The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
EMILE ZOLAGovernments are suspicious of literature because it is a force that eludes them.
More Emile Zola Quotes
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Violence has never prospered, you can’t remake the world in a day. Anyone who promises to change everything for you all at once is either a fool or a rogue!
EMILE ZOLA -
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don’t care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.
EMILE ZOLA -
One forges one’s style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
EMILE ZOLA -
Since the same human mire remains beneath, does not all civilization reduce itself to the superiority of smelling nice and living well?
EMILE ZOLA -
The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.
EMILE ZOLA -
These young people naturally grow up with ideas different from ours, for they are born for times when we shall no longer be here
EMILE ZOLA -
In Paris, everything’s for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
EMILE ZOLA -
She might have liked to try to strangle him with those slender fingers of hers, but she wanted to make a job of it and this great patience with which she waited for her claws to grow was in itself a form of enjoyment.
EMILE ZOLA -
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 -
When you have a sorrow that is too great it leaves no room for any other.
EMILE ZOLA -
The conclusion does not belong to the artist.
EMILE ZOLA -
They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.
EMILE ZOLA -
The road to Lourdes is littered with crutches, but not one wooden leg.
EMILE ZOLA -
The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.
EMILE ZOLA -
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
EMILE ZOLA