A horribly bitter taste came into his mouth: the futility of everything, the eternal pain of existence. - Émile Zola

Just as the frost that burns the crops, the hail that chops them down, the thunderstorms which batter them are all perhaps necessary, maybe blood and tears are needed to keep the world going.

Like certain devotees, who fancy they will deceive the Almighty, and secure pardon by praying with their lips, and assuming the humble attitude of penitence, Thérèse displayed humility, striking her chest, finding words of repentance, without having anything at the bottom of her heart save fear and cowardice.

There were men so ambitious that they would wipe the masters' behinds to hear them say thank you.