The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones.
EMILE ZOLARespectable people, What bastards!
More Emile Zola Quotes
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The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
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The conclusion does not belong to the artist.
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Art is a corner of creation seen through a temperament.
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One forges one’s style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
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The day is not far off when one ordinary carrot may be pregnant with revolution.
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Perfection is such a nuisance that I often regret having cured myself of using tobacco.
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Respectable people, What bastards!
EMILE ZOLA -
The road to Lourdes is littered with crutches, but not one wooden leg.
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I would rather die of passion than of boredom.
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An entire lifetime would not be long enough for you to exhaust the glance of the young harvest-girl.
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Did not one spend the first half of one’s days in dreams of happiness and the second half in regrets and terrors?
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The vague torment of ambition.
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My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
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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.
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In Paris, everything’s for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
EMILE ZOLA