Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from the last church falls on the last priest.
EMILE ZOLAThe camembert with its venison scent defeats the Marolles and Limbourg dull smells; It spreads its exhalation, smothering the other scents under its surprising breath abundance.
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.
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Let us eat, drink and satisfy our coarse appetites, but let us keep our souls sacred and apart.
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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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When truth is buried, it grows. It chokes. It gathers such an explosive force that on the day it bursts out, it blows up everything with it.
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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 thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.
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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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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.
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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.
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Classical education has deformed everything, and has imposed upon us as geniuses men of correct, facile talent, who follow the beaten track.
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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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When you have a sorrow that is too great it leaves no room for any other.
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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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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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The vague torment of ambition.
EMILE ZOLA






