The truth is that life is delicious, horrible, charming

Hear the luminous and sobering words of Anatole France: “The truth is that life is delicious, horrible, charming, frightful, sweet, bitter, and that is everything.” In this declaration, he does not flatter us with illusions of perfection, nor does he drag us into despair. Rather, he unveils the full tapestry of life—woven of contradictions, both joy and sorrow, beauty and terror. To see only one side is blindness; to embrace them all is wisdom.

The ancients, too, spoke in this way. The Greeks gave us tragedy and comedy, knowing that both were true and necessary. To laugh without ever weeping is to know only half of existence, and to mourn without ever laughing is to be buried while still alive. Anatole France reminds us that truth is not found in denial of pain nor in pursuit of endless pleasure, but in the acceptance that life is all of these at once: delicious and bitter, charming and frightful.

Consider the life of Abraham Lincoln. He knew crushing defeats and piercing grief, losing children and enduring ridicule. Yet he also knew the sweetness of triumph, the nobility of leading a nation, and the quiet delight of storytelling. His life was not one of unbroken joy nor of unrelieved sorrow—it was both. And it was this mixture, this balance of horrible and sweet, that forged his wisdom and gave him the strength to lead in the darkest of times.

We see the same in the story of Helen Keller. Deaf and blind from childhood, she lived what many would call a frightful existence. Yet through courage, discipline, and the guidance of her teacher Anne Sullivan, she discovered the delicious joy of learning and the charming wonder of human connection. Her life bore both the bitterness of limitation and the sweetness of triumph. It was precisely because she embraced all of it, not only the pleasant parts, that she became a beacon for generations.

Why is this truth so hard for us to accept? Because men crave certainty, and they desire to fix life into one category: either it is good, or it is bad; either joy, or sorrow. But the reality is richer, more complex, more mysterious. To demand only sweetness is to be crushed by bitterness; to expect only horror is to miss delight. The wise learn to take both into their hands, as day and night together form the wholeness of time.

The lesson, then, is this: do not flee from the horrible, nor cling too desperately to the delicious. Let both instruct you. Let bitterness teach you patience, and sweetness teach you gratitude. Let fear sharpen your courage, and charm soften your heart. When you feel despair, remember that joy still waits in the turning of the day. When you feel joy, remember that sorrow too will come, and prepare your soul to meet it with dignity.

Therefore, mark this teaching well: the truth of life is not in the fragments, but in the whole. Accept its contradictions, embrace its fullness, and you will not be broken when the bitter comes, nor deceived when the sweet lingers. You will walk with open eyes, tasting the richness of existence in all its colors. For to live is to know both delight and dread, both love and loss—and in the end, to say, as Anatole France did: that is everything.