Emile Zola was a poor student at his school at Aix. We are all so different largely because we all have different combinations of intelligences. If we recognize this, I think we will have at least a better chance of dealing appropriately with many problems that we face in the world.
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All the critics who could not make their reputations by discovering you are hoping to make them by predicting hopefully your approaching impotence, failure and general drying up of natural juices. Not a one will wish you luck or hope that you will keep on writing unless you have political affiliations in which case these will rally around and speak of you and Homer, Balzac, Zola and Link Steffens.
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The Poor Man whom everyone speaks of, the Poor Man whom everyone pities, one of the repulsive Poor from whom charitable souls keep their distance, he has still said nothing. Or, rather, he has spoken through the voice of Victor Hugo, Zola, Richepin. At least, they said so. And these shameful impostures fed their authors. Cruel irony, the Poor Man tormented with hunger feeds those who plead his case.
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There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.
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If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.
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'The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.”
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The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected to the fate of men.
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I am an artist. I am here to live out loud.
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The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
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