I cannot help suspecting that there is something systematic and labored about this attitude of perfect misery, this absolute disgust. A well-turned sentence is incompatible with total renunciation. A distress that writes so well is not so complete that it hasn’t salvaged some freedom of mind from the shipwreck, some show of logic or imagination, in contradiction to what the words themselves say.
— Paul Valéry, Masters and Friends: The Collected Works of Paul Valéry, Volume 9
He’s talking about Pascal — specifically, the famous line about “the eternal silence of these infinite spaces.” He’s basically accusing Pascal of having the presence of mind to take a selfie of his own despair, making sure the lighting is just right to capture the depths of his anguish. Pascal says, in effect, I am annihilated before the terrifying indifference of the cosmos, and Valéry looks at the beautifully balanced sentence and replies: not quite annihilated, apparently. The instant he can select the image of “infinite spaces,” balance it against “eternal silence,” and produce that wonderfully resonant cadence, some portion of him has climbed out of the wreck and is standing on shore arranging the wreckage aesthetically.
Nietzsche quipped in Daybreak: “For those who need consolation no means of consolation is so effective as the assertion that in their case no consolation is possible: it implies so great a degree of distinction that they at once hold up their heads again.” Likewise, you imagine Pascal putting that aphorism down and, despite his existential angst, thinking, “Daaamn,” and feeling just a bit better about himself.