"He thought only of himself, as if buried in his dreams and crumbled to dust, discouraged, sick and full of bottomless sorrow; and suddenly hating this artificial atmosphere in which he had suffered so much, he longed for fresh meadows, blessed village tranquility, a peaceful life in the shadow of his native house with simple, good hearts.
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Author
Gustave FlaubertAll Translations
All Translations
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He thought only of himself, as if buried in his dreams and crumbled to dust, discouraged, sick and full of bottomless sorrow; and suddenly hating this artificial atmosphere in which he had suffered so much, he longed for fresh meadows, blessed village tranquility, a peaceful life in the shadow of his native house with simple, good hearts.
""Csak magára gondolt, mintegy beletemetkezve porrá omlott álmaiba, elcsüggedve, betegen s feneketlen bánattal tele; és hirtelen meggyűlölve ezt a mesterséges légkört, amelyben annyit szenvedett, friss rétekre áhítozott, áldott falusi nyugalomra, békességes életre a szülőház árnyékában egyszerű, jó szívekkel."