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A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.

Emile Zola

Oh, the fools, like a lot of good little schoolboys, scared to death of anything they’ve been taught is wrong!
EMILE ZOLA

Fear Fools School Teaching Wrong
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
EMILE ZOLA

Ability Artist Gift Hard Work Talent
Governments are suspicious of literature because it is a force that eludes them.
EMILE ZOLA

Force Government Literature
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

Growth Ideas People Time Young
Truth is on the march, and nothing will stop it.
EMILE ZOLA

Stop Truth Way
In my view you cannot claim to have seen something until you have photographed it.
EMILE ZOLA

Photography View Yourself
Paris flared – Paris, which the divine sun had sown with light, and where in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice.
EMILE ZOLA

Divine Future Greatness Justice Light Sun Truth
In Paris, everything’s for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
EMILE ZOLA

Fools Lying Sale Tears Virgin
I am an artist. I am here to live out loud.
EMILE ZOLA

Artist Live Loud Myself
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
If something’s just, I’ll let myself be hacked to bits for it.
EMILE ZOLA

Allow Hack Myself Part Willing
Inability, human incapacity, is the only boundary to an art.
EMILE ZOLA

Art Boundary Human Incapacity Limitation
Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.
EMILE ZOLA

Drugs Myself Perfection Regret
I do not despair in the least of ultimate triumph. I repeat it with intense conviction.
EMILE ZOLA

Myself Repeat Triumph Ultimate
Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from the last church falls on the last priest.
EMILE ZOLA

Civilization Fall Myself Perfection Priest Stone
My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
EMILE ZOLA

Cry Fire Myself Protest Soul

A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.

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A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.

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