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A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.

Emile Zola

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Emile Zola
Age: 62 †
Born: 1840
Born: January 1
Died: 1902
Died: January 1
Art Critic
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Photographer
Playwright
Poet
Political Journalist
Short Story Writer
Theatre Critic
Paris
France
Emile Edouard Charles Antoine Zola
Ruined
Fell
Fruit
Ground
Lying
Hands
Men
Rotting
Like
Ripe

More quotes by Emile Zola

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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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It is not I who am strong, it is reason, it is truth.
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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!
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If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
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The conclusion does not belong to the artist.
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The word realist means nothing to me, because I would subordinate reality to temperament. Give me what is true and I applaud but give me what is individual and alive and I applaud even more.
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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.
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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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Man's highest duty is to protect animals from cruelty.
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If something's just, I'll let myself be hacked to bits for it.
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Nothing develops intelligence like travel.
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The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
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They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.
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A god of kindness would be charitable to all. Your god of wrath and punishment is but a monstrous phantasy.
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If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.
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The vague torment of ... ambition.
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Since the same human mire remains beneath, does not all civilization reduce itself to the superiority of smelling nice and living well?
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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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The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one's toes on the gravestones.
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If people can just love each other a little bit, they can be so happy.
Emile Zola