Honore de Balzac

Honore de Balzac

Honoré de Balzac (20 May 1799 – 18 August 1850) was a French novelist and playwright. The novel sequence La Comédie Humaine, which presents a panorama of post-Napoleonic French life, is generally viewed as his magnum opus. Balzac is regarded as one of the founders of realism in European literature. He is renowned for his multi-faceted characters; even his lesser characters are complex, morally ambiguous and fully human.

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The more one judges the less one loves.

Conscience is our unerring judge until we finally stifle it.

A good husband is never the first to go to sleep at night, or the last to awake in the morning.

Equality may perhaps be a right, but no power on earth can ever turn it into a fact.

A grocer is attracted to his business by a magnetic force, as great as the repulsion which renders it odious to artists.

Children, dear and loving children, can alone console a woman for the loss of her beauty.

Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine.

Nothing so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is superior to the other.

It is easier to be a lover than a husband, for the simple reason that it is more difficult to be witty every day than to say pretty things from time to time.

Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.

A mother who is really a mother is never free.

A mother's happiness is like a beacon lighting up the future, but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

Passion is universal humanity. Without it religion, history, romance, and art would be useless.

All humanity is passion, without passion religion, history, novels, art, would be ineffectual.

A mother's life you see is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible. Not an hour but has its joys and fears.

Modesty is the conscience of the body.

Men die in despair while spirits die in ecstasy.

If we could but paint with the hand what we see with the eye.

What is art? Nature concentrated.

In diving to the bottom of pleasure we bring up more gravel than pearls.

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