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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
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Gustave Flaubert
Age: 58 †
Born: 1821
Born: December 12
Died: 1880
Died: May 8
Novelist
Writer
Flaubert
Shall
Found
Artillery
Writing
Explode
Like
Shell
Shells
Table
Tables
Bits
More quotes by Gustave Flaubert
Better to work for yourself alone. You do as you like and follow your own ideas, you admire yourself and please yourself: isn’t that the main thing? And then the public is so stupid. Besides, who reads? And what do they read? And what do they admire?
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Success as I see it is a result, not a goal.
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Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
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The most glorious moments in your life are not the so-called days of success, but rather those days when out of dejection and despair you feel rise in you a challenge to life, and the promise of future accomplishments.
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Stupidity is an immovable object: you can't try to attack it wiithout being broken by it.
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I have come to have the firm conviction that vanity is the basis of everything, and finally that what one calls conscience is only inner vanity.
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Caught up in life, you see it badly. You suffer from it or enjoy it too much. The artist, in my opinion, is a monstrosity, something outside of nature.
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He dreamed of funeral love, but dreams crumble and the tomb abides
Gustave Flaubert
When you reduce a woman to writing, she makes you think of a thousand other women
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I am irritated by my own writing. I am like a violinist whose ear is true, but whose fingers refuse to reproduce precisely the sound he hears within.
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Anything becomes interesting if you look at it long enough.
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Writing history is like drinking an ocean and pissing a cupful.
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And the more he was irritated by her basic personality, the more he was drawn to her by a harsh, bestial sensuality, illusions of a moment, which ended in hate.
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… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!
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He loved the extensive vaults where you could hear the night birds and the sea breeze he loved the craggy ruins bound together by ivy, those dark halls, and any appearance of death and destruction. Having fallen so far from so high a position, he loved anything that had also fallen from a great height
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To be simple is no small matter.
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As you get older, the heart shed its leaves like a tree. You cannot hold out against certain winds. Each day tears away a few more leaves and then there are the storms that break off several branches at one go. And while nature’s greenery grows back again in the spring, that of the heart never grows back.
Gustave Flaubert
Reveal art conceal the artist.
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One arrives at style only with atrocious effort, with fanatical and devoted stubbornness.
Gustave Flaubert
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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