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The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.
— Emile Zola
political reporter, art critic, novelist, essayist, playwright, short story writer, literary critic, theatre critic, journalist, writer, poet, photographer, librettist
1840 – 1902
The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.
The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.
If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.
Keep well; that is the half of wisdom and of happiness.
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity. I am at ease in my generation.
Existence is so bitter for every one of us! Ought we not forgive others much, my friend, if we wish to be forgiven ourselves?
One forges one's style on the terrible anvil of daily deadlines.
Everything is only a dream.
Paris flared — Paris, which the divine sun had sown with light, and where in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice.
If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow, and gather to itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through it will blow up everything in its way.
If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: I am here to live out loud!
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
Sir, Would you allow me, grateful as I am for the kind reception you once extended to me, to show my concern about maintaining your well-deserved prestige and to point out that your star which, until now, has shone so brightly, risks being dimmed by the most shameful and indelible of stains?
And now we come to the Esterhazy case. Three years have passed, many consciences remain profoundly troubled, become anxious, investigate, and wind up convinced that Dreyfus is innocent.
Lt. Colonel Picquart had carried out his duty as an honest man. He kept insisting to his superiors in the name of justice. He even begged them, telling them how impolitic it was to temporize in the face of the terrible storm that was brewing and that would break when the truth became known.
The Esterhazy affair, thus, Mr. President, comes down to this: a guilty man is being passed off as innocent. For almost two months we have been following this nasty business hour by hour. I am being brief, for this is but the abridged version of a story whose sordid pages will some day be written out in full.
Ah, what a cesspool of folly and foolishness, what preposterous fantasies, what corrupt police tactics, what inquisitorial, tyrannical practices! What petty whims of a few higher-ups trampling the nation under their boots, ramming back down their throats the people's cries for truth and justice, with the travesty of state security as a pretext.
If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
I am little concerned with beauty or perfection. I don't care for the great centuries. All I care about is life, struggle, intensity.
I am an artist... I am here to live out loud.
Keep well; that is the half of wisdom and of happiness.
I believe that all is illusion and vanity outside the treasure of truths slowly accumulated, and which will never again be lost. I believe that the sum of these truths, always increasing, will at last confer on man incalculable power and peace, if not happiness. Yes, I believe in the final triumph of life.
If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
