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Patriotism is a kind of religion it is the egg from which wars are hatched.

Guy de Maupassant

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Guy de Maupassant
Age: 42 †
Born: 1850
Born: August 5
Died: 1893
Died: July 6
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Short Story Writer
Writer
Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant
Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant
Guy de Valmont
Joseph Prunier
Kind
Patriotism
Eggs
Libertarian
Wars
Liberty
Religion
Hatched
War
Nationalism
Political
Patriotic

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Love is always love, come whence it may. A heart that beats at your approach, an eye that weeps when you go away are things so rare, so sweet, so precious that they must never be despised.
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We are accustomed to use our eyes only with the memory of what other people before us have thought about the object we are looking at.
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The public is composed of numerous groups whose cry to us writers is: 'Comfort me.' 'Amuse me.' 'Touch my sympathies.' 'Make me sad.' 'Make me dream.' 'Make me laugh.' 'Make me shiver.' 'Make me weep.' 'Make me think.'
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Of all the passions, the only one that seems respectable to me is the passion for food
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The simplest of women are wonderful liars who can extricate themselves from the most difficult dilemmas with a skill bordering on genius.
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Night was a very different matter. It was dense, thicker than the very walls, and it was empty, so black, so immense that within it you could brush against appalling things and feel roaming and prowling around a strange, mysterious horror.
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Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.
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You have the army of mediocrities followed by the multitude of fools. As the mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority, it is impossible for them to elect an intelligent government.
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She was a sweet girl but not really pretty, a rough sketch of a woman with a little of everything in her, one of those silhouettes which artists draw in three strokes on the tablecloth in a café after dinner, between a glass of brandy and a cigarette. Nature sometimes turns out creatures like that.
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Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink.
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In the East men know panic, but they do not know what fright is.
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Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time we people the void with phantoms
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We breathe love as we breathe air we hold it in ourselves as we hold our thoughts. Nothing more exists for us.
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Life is a slope. As long as you're going up you're always looking towards the top and you feel happy, but when you reach it, suddenly you can see the road going downhill and death at the end of it all. It's slow going up and quick going down.
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There is only one good thing in life, and that is love.
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Broad daylight does not encourage the apprehension of horror.
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I know nothing more enjoyable than that happy-go-lucky wandering life, in which you are perfectly free without shackles of any kind, without care, without preoccupation, without thought even of to-morrow. You go in any direction you please, without any guide save your fancy.
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We breathe, sleep, drink, eat, work and then die! The end of life is death. What do you long for? Love? A few kisses and you will be powerless. Money? What for? To gratify your desires. Glory? What coems after it all? Death! Death alone is certain.
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To contest an author's right to create a poetic or realistic work is to want to force him to change his temperament, challenge his originality, refuse to allow him to use the eye and the intelligence nature has given him.
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One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.
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