"I invite all brats to throw their cookies at the baker’s head if they’re not sweet, winos to chuck their wine if it’s bad, the dying to shuck their so...

One mustn't ask apple trees for oranges, France for sun, women for love, life for happiness.
~ Gustave Flaubert ~












One mustn't ask apple trees for oranges, France for sun, women for love, life for happiness.
More Gustave Flaubert quotes
"Human life is a sad show, undoubtedly; ugly, heavy and complex. Art has no other end, for people of feeling than to conjure away the burden and bitter...
"And so I will take back up my poor life, so plain and so tranquil, where phrases are adventures and the only flowers I gather are metaphors.
"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 th...
"One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels.
"Do not read, as children do, to amuse yourself, or like the ambitious, for the purpose of instruction. No, read in order to live.
"An overwhelming curiosity makes me ask myself what their lives might be like. I want to know what they do, where they're from, their names, what they'...
"Leon was weary of loving without any result; moreover he was beginning to feel that depression caused by the repetition of the same kind of life, when...
"Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
"When you reduce a woman to writing, she makes you think of a thousand other women
"He dreamed of funeral love, but dreams crumble and the tomb abides
"Have you really not noticed, then, that here of all places, in this private, personal solitude that surrounds me, I have turned to you? All the memori...
"Life must be a constant education; one must learn everything, from speaking to dying.
"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...
"Never have things of the spirit counted for so little. Never has hatred for everything great been so manifest – disdain for beauty, execration of lite...