The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
EMILE ZOLAIf people can just love each other a little bit, they can be so happy.
More Emile Zola Quotes
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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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Oh, the fools, like a lot of good little schoolboys, scared to death of anything they’ve been taught is wrong!
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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.
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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.
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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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Nothing develops intelligence like travel.
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In Paris, everything’s for sale: wise virgins, foolish virgins, truth and lies, tears and smiles.
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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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The vague torment of ambition.
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Truth is on the march, and nothing will stop it.
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There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
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Don’t go looking at me like that because you’ll wear your eyes out.
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If people can just love each other a little bit, they can be so happy.
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.
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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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When lovers kiss on the cheeks, it is because they are searching, feeling for one another’s lips. Lovers are made by a kiss.
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I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark, in the name of humanity which has suffered so much and is entitled to happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
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It is not I who am strong, it is reason, it is truth.
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One forges one’s style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
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Through the centuries, the history of peoples is but a lesson in mutual tolerance.
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My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.
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Everything is only a dream.
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The only basis for living is believing in life, loving it, and applying the whole force of one’s intellect to know it better.
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Why then should money be blamed for all the dirt and crimes it causes? For is love less filthy – love which creates life?
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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.
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It all seemed a hollow sham now – that strict code, that conscientious virtue that condemned her to the sterile joys of pious women! No, no, she’d had enough of that; she wanted to live!
EMILE ZOLA