JG
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Adrienne Mesurat is a novel by Julien Green that stands as one of his most discussed works of fiction and draws attention as a central example of his writing in French.

Green was born on September 6, 1900, in the 17th arrondissement of Paris. He held United States citizenship throughout his life, yet he lived most of his life in France and wrote mostly in French, though he also used American English and German. He was educated at the University of Virginia. His career as a writer was broad: he produced novels, plays, autobiography, and biography across many decades.

Alongside Adrienne Mesurat, Green wrote the novels Mont-Cinère and Léviathan, as well as the work The Distant Lands. The range of prizes he received across his long career reflects how consistently his work found recognition: he was awarded the Marcel Proust Prize, the Paul Flat Prize, the Harper Prize, the Northcliffe Prize, the Grand Prix de littérature de l'Académie française, the Grand Prix national des Lettres, and the Prince Pierre Award.

Green died on August 13, 1998, in the 7th arrondissement of Paris, at the age of ninety-seven. A writer who worked across fiction, drama, autobiography, and biography while remaining a United States citizen, he spent nearly his entire adult life on French soil. The Grand Prix de littérature de l'Académie française, among the more formal recognitions of standing in French letters, marks concretely how fully this American writer had made his place in the literary culture of the country where he was both born and, nearly a century later, died.

Quotes by Julian Green

Until you have wasted time in a city, you cannot pretend to know it well.
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Until you have wasted time in a city, you cannot pretend to know it well.
What is real is beyond all reach.
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What is real is beyond all reach.
Death is losing its terror. It is the emergency exit for a world that is becoming more frightening death ever was.
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Death is losing its terror. It is the emergency exit for a world that is becoming more frightening death ever was.
Sitting in the lap of the model you intend to paint never seemed to me to be the ideal location.
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Sitting in the lap of the model you intend to paint never seemed to me to be the ideal location.
But nowadays my heart is empty and the boxwood has lost its magic scent; yes, absolutely and entirely. The creature that I was no longer exists. When I speak to her she does not understand me; I think of her, already, as of some one I have known but who no longer has any connection with myself.
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But nowadays my heart is empty and the boxwood has lost its magic scent; yes, absolutely and entirely. The creature that I was no longer exists. When I speak to her she does not understand me; I think of her, already, as of some one I have known but who no longer has any connection with myself.
I would like to know if the fact of a novel is consistent with the state of grace.
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I would like to know if the fact of a novel is consistent with the state of grace.
Paris … is loath to surrender itself to people who are in a hurry; it belongs to the dreamers.…
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Paris … is loath to surrender itself to people who are in a hurry; it belongs to the dreamers.…
...because one of the privileges of Paris, one of its rarest graces, bestowed only on those who know how to WASTE TIME there, is suddenly to show itself in unusual guises...
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...because one of the privileges of Paris, one of its rarest graces, bestowed only on those who know how to WASTE TIME there, is suddenly to show itself in unusual guises...