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Might i have had my own will, i would not have married wisdom herself, if she would have had me.
-Michel De Montaigne
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Might I Have Had My Own Will,

Michel De Montaigne
Might i have had my own will, i would not have married wisdom herself, if she would have had me.
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Might Married Celibacy

More From Michel De Montaigne

She comes to me when she wants to be fed. and after i feed her -- guess what -- she's off to wherever she wants to be in the house, until the next time she gets hungry. she's smart enough to know she can't feed herself. she's actually a very smart cat. she gets loved. she gets adoration. she gets petted. she gets fed. and she doesn't have to do anything for it, which is why i say this cat's taught me more about women, than anything my whole life.
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There was a warmth of fury in his last phrases. he meant she loved him more than he her. perhaps he could not love her. perhaps she had not in herself that which he wanted. it was the deepest motive of her soul, this self-mistrust. it was so deep she dared neither realise nor acknowledge. perhaps she was deficient. like an infinitely subtle shame, it kept her always back. if it were so, she would do without him. she would never let herself want him. she would merely see.
Self Soul Phrases
She bent her finger and then straightened it. the mystery was in the instant before it moved, the dividing moment between not moving and moving, when her intention took effect. it was like a wave breaking. if she could only find herself at the crest, she thought, she might find the secret of herself, that part of her that was really in charge. she brought her forefinger closer to her face and stared at it, urging it to move. it remained still because she was pretending... . and when she did crook it finally, the action seemed to start in the finger itself, not in some part of her mind.
Moving Waves Breaking Secret
So she had to satisfy herself with the idea of love - loving the loving of things whose existence she didn't care at all about. love itself became the object of her love. she loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for. it was not the world that was the great and saving lie, but her willingness to make it beautiful and fair, to live a once-removed life, in a world once-removed from the one in which everyone else seemed to exist.
Love Beautiful Lying
She smiled. she knew she was dying. but it did not matter any longer. she had known something which no human words could ever tell and she knew it now. she had been awaiting it and she felt it, as if it had been, as if she had lived it. life had been, if only because she had known it could be, and she felt it now as a hymn without sound, deep under the little whole that dripped red drops into the snow, deeper than that from which the red drops came. a moment or an eternity- did it matter? life, undefeated, existed and could exist. she smiled, her last smile, to so much that had been possible.
Life Hymns Snow
...fact was she knew more about them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like. could she sing? (was it nice to hear when she did?) was she pretty? was she a good friend? could she have been a loving mother? a faithful wife? have i got a sister and does she favor me? if my mother knew me would she like me? (140)
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