Romain Rolland citations

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Romain Rolland

Date de naissance: 29. janvier 1866
Date de décès: 30. décembre 1944

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Romain Rolland, né à Clamecy le 29 janvier 1866 et mort à Vézelay le 30 décembre 1944, est un écrivain français, lauréat du prix Nobel de littérature de 1915.

D’une culture forgée par la passion de l’art et de la musique et le culte des héros, il chercha sa vie durant un moyen de communion entre les hommes. Son exigence de justice le poussa à souhaiter la paix « au-dessus de la mêlée » pendant et après la Première Guerre mondiale. Il est animé par un idéal humaniste et la quête d’un monde non violent, par son admiration pour Léon Tolstoï, grande figure de la non-violence, par les philosophies de l’Inde , l’enseignement de Râmakrishna et Vivekananda, par sa fascination pour ʿAbd-al-Bahāʾ , puis par le « monde nouveau » qu'il espérait voir se construire en Union soviétique.

Citations Romain Rolland

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„Be reverent before the dawning day. Do not think of what will be in a year, or in ten years. Think of to-day.“

— Romain Rolland, Jean Christophe Vol I
Context: Be reverent before the dawning day. Do not think of what will be in a year, or in ten years. Think of to-day. Leave your theories. All theories, you see, even those of virtue, are bad, foolish, mischievous. Do not abuse life. Live in to-day. Be reverent towards each day. Context: Be reverent before the dawning day. Do not think of what will be in a year, or in ten years. Think of to-day. Leave your theories. All theories, you see, even those of virtue, are bad, foolish, mischievous. Do not abuse life. Live in to-day. Be reverent towards each day. Love it, respect it, do not sully it, do not hinder it from coming to flower. Love it even when it is gray and sad like to-day. Do not be anxious. See. It is winter now. Everything is asleep. The good earth will awake again. You have only to be good and patient like the earth. Be reverent. Wait. If you are good, all will go well. If you are not, if you are weak, if you do not succeed, well, you must be happy in that. No doubt it is the best you can do. So, then, why will? Why be angry because of what you cannot do? We all have to do what we can.... Als ich kann. Gottfried to Jean-Christophe. Part 3: Ada

„In all that I write, may her will, not mine, be done!“

— Romain Rolland
Context: Never do I hesitate to look squarely at the unexpected face that every passing hour unveils to us, and to sacrifice the false images of it formed in advance, however dear they may be. In me, the love of life in general predominates over love of my own life (that, indeed, would never have sufficed to bear me up). May life herself speak! However inadequate I may be in listening to her, and in repeating her words, I shall try to record them, even if they contradict my most secret desires. In all that I write, may her will, not mine, be done! Invitation to the Journey

„The slaughter accomplished by man is so small a thing of itself in the carnage of the universe!“

— Romain Rolland
Context: The slaughter accomplished by man is so small a thing of itself in the carnage of the universe! The animals devour each other. The peaceful plants, the silent trees, are ferocious beasts one to another. The serenity of the forests is only a commonplace of easy rhetoric for the literary men who only know Nature through their books!... In the forest hard by, a few yards away from the house, there were frightful struggles always toward. The murderous beeches flung themselves upon the pines with their lovely pinkish stems, hemmed in their slenderness with antique columns, and stifled them. They rushed down upon the oaks and smashed them, and made themselves crutches of them. The beeches were like Briareus with his hundred arms, ten trees in one tree! They dealt death all about them. And when, failing foes, they came together, they became entangled, piercing, cleaving, twining round each other like antediluvian monsters. Lower down, in the forest, the acacias had left the outskirts and plunged into the thick of it and, attacked the pinewoods, strangling and tearing up the roots of their foes, poisoning them with their secretions. It was a struggle to the death in which the victors at once took possession of the room and the spoils of the vanquished. Then the smaller monsters would finish the work of the great. Fungi, growing between the roots, would suck at the sick tree, and gradually empty it of its vitality. Black ants would grind exceeding small the rotting wood. Millions of invisible insects were gnawing, boring, reducing to dust what had once been life.... And the silence of the struggle!... Oh! the peace of Nature, the tragic mask that covers the sorrowful and cruel face of Life!

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