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Thought is the greatest of pleasures —pleasure itself is only imagination—have you ever enjoyed anything more than your dreams?

Gustave Flaubert

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Gustave Flaubert
Age: 58 †
Born: 1821
Born: December 12
Died: 1880
Died: May 8
Novelist
Writer
Flaubert
Greatest
Imagination
Pleasure
Dream
Thought
Anything
Pleasures
Ever
Enjoyed
Dreams

More quotes by Gustave Flaubert

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But, in her life, nothing was going to happen. Such was the will of God! The future was a dark corridor, and at the far end the door was bolted.
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What an elder sees sitting the young can't see standing.
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Madame Aubain's servant Felicite was the envy of the ladies of Pont-l'Eveque for half a century.
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I hate that which we have decided to call realism, even though I have been made one of its high priests.
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One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.
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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.
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There are some men whose only mission among others is to act as intermediaries one crosses them like bridges and keeps going.
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We swung between madness and suicide ... it was beautiful!
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You don't know what it is to stay a whole day with your head in your hands trying to squeeze your unfortunate brain so as to find a word.
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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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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.
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Years passed and he endured the idleness of his intelligence and the inertia of his heart.
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After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.
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The hearts of women are like those little pieces of furniture with secret hiding - places, full of drawers fitted into each other you go a lot of trouble, break your nails, and in the bottom find some withered flower, a few grains of dust - or emptiness!
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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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Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
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Oh, if I had been loved at the age of seventeen, what an idiot I would be today. Happiness is like smallpox: if you catch it too soon, it can completely ruin your constitution.
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Sentences must stir in a book like leaves in a forest, each distinct from each despite their resemblance.
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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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Reality does not conform to the ideal, but confirms it.
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