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To lie about a far country is easy

Guy de Maupassant

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Guy de Maupassant
Age: 42 †
Born: 1850
Born: August 5
Died: 1893
Died: July 6
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Short Story Writer
Writer
Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant
Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant
Guy de Valmont
Joseph Prunier
Lying
Easy
Country

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History, that excitable and unreliable old lady.
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A human being - what is a human being? Everything and nothing. Through the power of thought it can mirror everything it experiences. Through memory and knowledge it becomes a microcosm, carrying the world within itself. A mirror of things, a mirror of facts. Each human being becomes a little universe within the universe!
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Since governments take the right of death over their people, it is not astonishing if the people should sometimes take the right of death over governments.
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Travel, like dreams, is a door that opens from the real world into a world that is yet to be discovered
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And taking her friend’s hand, she put it on her breast, on that firm round covering of a woman’s heart which the male often finds so satisfying that he makes no attempt to find what lies beneath it.
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I told myself 'Everything is a being! The shout that passes into the air is an entity like an animal, since it is born, produces a movement, and is again transformed, in order to die. So the fearful mind that believes in incorporeal beings is not wrong. What are they?
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Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.
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How weak our mind is how quickly it is terrified and unbalanced as soon as we are confronted with a small, incomprehensible fact. Instead of dismissing the problem with: We do not understand because we cannot find the cause, we immediately imagine terrible mysteries and supernatural powers.
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Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink.
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To contest an author's right to create a poetic or realistic work is to want to force him to change his temperament, challenge his originality, refuse to allow him to use the eye and the intelligence nature has given him.
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Patriotism is a kind of religion it is the egg from which wars are hatched.
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To avoid each other, their eyes had developed an amazing mobility with all the cunning of enemies fearful of meeting each other head on.
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You've never lived until you've almost died. For those who have fought for it, life has a flavor the protected shall never know.
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...A strange art – music – the most poetic and precise of all the arts, vague as a dream and precise as algebra.
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The public is composed of numerous groups whose cry to us writers is: 'Comfort me.' 'Amuse me.' 'Touch my sympathies.' 'Make me sad.' 'Make me dream.' 'Make me laugh.' 'Make me shiver.' 'Make me weep.' 'Make me think.'
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She was a sweet girl but not really pretty, a rough sketch of a woman with a little of everything in her, one of those silhouettes which artists draw in three strokes on the tablecloth in a café after dinner, between a glass of brandy and a cigarette. Nature sometimes turns out creatures like that.
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One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.
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A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.
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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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Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time we people the void with phantoms
Guy de Maupassant