Quotes by Émile Zola

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.

When lovers kiss on the cheeks, it is because they are searching, feeling for one anothers lips. Lovers are made by a kiss.

Death had to take her little by little, bit by bit, dragging her along to the bitter end of the miserable existence shed made for herself. They never even knew what she did die of. Some spoke of a chill. But the truth was that she died from poverty, from the filth and the weariness of her wretched life.

But you said so yourself,the poor lass will die of it...Do you really want her to die?Yes, Id rather she died than have a bad life.

Civilization will not attain to its perfection until the last stone from the last church falls on the last priest.

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.

Art is a corner of creation seen through a temperament.

... Have you ever reflected that posterity may not be the faultless dispenser of justice that we dream of? One consoles oneself for being insulted and denied, by reyling on the equity of the centuries to come; just as the faithful endure all the abominations of this earth in the firm belief of another life, in which each will be rewarded according to his deserts. But suppose Paradise exists no more for the artist than it does for the Catholic, suppose that future generations prolong the misunderstanding and prefer amiable little trifles to vigorous works! Ah! What a sell it would be, eh? To have led a convicts life - to have screwed oneself down to ones work - all for a mere delusion!...Bah! What does it matter? Well, theres nothing hereafter. We are even madder than the fools who kill themselves for a woman. When the earth splits to pieces in space like a dry walnut, our works wont add one atom to its dust.

Why then should money be blamed for all the dirt and crimes it causes? For is love less filthy - love which creates life?

I would rather die of passion than of boredom.

The festivity had reached that apogee of joy when you face the happy fate of being crushed to death.

They again kissed each other and fell asleep. The patch of light on the ceiling now seemed to be assuming the shape of a terrified eye, that stared wildly and fixedly upon the pale, slumbering couple who reeked with crime beneath their very sheets, and dreamt they could see a rain of blood falling in big drops, which turned into golden coins as they plashed upon the floor.

The thing is, work has simply swamped my whole existence. Slowly but surely its robbed me of my mother, my wife, and everything that meant anything to me. Its like a germ planted in the skull that devours the brain, spreads to the trunk and the limbs, and destroys the entire body in time. No sooner am I out of bed in the morning than work clamps down on me and pins me to my desk before Ive even had a breath of fresh air. It follows me to lunch and I find myself chewing over sentences as Im chewing my food. It goes with me when I go out, eats out of my plate at dinner and shares my pillow in bed at night. Its so extremely merciless that once the process of creation is started, its impossible for me to stop it, and it goes on growing and working even when Im asleep. ... Outside that, nothing, nobody exists.

Havent I told you scores of times, that youre always beginners, and the greatest satisfaction was not in being at the top, but in getting there, in the enjoyment you get out of scaling the heights? Thats something you dont understand, and cant understand until youve gone through it yourself. Youre still at the state of unlimited illusions, when a good, strong pair of legs makes the hardest road look short, and youve such a mighty appetite for glory that the tiniest crumb of success tastes delightfully sweet. Youre prepared for a feast, youre going to satisfy your ambition at last, you feel its within reach and you dont care if you give the skin off your back to get it! And then, the heights are scaled, the summits reached, and youve got to stay there. Thats when the torture begins; youve drunk your excitement to the dregs and found it all too short and even rather bitter, and you wonder whether it was really worth the struggle. From that point there is no more unknown to explore, no new sensations to experience. Pride has had its brief portion of celebrity; you know that your best has been given and youre surprised it hasnt brought a keener sense of satisfaction. From that moment the horizon starts to empty of all hopes that once attracted you towards it. Theres nothing to look forward to but death. But in spite of that you cling on, you dont want to feel youre played out, you persist in trying to produce something, like old men persist in trying to make love, with painful, humiliating results. ... If only we could have the courage to hang ourselves in front of our last masterpiece!

He knew that, from now on, every day would be alike, that they would all bring the same sufferings. And he saw the weeks, the months, the years that awaited him, gloomy and implacable, coming one after the other, falling on him and suffocating him bit by bit. When the future is without hope, the present takes on a vile, bitter taste.

But his doubts were again coming back to him; when you needed a miracle to gain belief, it means that you are incapable of believing. There is no need for the Almighty to prove His existence.

For a few moments, raising his arms desperately, the Reverend Mouret implored Heaven. His shoulder-blades cracked, with such fantastic force did he pray. But soon enough his arms fell to his sides, his hopes abashed. From heaven came one of those silences utterly void of hope known to the devout.

Hortense and Berthe nodded, as though profoundly impressed by the wisdom of their mothers pronouncements. She had long since convinced them of the absolute inferiority of men, whose sole function was to marry and to pay.

The thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.

The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed ones toes on the gravestones.