Socialism must come down from the brain and reach the heart.
About Jules Renard
Pierre-Jules Renardwas a French author and member of the Academie Goncourt, most famous for the works Poil de carotteand Les Histoires Naturellesand the posthumously published Huit Jours a la campagne (Eight Days in the Country, 1912).
More quotes from Jules Renard
I finally know what distinguishes man from the other beasts: financial worries.
French author (1864-1910)
As I grow to understand life less and less I grow to love it more and more.
French author (1864-1910)
Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.
French author (1864-1910)
Everything you want is out there waiting for you to ask. Everything you want also wants you. But you have to take action to get it.
French author (1864-1910)
A beautiful line of verse has twelve feet, and two wings.
French author (1864-1910)
Failure is not our only punishment for laziness; there is also the success of others.
French author (1864-1910)
The ideal of calm exists in a sitting cat.
French author (1864-1910)
On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.
French author (1864-1910)
Words are the small change of thought.
French author (1864-1910)
It doesn’t pay to say too much when you are mad enough to choke. For the word that stings the deepest is the word that is never spoke, Let the other fellow wrangle till the storm has blown away, then he’ll do a heap of thinking about the things you didn’t say.
French author (1864-1910)
We are so happy to advise others that occasionally we even do it in their interest.
French author (1864-1910)
The only man who is really free is the one who can turn down an invitation to dinner without giving an excuse.
French author (1864-1910)
Socialism must come down from the brain and reach the heart.
French author (1864-1910)
The bourgeois are other people.
French author (1864-1910)
There are moments when everything goes well, but don’t be frightened.
French author (1864-1910)
It is not how old you are, but how you are old.
French author (1864-1910)
An optimist is a driver who thinks that empty space at the curb won’t have a hydrant beside it.
French author (1864-1910)
There are places and moments in which one is so completely alone that one sees the world entire.
French author (1864-1910)
Words are the coins making up the currency of sentences, and there are always too many small coins.
French author (1864-1910)
Talent is a matter of quantity. Talent does not write on page, it writes three hundred.
French author (1864-1910)
If you are afraid of being lonely, don’t try to be right.
French author (1864-1910)
The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it.
French author (1864-1910)
A cold in the head causes less suffering than an idea.
French author (1864-1910)
I don’t know if God exists, but it would be better for His reputation if He didn’t.
French author (1864-1910)
Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties.
French author (1864-1910)
Truth makes many appeals, not the least of which is its power to shock.
French author (1864-1910)
We spend our lives talking about this mystery. Our life.
French author (1864-1910)
Don’t tell a woman she’s pretty; tell her there’s no other woman like her, and all roads will open to you.
French author (1864-1910)
The danger of success is that it makes us forget the world’s dreadful injustice.
French author (1864-1910)
The reward of great men is that, long after they have died, one is not quite sure that they are dead.
French author (1864-1910)
Fame is a constant effort.
French author (1864-1910)
Man who waits for roast duck to fly into mouth must wait very, very long time.
French author (1864-1910)
Laziness is nothing more than the habit of resting before you get tired.
French author (1864-1910)
Never does one feel oneself so utterly helpless as in trying to speak comfort for great bereavement. I will not try it. Time is the only comforter for the loss of a mother.
French author (1864-1910)
I am not sincere, even when I say I am not.
French author (1864-1910)