His Masterpiece by Emile Zola (most inspirational books of all time txt) π
Striking Two O'clock In The Morning When The Storm Burst Forth. He Had
Been Roaming Forgetfully About The Central Markets, During That
Burning July Night, Like A Loitering Artist Enamoured Of Nocturnal
Paris. Suddenly The Raindrops Came Down, So Large And Thick, That He
Took To His Heels And Rushed, Wildly Bewildered, Along The Quai De La
Greve. But On Reaching The Pont Louis Philippe He Pulled Up, Ragefully
Breathless; He Considered This Fear Of The Rain To Be Idiotic; And So
Amid The Pitch-Like Darkness, Under The Lashing Shower Which Drowned
The Gas-Jets, He Crossed The Bridge Slowly, With His Hands Dangling By
His Side.
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- Author: Emile Zola
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Filled, Resumed:
'We Alone Shall Have Known Him. There Is Nothing Left Of Him, Not Even
A Name!'
'He Is Very Happy,' Said Bongrand; 'He Has No Picture On Hand, In The
Earth Where He Sleeps. It Is As Well To Go Off As To Toil As We Do
Merely To Turn Out Infirm Children, Who Always Lack Something, Their
Legs Or Their Head, And Who Don't Live.'
'Yes, One Must Really Be Wanting In Pride To Resign Oneself To Turning
Out Merely Approximate Work And Resorting To Trickery With Life. I,
Who Bestow Every Care On My Books--I Despise Myself, For I Feel That,
Despite All My Efforts, They Are Incomplete And Untruthful.'
Part 12 Pg 270With Pale Faces, They Slowly Went Away, Side By Side, Past The
Children's White Tombs, The Novelist Then In All The Strength Of His
Toil And Fame, The Painter Declining But Covered With Glory.
'There, At Least, Lies One Who Was Logical And Brave,' Continued
Sandoz; 'He Confessed His Powerlessness And Killed Himself.'
'That's True,' Said Bongrand; 'If We Didn't Care So Much For Our Skins
We Should All Do As He Has Done, Eh?'
'Well, Yes; Since We Cannot Create Anything, Since We Are But Feeble
Copyists, We Might As Well Put An End To Ourselves At Once.'
Again They Found Themselves Before The Burning Pile Of Old Rotten
Coffins, Now Fully Alight, Sweating And Crackling; But There Were
Still No Flames To Be Seen, The Smoke Alone Had Increased--A Thick
Acrid Smoke, Which The Wind Carried Along In Whirling Coils, So That
It Now Covered The Whole Cemetery As With A Cloud Of Mourning.
'Dash It! Eleven O'clock!' Said Bongrand, After Pulling Out His Watch.
'I Must Get Home Again.'
Sandoz Gave An Exclamation Of Surprise:
'What, Already Eleven?'
Over The Low-Lying Graves, Over The Vast Bead-Flowered Field Of Death,
So Formal Of Aspect And So Cold, He Cast A Long Look Of Despair, His
Eyes Still Bedimmed By His Tears. And Then He Added:
'Let's Go To Work.'
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Publication Date: 05-30-2014
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