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Sunday, May 21, 2006

I long believed that one was born a writer (Bénabou)

I long believed that one was born a writer, that it was enough to allow to ripen within oneself for an appropriate number of years this precious seed, and that then one day the first book would appear, as had earlier, at the appointed hour, the first tooth. All this should take care of itself spontaneously and without any particular effort. After the fashion of what happens during certain hours of dreaming, when ideas and phrases suddenly start bursting forth: pages then seem to write themselves, words call forth words, verbs crowd in, adjectives overlap, and in the guise of a bedazzled spectator, one attends a feast prepared by someone else.

Marcel Bénabou, Why I Have Not Written Any of My Books

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