literarianist 's review for:

Isabelle Gide by André Gide

4.0

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“The word Ennui is doubtless too weak to describe the fits of intolerable depression to which I have been subject ever since I can remember; they overcome us suddenly; something undefinable in the air starts them; a second before, all was smiling, all was enjoyable; suddenly a murky vapour rises from the depths of the soul and interposes itself between desire and life; it forms a kind of livid screen that separates us from the rest of the world, whose warmth, love, colour and harmony can now only reach us as a refracted, warped, transposed abstraction; we are aware of things, but they fail to move us…”