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He dreamed of funeral love, but dreams crumble and the tomb abides
Gustave Flaubert
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Gustave Flaubert
Age: 58 †
Born: 1821
Born: December 12
Died: 1880
Died: May 8
Novelist
Writer
Flaubert
Funeral
Dreams
Dream
Love
Abides
Crumble
Tomb
Tombs
Dreamed
More quotes by Gustave Flaubert
Only three things are infinite. The sky in its stars, the sea in its drops of water, and the heart in its tears.
Gustave Flaubert
I love good sense above all, perhaps because I have none.
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It is splendid to be a great writer, to put men into the frying pan of your words and make them pop like chestnuts.
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Doesn't it seem to you, asked Madame Bovary, that the mind moves more freely in the presence of that boundless expanse, that the sight of it elevates the soul and gives rise to thoughts of the infinite and the ideal?
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But some day sooner or later our passion would have cooled - inevitably - it's the way with everything human.
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One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.
Gustave Flaubert
What an elder sees sitting the young can't see standing.
Gustave Flaubert
I detest my fellow-beings and do not feel that I am their fellow at all
Gustave Flaubert
The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
Gustave Flaubert
Thought is the greatest of pleasures —pleasure itself is only imagination—have you ever enjoyed anything more than your dreams?
Gustave Flaubert
Writing history is like drinking an ocean and pissing a cupful.
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The cult of art gives pride one never has too much of it.
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To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.
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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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Of all lies, art is the least untrue.
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I’m dazzled by your facility. In ten days you’ll have written six stories! I don’t understand it… I’m like one of those old aqueducts: there’s so much rubbish cogging up the banks of my thought that it flows slowly, and only spills from the end of my pen drop by drop.
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Sick, irritated, and the prey to a thousand discomforts, I go on with my labor like a true workingman, who, with sleeves rolled up, in the sweat of his brow, beats away at his anvil, not caring whether it rains or blows, hails or thunders.
Gustave Flaubert
One mustn't always believe that feeling is everything. In the arts, it is nothing without form.
Gustave Flaubert
To see one's name in print! Some people commit a crime for no other reason.
Gustave Flaubert
As for the piano, the faster her fingers flew over it, the more he marveled. She struck the keys with aplomb and ran from one end of the keyboard to the other without a stop.
Gustave Flaubert