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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

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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
Talking
Needing
Words
Confession
Understand
Continued
Without
Talked
Heart
Suddenly
Things
Hearts
Confessions
Relationship
Ceasing
Secret
Aloud

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These young people naturally grow up with ideas different from ours, for they are born for times when we shall no longer be here
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The vague torment of ... ambition.
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The conclusion does not belong to the artist.
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How evil life must be if it were indeed necessary that such imploring cries, such cries of physical and moral wretchedness, should ever and ever ascend to heaven!
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The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.
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Governments are suspicious of literature because it is a force that eludes them.
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If people can just love each other a little bit, they can be so happy.
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Nothing develops intelligence like travel.
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I do not despair in the least of ultimate triumph. I repeat it with intense conviction.
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Art is a corner of creation seen through a temperament.
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And that wreched creature without hands or feet, who had to be put to bed and fed like a child, that pitiable remnant of a man, whose almost vanished life was nothing more than one scream of pain, cried out in furious indignation: 'What a fool one must be to go and kill oneself!' - 'Joy of Life
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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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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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A ruined man fell from her hands like a ripe fruit, to lie rotting on the ground.
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The 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.
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If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.
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A new dynasty is never founded without a struggle. Blood makes good manure.
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In my view you cannot claim to have seen something until you have photographed it.
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Through the centuries, the history of peoples is but a lesson in mutual tolerance.
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