“When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not
act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens
profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in
cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she
makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more
detached, more free, than that of a young man. Being poorly integrated
in the universe of humanity and hardly able to adapt herself therein,
she, like the child, is able to see it objectively; instead of being
interested solely in her grasp on things, she looks for their
significance; she catches their special outlines, their unexpected
metamorphoses. She rarely feels a bold creativeness, and usually she
lacks the technique of self-expression; but in her conversation, her
letters, her literary essays, her sketches, she manifests an original
sensitivity. The young girl throws herself into things with ardor,
because she is not yet deprived of her transcendence; and the fact that
she accomplishes nothing, that she is nothing, will make her impulses
only the more passionate. Empty and unlimited, she seeks from within her
nothingness to attain All.”
― Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex
― Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex
Comrade Von Pussycat
No comments:
Post a Comment
I'd love to hear from you!