With the disappearance of Denis Tillinac, death tears a dear friend from me.
Behind his gruff face and his carcass of Corrézien, the man was warm as a sun.
Denis was basically the kind-hearted polemicist.
He had in him the panache of the musketeer who pardons his adversary.
With him politics did not smell of blood, but the smell of Republican banquets, that of debates until the end of the night, between cigarettes and red wine.
He embodied this French culture which respects all controversies as long as they are expressed in style.
There was Cyrano de Bergerac, quick to quarrel, but with that touch of joy and benevolence which distinguishes beings who love Life.
To read also:
Mathieu Bock-Côté: "Denis Tillinac or happiness tinged with melancholy"
In our world, which he considered disenchanted, dried up by so much selfishness and certainties, he appealed to redemptive virtues.
Their names were "honor", "bravery", "freedom", "dreams", "readings".
And, of course, "friendship".
Friendship for Jacques Chirac, straightforward and
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