight
and desire to put an end to this ceaseless tragedy,
or this shameful comedy.
Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose
strength is exhausted, the hope of those who no longer
believe, the sublime courage of the conquered!
Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can
always open and pass through to the other side.
Nature had an impulse of pity; she did not shut us
up in prison. Mercy for the despairing!
If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration
of great minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is
undoubtedly a genius.
Great minds that are healthy are never considered
geniuses, while this sublime qualification is lavished
on brains that are often inferior but are slightly
touched by madness.
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Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant, Complete http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/etext02/gm00v11.txt
