If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow, and gather to itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through it will blow up everything in its way.
EMILE ZOLAThe thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.
More Emile Zola Quotes
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They talked so, with secret hearts, without needing words, talking of other things. They could have suddenly continued their confessions aloud, without ceasing to understand each other.
EMILE ZOLA -
The vague torment of ambition.
EMILE ZOLA -
Everything is only a dream.
EMILE ZOLA -
Art is a corner of creation seen through a temperament.
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 -
An entire lifetime would not be long enough for you to exhaust the glance of the young harvest-girl.
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Art for me…is a negation of society, an affirmation of the individual, outside of all the rules and all the demands of society.
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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 -
The road to Lourdes is littered with crutches, but not one wooden leg.
EMILE ZOLA -
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
EMILE ZOLA -
There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
EMILE ZOLA -
I am spending delightful afternoons in my garden, watching everything living around me. As I grow older, I feel everything departing, and I love everything with more passion.
EMILE ZOLA -
Classical education has deformed everything, and has imposed upon us as geniuses men of correct, facile talent, who follow the beaten track.
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 -
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