246 Quotes by Émile Zola

En sonra, birinci savaş konseyini, bir sanığa gizli kalan bir belgeye dayanarak hüküm giydirdiği için hukuku çiğnemekle suçluyorum. İkinci savaş konseyini de üstten gelen emre uyarak, bir suçluyu, suçunu bile bile temize çıkarıp ağır adli suç işlemekle, böylece birinci konseyin yasaya aykırı davranışını örtbas etmekle suçluyorum.

Bir tek tutkum var; Bunca acılar çeken ve mutluluğa hakkı olan insanlık adına duyduğum aydınlık tutkusu. Coşkulu protestom, yüreğimden kopan çığlıktan başka bir şey değildir. Beni ağır ceza mahkemesi önüne çıkarmayı göze alsınlar ve herkesin önünde soruşturma açılsın! Bekliyorum.

Bu suçlamalarda bulunurken, 29 temmuz 1881 tarihli Basın Yasasının 30 ve 31. maddelerine karşı geldiğimi, bu yasanın lekeleme suçlarına ceza belirlediğini bilmiyor değilim. İsteyerek kendimi tehlikeye atıyorum.

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.

Sin became a luxury, a flower set in her hair, a diamond fastened on her brow.

Nobody even spoke now, for they were all stupified by the accmulation of woes-- granpa coughing and spitting black, with his old rheumatic complaint returning to dropsy, father asthmatical, his knees swollen up with water, mother and the children scarred by scrofula and hereditary anaemia. Of course all that was part of the job, and you didn't complain except when the lack of food finished you off.

The more grievous the sin, the greater the repentance, God was bidding His time.

Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruin following upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled over his features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; his toothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his nose seemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed his resemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, worn to death, and now only good for the knackers.

Jean-Louis had never had a day's illness in his life. He was tall and as gnarled as an oak. The sun had baked his skin until it had the colour and toughness and stillness of a tree. With advancing years, he had lost his tongue. He now never spoke, considering such an activity pointless.