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The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.

Emile Zola

I would rather die of passion than of boredom.
EMILE ZOLA

Boredom Death Myself Passion
Every wave is a water sprite who swims in the current, each current is a path which snakes towards my palace, and my palace is fluidly built at the bottom of the lake, in the triangle of earth, fire and water.
EMILE ZOLA

Earth Fire Nature Palace Sprite Water Wave
When you have a sorrow that is too great it leaves no room for any other.
EMILE ZOLA

Greatness Leaving Sorrow
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
Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity.
EMILE ZOLA

Creation Distress People Sadness
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
It is not necessary that one should humble oneself to deserve assistance, it is sufficient that one should suffer.
EMILE ZOLA

Assistance Deserve Humble Necessary Sufficiant
Sin ought to be something exquisite, my dear boy.
EMILE ZOLA

Boy Exquisite Myself Sin
I do not despair in the least of ultimate triumph. I repeat it with intense conviction.
EMILE ZOLA

Myself Repeat Triumph Ultimate
Don’t go looking at me like that because you’ll wear your eyes out.
EMILE ZOLA

Eyes Myself Sight Stare Yourself
Governments are suspicious of literature because it is a force that eludes them.
EMILE ZOLA

Force Government Literature
One forges one’s style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
EMILE ZOLA

Dead Fake Forge Line Style
A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
EMILE ZOLA

Fruit Hands Lying Man Ruin
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
Did science promise happiness? I do not believe it. It promised truth, and the question is to know if we will ever make happiness with truth.
EMILE ZOLA

Believe Happiness Myself Promise Science Truth
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
EMILE ZOLA

Ability Artist Gift Hard Work Talent

The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.

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The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.

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Popular Authors

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