Albert Cohen

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Albert Cohen (1895-08-16 - 1981-10-17) was a Greek-born Jewish Swiss novelist who wrote in French.

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Le livre de ma mère [The Book of My Mother] (1954)

  • In my solitude I sing to myself a sweet lullaby, as sweet as my mother used to sing to me.
  • I say to myself that her small hands are no more worm, and that I would never again carry them soft to my front.
  • Never again I would know her slow kisses which are hardly felt. Never again the ringing mourning bells, songs of the dead that we loved.
  • Human friends, friends in hardship and in life, this is our pure love, love of mother and son.
  • My true single consolation is that she is not present to see me in my agony of her death.
  • In my sleep, which is the song of the tombs, I have just seen her again, as beautiful as in her youth.
  • She answers no more, the one who used to answer always.
  • She does not talk anymore, the one who used to talk so pleasantly.
  • With her alone I could be far away from everyone.
  • Only with her I was not alone, now I am alone with everyone.
  • Brothers, my human brothers, force me to believe in eternal life.

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