Resumo de Gardens Of Fraxinet

How much? How many loves disappointed, torn, decimated, prohibited, forgotten in the meanders of time? How much could and did not have the chance and happiness to be lived and appeased? How much lost themselves? How much survived? So many men and women strewed our history and always strew it with their passions, their hopes, their regrets and even of their pain too often dumb. Because silence can speak better than thousand useless words. Because silence acknowledges itself very. Why is it necessary so much to have suffered to sacrifice itself in vain to the most savage hatred whereas with deepest to oneself it was enough to only like just a little? And it was already sufficient. It even already too was. Yes, it happens that hearts cross and separate throughout a life, that they are liked then are hated pouring such an amount of gall where formerly there was such an amount of honey. And all that because they suffer always immured in these painful and so deep silences. Gardens of Fraxinet; it is initially a thunderbolt followed of a length and terrible glare of thunder which tears into two the sky between the paradise and obscure darkness. And of the captive beings between the two. And I had forgotten. Forgotten that all is neither white nor black, that there is indeed a medium in these tearing pangs. I had still forgotten that others lived similar stories with ours; that the world is world since millenia already. That it is fiction or reality, the History carried certainly many loves in its wake. Great secrecies too. And it is this memory which should not perish, these loves which should not die only because they are remained unknown. Here are what this novel pointed out to me; two simple human beings filled of courage, invaded total lapse of memory of oneself with the profit of destinies which can now appear entirely illusory to us. Because it is so a long time. And yet, distance like more close to us, doesn't the love remain most invaluable and, so more not coveted of all the human feelings? That it makes happy or overpowers misfortune, whether one finds oneself there or that one loses oneself there, that one tears there, that one hates there, that one gives oneself to it of all his heart... only the love, truth, corrodes us the heart from his pure nobility until making some badly. Yes. Here are that which it is necessary to remember; that at the end of the road, even on more skinned among all, to have had at least happiness, so short it was, to know to look at far behind and to smile. Just because the love will have known to cross to it his.

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