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Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Gustave Flaubert
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Gustave Flaubert
Age: 58 †
Born: 1821
Born: December 12
Died: 1880
Died: May 8
Novelist
Writer
Flaubert
Literature
Hope
Perfumes
Everything
Clings
Even
Springtime
Love
Perfume
Ruins
Plant
More quotes by Gustave Flaubert
By dint of railing at idiots, one runs the risk of becoming an idiot oneself.
Gustave Flaubert
Reveal art conceal the artist.
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He was bored now when Emma suddenly began to sob on his breast and his heart, like the people who can only stand a certain amount of music, became drowsy through indifference to the vibrations of a love whose subtleties he could no longer distinguish.
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I go from exasperation to a state of collapse, then I recover and go from prostration to Fury, so that my average state is one of being annoyed.
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Abstraction can provide stumbling blocks for people of strange intelligence.
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One arrives at style only with atrocious effort, with fanatical and devoted stubbornness.
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Our ignorance of history causes us to slander our own times.
Gustave Flaubert
You can't find the soul with a scalpel.
Gustave Flaubert
Success is a consequence and must not be a goal. I've never sought it (though I desire it) and seek it less and less.
Gustave Flaubert
Prose is like hair it shines with combing.
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The writer must wade into life as into the sea, but only up to the navel.
Gustave Flaubert
Boredom, that silent spider, was spinning its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.
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The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.
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The morality of art is in its very beauty.
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Do not read, as children do, to amuse yourself, or like the ambitious, for the purpose of instruction. No, read in order to live.
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Everything is there: the love of Art.
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She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.
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The great natures which are good, are above everything generous and don't begrudge the giving of themselves.
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As humanity perfects itself, man becomes degraded. When everything is reduced to the mere counter-balancing of economic interests, what room will there be for virtue? When Nature has been so subjugated that she has lost all her original forms, where will that leave the plastic arts? And so on. In the mean time, things are going to get very murky.
Gustave Flaubert
There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it
Gustave Flaubert
