Andre Gide
Andre Gide
André Paul Guillaume Gidewas a French author and winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1947 "for his comprehensive and artistically significant writings, in which human problems and conditions have been presented with a fearless love of truth and keen psychological insight". Gide's career ranged from its beginnings in the symbolist movement, to the advent of anticolonialism between the two World Wars...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionAutobiographer
Date of Birth22 November 1869
CountryFrance
The belief that becomes truth for me - is that which allows me the best use of my strength, the best means of putting my virtues into action
Our deeds attach themselves to us like the flame to phosphorus. They constitute our brilliance, to be sure, but only in so far as they consume us.
The most decisive actions of life are most often unconsidered actions.
They establish distinctions and reserves which I cannot apply to myself, for I exist only as a whole; my only claim is to be natural, and the pleasure I feel in an action, I take as a sign that I ought to do it.
Every perfect action is accompanied by pleasure. By that you can tell what you ought to do.
actions whose motives he cannot understand that is, actions not prompted by the hope of profit.
The most decisive actions of our life -- I mean those that are most likely to decide the whole course of our future -- are, more often than not, unconsidered.
One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time
Families, I hate you! Shut-in homes, closed doors, jealous possessors of happiness
Most often people seek in life occasions for persisting in their opinions rather than for educating themselves.
The miser puts his gold pieces into a coffer; but as soon as the coffer is closed, it is as if it were empty.
The most decisive actions of our life - I mean those that are most likely to decide the whole course of our future - are, more often than not, unconsidered.
You have to let other people be right' was his answer to their insults. 'It consoles them for not being anything else.
The loveliest creations of men are persistently painful. What would be the description of happiness?