"The most important things to say are those which often I did not think necessary for me to say - because they were too obvious"
About this Quote
Gide is puncturing the comforting myth that the “obvious” doesn’t need voicing. The line reads like a confession, but it’s also an indictment of taste, class, and self-censorship: the hardest truths are often the ones we don’t articulate because they feel embarrassingly basic, too plain to deserve literature. Gide’s wit is in the reversal. We assume importance correlates with sophistication. He suggests the opposite: what’s most urgent is frequently what polite people, educated people, or self-protective people train themselves to leave unsaid.
The subtext is social. “Too obvious” is rarely a neutral category; it’s a judgment enforced by audiences and institutions. In a salon culture of implication and coded speech, stating the plain thing can look naive or crude. It can also be dangerous. Gide, writing across an era of bourgeois moral certainty and public/private splits, understood how “obvious” truths about desire, hypocrisy, faith, and freedom get suppressed precisely because everyone senses them. Silence becomes a way to maintain the illusion that nobody noticed.
The intent, then, isn’t mere self-reproach; it’s a craft note and a moral note. Great writing doesn’t just discover the obscure. It forces the stated into the open, making the familiar newly accountable. Gide’s line captures a writer realizing that clarity is not the enemy of depth. Sometimes it’s the scalpel: the plain sentence that makes the room go quiet because it names what everyone has been carefully stepping around.
The subtext is social. “Too obvious” is rarely a neutral category; it’s a judgment enforced by audiences and institutions. In a salon culture of implication and coded speech, stating the plain thing can look naive or crude. It can also be dangerous. Gide, writing across an era of bourgeois moral certainty and public/private splits, understood how “obvious” truths about desire, hypocrisy, faith, and freedom get suppressed precisely because everyone senses them. Silence becomes a way to maintain the illusion that nobody noticed.
The intent, then, isn’t mere self-reproach; it’s a craft note and a moral note. Great writing doesn’t just discover the obscure. It forces the stated into the open, making the familiar newly accountable. Gide’s line captures a writer realizing that clarity is not the enemy of depth. Sometimes it’s the scalpel: the plain sentence that makes the room go quiet because it names what everyone has been carefully stepping around.
Quote Details
| Topic | Wisdom |
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