Denis Diderot

The Paradox of Acting

Annabelle Gauthier

He implored the touch of a hand which was at once given him, he sometimes caught it without asking leave, he kissed it once and again. I the while, alone in a corner, avoiding a sight which irritated me, stifling my sighs, cracking my fingers with grasping my wrists, plunged in melancholy, covered with a cold sweat, I could neither show nor conceal my vexation.

Because, not having achieved the success which I had promised myself with it, and not flattering myself that I could do much better, I grew disgusted with a calling for which I thought I had not enough talent.

Surprisingly funny at times, and the footnotes had some crazy 18th century French artist tea

I read the 1883 translation by Walter Herries Pollock to be specific 

Surprisingly funny at times, and the footnotes had some crazy 18th century French artist tea

I read the 1883 translation by Walter Herries Pollock to be specific 