Humeurs passagères

La grande amour que vous m’aviez donnée

Le vent des jours a rompu ses rayons –

Où fut la flamme, où fut la destinée

Où nous étions, où par la main serrée

Nous nous tenions.

Mais le futur dont vous attendez vivre

Est moins présent que le bien disparu.

Toute vendange à la fin qu’il vous livre

Vous la boirez sans pouvoir être qu’ivre

Du vin perdu.

Catherine Pozzi 

« The most beautiful and most profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and true science. He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest and the most radiant beauty which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most elementary forms - this knowledge, this feeling, is at the center of true religiousness. What is the meaning of human life, or of organic life altogether? To answer this question at all implies a religion. Is there any sense then, you ask, in putting it? I answer, the man who regards his own life, and that of his fellow-creatures, as meaningless is not merely unfortunate but almost disqualified for life. »

Albert Einstein