Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.
Jules RenardRead
If I had my life to live over again, I would ask that not a thing be changed, but that my eyes be opened wider.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a desire for greater awareness and appreciation of life rather than longing for a different life.
Jules Renard reflects on the notion that if he had the chance to live his life again, he wouldn't wish for any changes to the events that transpired. Instead, he wishes for a broader perspective, implying that a deeper understanding and awareness of life's experiences can enhance one's appreciation for the journey they have taken.
In practice
In a motivational speech about embracing life's challenges.
Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.
If one were to build the house of happiness, the largest space would be the waiting room.
When I think of all the books still left for me to read, I am certain of further happiness.
It doesn't pay to say too much when you are mad enough to choke. For the word that stings the deepest is the word that is never spoke, Let the other fellow wrangle till the storm has blown away, then he'll do a heap of thinking about the things you didn't say.
Literature is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to people who have none
I have no religion,β says Borneau, βbut I respect the religion of others. Religion is sacred.β Why this privilege, this immunity?... A believer creates God in his own image; if he is ugly, his God will be morally ugly. Why should moral ugliness be respectable?
When you die of sorrow it's as if you've broken all the bones in your body, bruised yourself all over, cracked your skull. That's sorrow.
She was snatched back from a dream of far countries, and found herself on Main Street.
...my heart may have been in it but my soul was not.
There is really only one way to deal with Misery. Accept her presence. Like most experiences in life, we must acknowledge the passage gracefully and let her move through our lives because she brings with her a hidden gift.
For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not on it, I get up.
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