Honore de Balzac
Honore de Balzac
Honoré de Balzacbal.zak], born Honoré 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...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth20 May 1799
CountryFrance
happiness marriage couple
Among even the happiest married couples there are always moments of regret.
happiness sacrifice self-sacrifice
Some day you will find out that there is far more happiness in another's happiness than in your own.
husband hate found-happiness
A husband and wife who are in the habit of occupying separate rooms are either beings apart, or they have found happiness. Either they hate or they adore each other.
happiness revenge world
The world will avenge itself upon all happiness in which it has no share.
happiness hypocrisy social
Our happiness often depends upon social hypocrisies to which we will never stoop.
happiness heart men
The happier a man, the more apt he is to tremble. In hearts exclusively tender, anxiety and jealousy are in exact proportion to happiness.
happiness soul doe
But does not happiness come from the soul within?
husband found-happiness wife
A husband and wife who have separate bedrooms have either drifted apart or found happiness.
family happiness mothers-day
A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.
life happiness courage
All happiness depends on courage and work.
ignorance moments moments-of-happiness
Every moment of happiness requires a great amount of Ignorance
art history humanity religion
All humanity is passion; without passion, religion, history, novels, art would be ineffectual.
inspirational men law
To live in the presence of great truths and eternal laws, to be led by permanent ideals - that is what keeps a man patient when the world ignores him, and calm and unspoiled when the world praises him.
suicide wall writing
If the artist does not fling himself, without reflecting, into his work, as Curtis flung himself into the yawning gulf, as the soldier flings himself into the enemy's trenches, and if, once in this crater, he does not work like a miner on whom the walls of his gallery have fallen in; if he contemplates difficulties instead of overcoming them one by one ... he is simply looking on at the suicide of his own talent.