“All would have transformed us if we had the courage to be what we are.”

— Marguerite Yourcenar

Tous nous serions transformés si nous avions le courage d'être ce que nous sommes.
Alexis (1929)

Original

Tous nous serions transformés si nous avions le courage d'être ce que nous sommes.

Alexis (1929)

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Marguerite Yourcenar 37

French writer 1903–1987

Cynthia Ozick (1928) American writer

“It is, after all, our imagination that makes us human. Vincent van Gogh asked, “What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?””

Will Gompertz (1965) British journalist

To which the answer is, I would have thought, boring, bordering on pointless.
Think Like an Artist (2015)

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

Vincent Van Gogh (1853–1890) Dutch post-Impressionist painter (1853-1890)

“If we had the courage to love we would not so value these acts of war.”

Jeanette Winterson book The Passion

Source: The Passion

“I feel a certain calm. There is safety in the midst of danger. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”

Vincent Van Gogh (1853–1890) Dutch post-Impressionist painter (1853-1890)

Letter to Theo van Gogh. The Hague, Thursday, 29 December 1881. p. 83; as cited in Dear Theo: the Autobiography of Vincent Van Gogh (1995), edited by Irving Stone and Jean Stone -
1880s, 1881
Context: I feel a certain calm. There is safety in the midst of danger. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything? It will be a hard pull for me; the tide rises high, almost to the lips and perhaps higher still, how can I know? But I shall fight my battle, and sell my life dearly, and try to win and get the best of it.

“We are not pleading merely for courage and sincerity; we are suggesting that the proper stuff of fiction is a little other than custom would have us believe it.”

Virginia Woolf The Common Reader

"Modern Fiction"
The Common Reader (1925)
Context: Examine for a moment an ordinary mind on an ordinary day. The mind receives a myriad impressions — trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpness of steel. From all sides they come, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms; and as they fall, as they shape themselves into the life of Monday or Tuesday, the accent falls differently from of old; the moment of importance came not here but there; so that, if a writer were a free man and not a slave, if he could write what he chose, not what he must, if he could base his work upon his own feeling and not upon convention, there would be no plot, no comedy, no tragedy, no love interest or catastrophe in the accepted style, and perhaps not a single button sewn on as the Bond Street tailors would have it. Life is not a series of gig-lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end. Is it not the task of the novelist to convey this varying, this unknown and uncircumscribed spirit, whatever aberration or complexity it may display, with as little mixture of the alien and external as possible? We are not pleading merely for courage and sincerity; we are suggesting that the proper stuff of fiction is a little other than custom would have us believe it.