Quotes from Jules Renard

He walked noisily, like a fish.

To have a horror of the bourgeois is bourgeois.

The peasant is the only species of human being who doesn't like the country and never looks at it.

Oh! Old rubbish! Old letters, old clothes, old objects that one does not want to throw away. How well nature has understood that, every year, she must change her leaves, her flowers, her fruit and her vegetables, and make manure out of the mementos of her year!

Ajouter deux lettres à Paris, c'est le paradis.

Ecrire, c'est une façon de parler sans être interrompu. (Writing, it's a way of speaking without being interrupted.)

The danger of success is that it makes us forget the world's dreadful injustice.

If you are afraid of being lonely, don`t try to be right.

Never does one feel oneself so utterly helpless as in trying to speak comfort for great bereavement. Time is the only comforter.

L'amore è come una clessidra: man mano che il cuore si riempie, il cervello si svuota.

True courage consists in being courageous precisely when when we're not.

L'accent circonflexe est l'hirondelle de l'écriture.

You can recover from the writing malady only by falling mortally ill and dying.

Literature is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to people who have none.

N'écoutant que son courage, qui ne lui disait rien, il se garda bien d'intervenir

Nu exist? paradis, dar trebuie s? facem a?a ca s? merit?m s? existe unul.

I don't claim to have taste , but of my distaste I am very sure .

It is a pity that those whose good graces we long for are always dead.

When I think of all the books still left for me to read, I am certain of future happiness.

La pereza no es más que el hábito de descansar antes de cansarte

Oh ! Les vieilleries ! Vieilles lettres, vieux vêtements, vieux objets dont on ne veut pas se débarrasser. Comme la Nature a bien compris que, tous les ans, elle doit changer de feuilles, de fleurs, de fruits et de légumes, et faire du fumier avec les souvenirs de son année ! (19 octobre 1906)

Une pensée écrite est morte. Elle vivait. Elle ne vit plus. Elle était fleur. L'écriture l'a rendue artificielle, c'est-à-dire immuable.

M?n h?r ?eyi öyr?nm?y?, h?yatdan geri qalmama?a el? can at?rd?m ki, ax?rda mehrimni h?rfl?ri iri, a? yerl?ri çox olan nazik kitablara sald?m; ?n yax?? c?h?ti d? budur ki, h?min kitablar? el? ordaca kitabxana r?fin? qoyub dig?r cildi oxuma?a ba?lama qmümkündür.

Il n'est pas nécessaire de mépriser les riches, il suffit de ne pas les envier.