I summed up all systems in a phrase, and all existence in an epigram.

There's no sin but stupidity.

Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation of the extraordinary amount of suffering that there is in the world.

Women are made to be loved, not understood.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.

Be warned in time, James, and remain, as I do, incomprehensible: to be great is to be misunderstood.

M. Zola is determined to show that, if he has not got genius, he can at least be dull.