#jean Dominique bauby

[sharry-arry-odd]

A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark . . . I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship. It will keep the vultures at bay.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, by Jean-Dominique Bauby

[allxm]

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"Aujourd′hui, il me semble que toute mon existence n'aura été qu′un enchaînement de petits ratages. Des femmes qu'on n'a pas su aimer, des chances qu′on n′a pas voulu saisir, des instants de bonheur qu'on a laissés s′envoler. Une course dont on connaît le résultat, mais on est incapable de toucher le gagnant. Étais-je aveugle et sourd, ou bien fallait-il nécessairement la lumière d'un malheur pour m′éclairer sur ma vraie nature?"

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— Le scaphandre et le papillon (2007)

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[escapeintothepages]

“I need to feel strongly, to love and admire, just as desperately as I need to breathe.”

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Bauby

[dk-thrive]

roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep

Other letters simply relate the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest. A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark … I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship.”

—  Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Vintage, March 6, 2008) (via Wait-What?)

[thepro-lifemovement]

In Jean-Dominique Bauby’s book, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, he offers some insight to how someone with locked-in syndrome may feel with people visiting them and conversing with themes :

Nervous visitors come most quickly to grief. They reel off the alphabet tonelessly, at top speed, jotting down letters almost at random; and then, seeing the meaningless result, exclaim, “I'm an idiot!" But in the final analysis, their anxiety gives me a chance to rest, for they take charge of the whole conversation, providing both questions and answers, and I am spared the task of holding up my end. Reticent people are much more difficult. If I ask them, "How are you?" they answer, "Fine," immediately putting the ball back in my court. With some, the alphabet becomes an artillery barrage, and I need to have two or three questions ready in advance in order not to be swamped. Meticulous people never go wrong: they scrupulously note down each letter and never seek to unravel the mystery of a sentence before it is complete. Nor would they dream of completing a single word for you. Unwilling to chance the smallest error, they will never take it upon themselves to provide the "room" that follows "mush," the "ic" that follows "atom," or the "nable" without which neither "intermi" nor "abomi" can exist. Such scrupulousness makes for laborious progress, but at least you avoid the misunderstandings in which impulsive visitors bog down when they neglect to verify their intuitions. Yet I understood the poetry of such mind games one day when, attempting to ask for my glasses (lunettes), I was asked what I wanted to do with the moon (lune).

What I’ve learned from this is that we need to be patient with others, especially those with limited abilities. And sometimes those with limited speech or those trying to rest in the hospital may prefer we just talk to them without asking open-ended questions.

[litandlifequotes]

I am fading away. Slowly but surely. Like the sailor who watches his home shore gradually disappear, I watch my past recede. My old life still burns within me, but more and more of it is reduced to the ashes of memory.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby

[firstsentence]

"In Hong Kong, I have a little trouble finding my way, for unlike many of my other destinations, this city is one I have never actually visited." 🍵

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

Starting the new year by reading The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly.

Memoirs aren't a genre I typically go for, but this one sounded so interesting that I had to give it a go.

[sharry-arry-odd]

I long to escape, but every time the chance arises, a leaden torpor prevents me from taking even a single step. I am petrified, mummified, vitrified. If just one door stands between me and freedom, I am incapable of opening it.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, by Jean-Dominique Bauby

[books-in-media]

Emma Watson, (Twitter, March 18, 2014)

—The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Bauby (1997)

[escapeintothepages]

"I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship."

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Bauby

[dk-thrive]

Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest.

Other letters simply relate the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest. A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark … I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship. — Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Vintage, March 6, 2008) (Via Alive on All Channels)

[joshcockroft2]

The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly – Jean-Dominique Bauby 

27.10.2022

[anamelessfool]

"Not appreciating [generative]AI is ableist."-NaNoWriMo

Jean-Dominique Bauby wrote his memoir The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by blinking his fucking eyes one letter at a time.

Don't tell me something techbros pulled from their asses 18 months ago and shoved down our throats is going to save the creative will of the human spirit.

Fuck you, NaNoWriMo. Fuuuuuck you.

As someone who grew up with a profoundly disabled close family friend, yes, certain tech would have helped him communicate better with the outside world. The year he passed away, researchers had just started successfully testing a paralyzed person tweeting directly from their mind. But it wasn't generative AI.

Disabled people are not human shields for your shitty opinions. Absolute shame on you