Polish - Novelist | May 5, 1846 - November 15, 1916
The sky is one whole, the water another; and between those two infinities the soul of man is in loneliness.
Henryk Sienkiewicz
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On an exhausted field, only weeds grow.
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It has been said that Poland is dead, exhausted, enslaved, but here is the proof of her life and triumph.
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If the infinity of the sea may call out thus, perhaps when a man is growing old, calls come to him, too, from another infinity still darker and more deeply mysterious; and the more he is wearied by life the dearer are those calls to him.
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Evidently the merit depends on the result of the work.
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This homage has been rendered not to me - for the Polish soil is fertile and does not lack better writers than me - but to the Polish achievement, the Polish genius.
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But the French writers always had more originality and independence than others, and that regulator, which elsewhere was religion, long since ceased to exist for them.
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The profession of the writer has its thorns about which the reader does not dream.
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Day is like day as two beads in a rosary, unless changes of weather form the only variety.
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