Aimé Michel

Le premier mystère est: pourquoi y a-t-il quelque chose plutôt que rien?
Et le deuxième, aussi grand que le premier: pourquoi suis-je là en train de penser?

Comment j’ai gracié Louvois

Atlas Air France n°90 de décembre 1973
Je vais vous faire un aveu: ce Louvois, il m’agace. Il a toujours raison. Il a toujours réponse à tout.
— Sire, me dit-il l’autre jour alors que je caracolais sur le front de mes troupes, n’est-ce pas là une armée que toute l’Europe nous envie? Lire l’article

Poor Archiloques

Atlas – Air France n°87 – September 1973
“Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue”. The doctor put down his stethoscope and asked me what exactly was troubling me.
— I’m tired, I told him.
— Tired?
— Tired. Work is absolutely unbearable to me. I will go to any lengths to avoid it. Why just the other day, on heaven-knows-what pretext, I was asked to be a pall-bearer in a funeral which was taking place just outside my barrel. The mere idea exhausted me. So I hoisted my barrel onto my back and fled. Lire l’article

I. Q. in the Kimono

Atlas – Air France n°83 – May 1973
Among all the things which I respect (and God knows there are many), there is none, I think, that I value more highly than psychology. After all, is there anything in the world more wondrous than the spirit? And thus, is not psychology the prince or sciences?
Especially when it provides us with a little amusement. Lire l’article

How to Always Be Right

Atlas – Air France n°84 – June 1973
People who know me often request, with very understandable admiration, that I explain my extraordinary love for work.
It’s true that I love work more than anything in the world. Of all my virtues, modesty put aside, my love for work is the highest. It’s hard to believe that when I see someone working really well, I could look at him toiling from sunrise to sunset without ever tiring myself. Lire l’article

The Child Martyrs

Atlas – Air France n°89 – November 1973
When one is soft-hearted, as I am, it is no use trying to change. And being soft-hearted, there is no one I despise more than a torturer, especially when his victim is weak.
There were three of us the other day, riding alone together in the Metro during an off-hour: a woman, her little girl of three or four, and I. I perceived at once that this was a child martyr. She was shrieking as she entered the Metro. Lire l’article