Word: camus
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...Since childhood it was my dream to go where all the poets and artists had been. Rimbaud, Artaud, Brancusi, Camus, Picasso, Bresson, Goddard, Jeanne Moreau, Juliette Greco, everybody - Paris for me was a Mecca. I had never traveled, never been to Europe, had very little money, so I worked in a factory and then in a bookstore and I saved for about two years. We just lived on bread and a little cheese, but it was so romantic. I imagined someday having a gallery and an atelier, and here I am. My atelier is a little hotel that overlooks Montparnasse...
...French Culture Flourish As a French student, I was quite surprised by many points of your article "In Search of Lost Time" [Dec. 3]. It is true there are no more figures like Camus, Sartre, Satie or Debussy in France. But we have such great artists as Le Clezio, Béjart and Boulez. Even philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy is a bit famous in the U.S. Maybe Americans cannot cite French authors, but I don't think many French can cite more than three authors who are not thriller or detective-novel writers. There are many interesting original...
...from English. That's about the same percentage as in Germany, but there the total number of English translations has nearly halved in the past decade, while it's still growing in France. Earlier generations of French writers - from Molière, Hugo, Balzac and Flaubert to Proust, Sartre, Camus and Malraux - did not lack for an audience abroad. Indeed, France claims a dozen Nobel literature laureates - more than any other country - though the last one, Gao Xingjian in 2000, writes in Chinese...
...have no idea what this book is about, but the combination of the male bathroom symbol pointing a gun at his head, the word “apathy” in bold, the sign language at the bottom, and the mention of Camus and “Office Space” in the reviewer’s quote are enough to capture any mild cynic’s interest. There are probably many pseudo-intellectuals out there making this their manifesto. Your witty friends would eat this...
...write in response to your request for information regarding the incident that befell Professor L***. All seemed peaceful at 8 p.m. in Sanders Theater the night before Commencement. The house was packed, but I noticed Professor L***. A Camus-esque fly was making lazy circles in front of the first row of seats beneath the balcony where he sat. Many of those present had been celebrating, and some were the worse for wear, including a young man at the end of Professor L***’s row whom I took to be the MC and who had fallen asleep...