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When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.

Emile Zola

Did not one spend the first half of one’s days in dreams of happiness and the second half in regrets and terrors?
EMILE ZOLA

Dreams Fear Happiness Oneself Regret
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
EMILE ZOLA

Fruit Hands Lying Man Ruin
What will be the death of me are buillabaisses, food spiced with pimiento, shellfish, and a load of exquisite rubbish which I eat in disproportionate quantities.
EMILE ZOLA

Death Food Load Myself Quantity
Inability, human incapacity, is the only boundary to an art.
EMILE ZOLA

Art Boundary Human Incapacity Limitation
How evil life must be if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries of physical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to heaven!
EMILE ZOLA

Ascend Cry Evil Heaven Life Necessary Physical
Yes! live life with every fibre of one’s being, surrender oneself to it, with no thoughts of rebellion, without deluding oneself that one can improve it and render it painless.
EMILE ZOLA

Fibre Improvement Life Pain Rebel Surrender
Art is a corner of creation seen through a temperament.
EMILE ZOLA

Art Corner Creation Temperature
When you have a sorrow that is too great it leaves no room for any other.
EMILE ZOLA

Greatness Leaving Sorrow
There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
EMILE ZOLA

Artist Man Nurtue Poet Talent
The only basis for living is believing in life, loving it, and applying the whole force of one’s intellect to know it better.
EMILE ZOLA

Believe Better Force Intellect Live Love
The camembert with its venison scent defeats the Marolles and Limbourg dull smells; It spreads its exhalation, smothering the other scents under its surprising breath abundance.
EMILE ZOLA

Abundance Breathe Defeat Scent Surprise
The day is not far off when one ordinary carrot may be pregnant with revolution.
EMILE ZOLA

Ordinary Pregnant Revolution
Lovers are made by a kiss.
EMILE ZOLA

Kiss Lover One Liner
The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.
EMILE ZOLA

Grave Illusion Oneself Past
She was cold by nature, self-love predominating over passion; rather than being virtuous, she preferred to have her pleasures all to herself.
EMILE ZOLA

Cold Happiness Herself Nature Passion Virtuous
My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
EMILE ZOLA

Cry Fire Myself Protest Soul

When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.

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When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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