: Hell (): Henri Barbusse, Robert Baldick: Books. Hell has ratings and reviews. Huda said: قال سارتر الجحيم هو الآخرون ويقول باريوس الجحيم هو الخوف أول مرة قرأت عن هذه الرواية القديمة كنت ف. Henri Barbusse () was a French novelist and a member of the French Communist son of a French father and an English mother, Barbusse.

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They will exchange a first or a last useless glance. In the twilight when everything fades, they will sit down near the light, in the room full of haloes; they will drag themselves to the window’s void. Of what use is it to be beautiful and chaste? She had come back a bit tired out by the thousands of little nothings she had already done.

Some one was going to come, that evening perhaps, or the next day, or the day after. But if we share loneliness, we are not entirely alone. The little town, our house, the drawing-room with the furniture always arranged just so, their places never changed, like tombstones.

In spite of all sorts of separation, there is always an awful beginning of happiness between them. Those harbusse simplicities are erased from my heart.

If love troubled me, it was because of a great thought and not a mere instinct. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. I sank back and leaned on the bed, a huge object with a vague human shape, like a corpse.


I remembered similar afternoons, years before and the present seemed to be that past, as if the glowing heat had effaced time and had stifled all other days beneath its brooding wings.

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But I plainly saw that even his eyes did not care, those same eyes which kindled at the sight of the servant girl, that ignoble Venus with untidy hair and dirty finger nails. Then he rose and went over to her awkwardly, as though fascinated. What exactly is it about being a voyeur? In the setting of the room that the twilight began to invade, I saw the outline of my forehead, the oval of my face, and, under my blinking eyelids, the gaze by which I enter into myself as into a tomb.

Do you really believe what you say? I started to light the lamp. I distinctly heard one man, the man who was so calm and simple, catch his breath. However, the visitor who brought the bottle was Chinese, not French.

But the author meant the Franco-Prussian War. There I was now in that room.

Patrick McGuinness is a fellow and tutor in French at St. High up, near the ceiling, above the door, always kept locked, there was a light.

The Inferno by Henri Barbusse

She put into her tone a great gentleness, almost sadness, strangely harmonising with the children’s presence. He was scarcely to be distinguished in the evening light.

I went downstairs and joined the rest of my fellow-boarders in the brown and gold dining-room. Barbuss had just strength enough to fall into his arms. Why does he not preserve him from the distress of that sensuousness which flowers in his flesh and falls back on him again like spittle?


The Inferno by Henri Barbusse – Free Ebook

I remember things at random only, but the most beautiful, the sweetest memories are gone. I do not know whether the universe has any reality apart from me. But all this is not love. Little did I know how much this book would strike me. I barbuse not know her, and I did not care to know her.

He seated himself on a chair, a sorry figure in the dusk. I barbbusse her bosom rising and falling, and her motionless face, and the living book that was merged with her. He was thinking of leaving. Fear moulded them, burrowed into their hearts. There is a public domain edition of this work available on Project Gutenberg there called The Inferno It is prefaced with an introduction by Edward O’Brien.

The author strips man of all his externals and perhaps that is what he wishes to show. Perhaps my having taken in and retained this sight in all its breadth, my having learned that the living truth is sadder and more sublime than I had ever believed, will be my sole glory.