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Of All The Icy Blasts That Blow On Love, A Request For Money Is The Most Chilling.
-Gustave Flaubert
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Of All The Icy

Gustave Flaubert
...
Of All The Icy Blasts That Blow On Love, A Request For Money Is The Most Chilling.

Understanding the Quote: "of all the icy blasts that blow on love, a request for..."

This quote by Gustave Flaubert reflects deeply on the theme of blow. It connects to the universal human journey of purpose, motivation, and reflection. Often categorized under Blow, Icy, Chill, the quote offers insight, emotional clarity, and intellectual inspiration to readers worldwide.

Whether you’re a student exploring new ideas, a leader trying to motivate your team, or someone seeking direction in life — this quote provides value. It resonates because it’s more than words — it’s a bridge between experience and wisdom. It shows how Gustave Flaubert interprets life's core challenges and triumphs.

Lessons From the Quote

This quote teaches resilience and focus. It reminds readers that no matter where they stand in life, reflection and self-awareness lead to growth. Each word has meaning, and when studied, it becomes clear how impactful thoughtful language can be.

About Gustave Flaubert

Gustave Flaubert is celebrated for insightful thoughts on blow and icy. Their legacy lives on through writings that guide, comfort, and inspire. Discover more on their profile page.

Actionable Takeaways

  • Reflect on how this quote applies to your current life path.
  • Share the message with someone who needs inspiration.
  • Write your thoughts on this quote in a journal or blog post.
  • Use it as a daily affirmation or reminder.

Closing Thoughts

Quotes like this endure because they capture universal truths. They comfort us in solitude and empower us in groups. Carry this quote forward — live by its wisdom, share its message, and keep its essence alive.

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Topic
Blow
Icy
Chill
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Writing This Book I Am Like A Man Playing The Piano With Lead Balls Attached To His Knuckles.
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One Must Always Hope When One Is Desperate, And Doubt When One Hopes.
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There Are In Me, In Literary Terms, Two Distinct Characters: One Who Is Taken With Roaring, With Lyricism, With Soaring Aloft, With All The Sonorities Of Phrase And Summits Of Thought; And The Other Who Digs And Scratches For Truth All He Can, Who Is As Interested In The Little Facts As The Big Ones, Who Would Like To Make You Feel Materially The Things He Reproduces.
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There Is Not A Particle Of Life Which Does Not Bear Poetry Within It
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And Indeed, What Is Better Than To Sit By One's Fireside In The Evening With A Book, While The Wind Beats Against The Window And The Lamp Is Buring?
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Casting Aspersions On Those We Love Always Does Something To Loosen Our Ties. We Shouldn't Maltreat Our Idols: The Gilt Comes Off On Our Hands.
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I Spent The Morning Putting In A Comma And The Afternoon Removing It.
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It Is Splendid To Be A Great Writer, To Put Men Into The Frying Pan Of Your Words And Make Them Pop Like Chestnuts.
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The Author, In His Work, Must Be Like God In The Universe, Present Everywhere And Visible Nowhere.
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I Am Finding It Very Hard To Get My Novel Started. I Suffer From Stylistic Abscesses; And Sentences Keep Itching Without Coming To A Head.
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Here Is True Immorality: Ignorance And Stupidity; The Devil Is Nothing But This. His Name Is Legion.
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… Her Heart Remained Empty Once More, And The Procession Of Days All Alike Began Again. So They Were Going To Follow One Another, Like This, In Line, Always Identical, Innumerable, Bringing Nothing!
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It Is Necessary To Sleep Upon The Pillow Of Doubt.
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Everything Which One Invents Is True, Be Sure Of It.
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I’m Dazzled By Your Facility. In Ten Days You’ll Have Written Six Stories! I Don’t Understand It… I’m Like One Of Those Old Aqueducts: There’s So Much Rubbish Cogging Up The Banks Of My Thought That It Flows Slowly, And Only Spills From The End Of My Pen Drop By Drop.
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I Have Come To Have The Firm Conviction That Vanity Is The Basis Of Everything, And Finally That What One Calls Conscience Is Only Inner Vanity.
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She Wanted To Die, But She Also Wanted To Live In Paris.
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Thought Is The Greatest Of Pleasures —pleasure Itself Is Only Imagination—have You Ever Enjoyed Anything More Than Your Dreams?
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The Only Way To Avoid Being Unhappy Is To Close Yourself Up In Art And To Count For Nothing All The Rest.
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I Live Absolutely Like An Oyster.
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Judge The Goodness Of A Book By The Energy Of The Punches It Has Given You. I Believe The Greatest Characteristic Of Genius, Is, Above All, Force.
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Daguerreotype Will Take The Place Of Painting. (see Photography.) (from The Dictionary Of Received Ideas, Assembled From Notes Flaubert Made In The 1870s.)
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What Seems Beautiful To Me, What I Should Like To Write, Is A Book About Nothing, A Book Dependent On Nothing External, Which Would Be Held Together By The Strength Of Its Style, Just As The Earth, Suspended In The Void, Depends On Nothing External For Its Support.
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To Be Stupid, Selfish, And Have Good Health Are Three Requirements For Happiness, Though If Stupidity Is Lacking, All Is Lost.
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But Some Day Sooner Or Later Our Passion Would Have Cooled - Inevitably - It's The Way With Everything Human.
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He Was Bored Now When Emma Suddenly Began To Sob On His Breast; And His Heart, Like The People Who Can Only Stand A Certain Amount Of Music, Became Drowsy Through Indifference To The Vibrations Of A Love Whose Subtleties He Could No Longer Distinguish.
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(egypt) Is A Great Place For Contrasts: Splendid Things Gleam In The Dust.
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Coffee: Induces Wit. Good Only If It Comes Through Havre. After A Big Dinner Party It Is Taken Standing Up. Take It Without Sugar - Very Swank: Gives The Impression You Have Lived In The East.
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The Most Glorious Moments In Your Life Are Not The So-called Days Of Success, But Rather Those Days When Out Of Dejection And Despair You Feel Rise In You A Challenge To Life, And The Promise Of Future Accomplishments.
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Snicker On Hearing His Name: 'the Gentleman Who Thinks We Are Descended From The Apes.'
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The More Humanity Advances, The More It Is Degraded.
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Cold. Healthier Than Heat.
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Are The Days Of Winter Sunshine Just As Sad For You, Too? When It Is Misty, In The Evenings, And I Am Out Walking By Myself, It Seems To Me That The Rain Is Falling Through My Heart And Causing It To Crumble Into Ruins.
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On Spinach: I Dislike It, And Am Happy To Dislike It Because If I Liked It I Would Eat It, And I Cannot Stand It.
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For Every Bourgeois, In The Heat Of Youth, If Only For A Day, For A Minute, Has Believed Himself Capable Of Immense Passions, Of Heroic Enterprises. The Most Mediocre Libertine Has Dreamed Of Oriental Princesses; Every Rotary Carries About Inside Him The Debris Of A Poet.
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Sometimes I Think I'm Liquefying Like An Old Camembert.
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I Go From Exasperation To A State Of Collapse, Then I Recover And Go From Prostration To Fury, So That My Average State Is One Of Being Annoyed.
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What Is Beautiful Is Moral, That Is All There Is To It.
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Art Requires Neither Complaisance Nor Politeness; Nothing But Faith, Faith And Freedom.
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Life Must Be A Constant Education; One Must Learn Everything, From Speaking To Dying.
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Be Orderly And Disciplined In Daily Life, Like A Good Bourgeois, So That I Might Be Wild And Violent In My Art.
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Of All The Icy Blasts That Blow On Love, A Request For Money Is The Most Chilling.
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Do Not Read, As Children Do, To Amuse Yourself, Or Like The Ambitious, For The Purpose Of Instruction. No, Read In Order To Live.
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The Whole Dream Of Democracy Is To Raise The Proletarian To The Level Of Stupidity Attained By The Bourgeois.
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Art Is Nothing Without Form.
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I Love My Work With A Frenetic And Perverse Love, As An Ascetic Loves The Hair Shirt Which Scratches His Belly.
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In Her Enthusiasms She Had Always Looked For Something Tangible: She Had Always Loved Church For Its Flowers, Music For Its Romantic Words, Literature For Its Power To Stir The Passions And She Rebelled Before The Mysteries Of Faith Just As She Grew Ever More Restive Under Discipline, Which Was Antipathetic To Her Nature.
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The Writer Must Wade Into Life As Into The Sea, But Only Up To The Navel.
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The Principal Thing In The World Is To Keep The Soul Aloft.
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World
Principal
Everything Depends On The Value We Give To Things. We Are The Ones Who Make Morality And Virtue. The Cannibal Who Eats His Neighbor Is As Innocent As The Child Who Sucks His Barley-sugar.
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Giving
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The Faster The Word Sticks To The Thought, The More Beautiful Is The Effect.
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Literature
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Idols
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Reading
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Drinking
Ocean
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One Day, I Shall Explode Like An Artillery Shell And All My Bits Will Be Found On The Writing Table.
Writing
One Day
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Goal
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Consequence
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Eternal
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Death
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Put All Your Rage And Madness Into Your Work And Live As Orderly A Life As Possible.
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What Baffled Him Was That There Should Be All This Fuss About Something So Simple As Love.
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Carrie
I Will Cover You With Love When Next I See You, With Caresses, With Ecstasy. I Want To Gorge You With All The Joys Of The Flesh, So That You Faint And Die. I Want You To Be Amazed By Me, And To Confess To Yourself That You Had Never Even Dreamed Of Such Transports.... When You Are Old, I Want You To Recall Those Few Hours, I Want Your Dry Bones To Quiver With Joy When You Think Of Them.
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Thinking
My Life Which I Dream Will Be So Beautiful, So Poetic, So Vast, So Filled With Love Will Turn Out To Be Like Everybody Else's - Monotonous, Sensible, Stupid.
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Exuberance Is Better Than Taste.
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Taste
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Oh, If I Had Been Loved At The Age Of Seventeen, What An Idiot I Would Be Today. Happiness Is Like Smallpox: If You Catch It Too Soon, It Can Completely Ruin Your Constitution.
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Anything Becomes Interesting If You Look At It Long Enough.
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There Was An Air Of Indifference About Them, A Calm Produced By The Gratification Of Every Passion; And Through Their Manners Were Suave, One Could Sense Beneath Them That Special Brutality Which Comes From The Habit Of Breaking Down Half-hearted Resistances That Keep One Fit And Tickle One’s Vanity—the Handling Of Blooded Horses, The Pursuit Of Loose Women.
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Passion
Vanity
Love, To Her, Was Something Hat Comes Suddenly, Like A Blinding Flash Of Lightening - A Heaven-sent Storm Hurled Into Life, Uprooting It, Sweeping Every Will Before It Like A Leaf, Engulfing All Feelings.
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Feelings
Storm
For Him The Universe Did Not Extend Beyond The Circumference Of Her Petticoat.
Universe
Antiquite . En Tout Ce Qui S'y Rapporte: Est Poncif, Embe" Tant! Etc. Antiquity. And Everything To Do With It, Cliche D And Boring.
Etc
Boring
Cliche
You Need A High Degree Of Corruption Or A Very Big Heart To Love Absolutely Everything
Heart
Criticism
Degrees
One's Existence Should Be In Two Parts: One Should Live Like A Bourgeois And Think Like A Demigod.
Life
Thinking
Two
In My View, The Novelist Has No Right To Express His Opinions On The Things Of This World. In Creating, He Must Imitate God: Do His Job And Then Shut Up.
Jobs
Views
Creating
Concern For Morality Makes Every Work Of The Imagination False And Stupid.
Stupid
Imagination
Morality
The Art Of Writing Is The Art Of Discovering What You Believe.
Inspirational
Life
Art
The Deplorable Mania Of Doubt Exhausts Me. I Doubt About Everything, Even My Doubts.
Doubt
Literature
Mania
And So I Will Take Back Up My Poor Life, So Plain And So Tranquil, Where Phrases Are Adventures And The Only Flowers I Gather Aremetaphors.
Flower
Adventure
Phrases
They Took Each Other's Advice, Opened One Book, Went Over To Another, Then Did Not Know What To Decide When Opinions Diverged So Widely.
Book
Advice
Opinion
I Have Dreamed Much And Have Done Very Little.
Done
Littles
One Mustn't Look At The Abyss, Because There Is At The Bottom An Inexpressible Charm Which Attracts Us.
Life
Looks
Charm
I Do Not Like To "interest" The Public With Myself.
Self
Fame
Interest
And The More He Was Irritated By Her Basic Personality, The More He Was Drawn To Her By A Harsh, Bestial Sensuality, Illusions Of A Moment, Which Ended In Hate.
Hate
Personality
Irritated
Let Us Not Kid Ourselves; Let Us Remember That Literature Is Of No Use Whatever, Except In The Very Special Case Of Somebody's Wishing To Become, Of All Things, A Professor Of Literature.
Kids
Special
Wish
Stupidity Is Something Unshakable; Nothing Attacks It Without Breaking Itself Against It; It Is Of The Nature Of Granite, Hard And Resistant.
Stupid
Literature
Unshakable
A Superhuman Will Is Needed In Order To Write, And I Am Only A Man.
Writing
Men
Order
The Most Important Thing In The World Is To Hold Your Soul Aloft.
Karma
Fathers Day
Soul
The Hearts Of Women Are Like Those Little Pieces Of Furniture With Secret Hiding - Places, Full Of Drawers Fitted Into Each Other; You Go A Lot Of Trouble, Break Your Nails, And In The Bottom Find Some Withered Flower, A Few Grains Of Dust - Or Emptiness!
Flower
Heart
Dust
[t]he Truth Is That Fullness Of Soul Can Sometimes Overflow In Utter Vapidity Of Language, For None Of Us Can Ever Express The Exact Measure Of His Needs Or His Thoughts Or His Sorrows; And Human Speech Is Like A Cracked Kettle On Which We Tap Crude Rhythms For Bears To Dance To, While We Long To Make Music That Will Melt The Stars.
Stars
Long
Soul
That Man Has Missed Something Who Has Never Left A Brothel At Sunrise Feeling Like Throwing Himself Into The River Out Of Pure Disgust.
Drinking
Men
Rivers
Je Suis Autant Chinois Que Fran C° Ais. I Am As Much Chinese As French.
Chinese
By Working One Can Bend Fortune. She Is Fond Of Crafty Men.
Men
Fortune
Crafty
Only Three Things Are Infinite. The Sky In Its Stars, The Sea In Its Drops Of Water, And The Heart In Its Tears.
Stars
Memorable
Heart
What Stops Me From Taking Myself Seriously, Even Though I Am Essentially A Serious Person, Is That I Find Myself Extremely Ridiculous, Not In The Sense Of The Small-scale Ridiculousness Of Slap-stick Comedy, But Rather In The Sense Of Ridiculousness That Seems Intrinsic To Human Life And That Manifests Itself In The Simplest Actions And The Most Extraordinary Gestures.
Serious Person
Sticks
Gestures
Ah! In Fact There Are Two Moralities ... The Petty One, The Conventional One, The One Devised By Men, That Keeps Changing And Bellows So Loudly, Making A Commotion Down Here Among Us, In A Perfectly Pedestrian Way ... But The Other One, The Eternal One, Is All Around And Above Us, Like A Landscape That Surrounds Us And The Blue Sky That Gives Us Light.
Men
Sky
Two
Doctor. Always Preceded By 'the Good'. Among Men, In Familiar Conversation, 'oh! Balls, Doctor!' Is A Wizard When He Enjoys Your Confidence, A Jack-ass When You're No Longer On Terms. All Are Materialists: 'you Can't Probe For Faith With A Scalpel.'
Science
Men
Doctors
Better To Work For Yourself Alone. You Do As You Like And Follow Your Own Ideas, You Admire Yourself And Please Yourself: Isn’t That The Main Thing? And Then The Public Is So Stupid. Besides, Who Reads? And What Do They Read? And What Do They Admire?
Stupid
Ideas
Admire
He Dreamed Of Funeral Love, But Dreams Crumble And The Tomb Abides
Dream
Funeral
Tombs
It Is A Delicious Thing To Write, To Be No Longer Yourself But To Move In An Entire Universe Of Your Own Creating. Today, For Instance, As Man And Woman, Both Lover And Mistress, I Rode In A Forest On An Autumn Afternoon Under The Yellow Leaves, And I Was Also The Horses, The Leaves, The Wind, The Words My People Uttered, Even The Red Sun That Made Them Almost Close Their Love-drowned Eyes.
Horse
Moving
Eye
The Finest Works Of Art Are Those In Which There Is The Least Matter. The Closer Expression Comes To Thought, The More The Word Clings To The Idea And Disappears, The More Beautiful The Work Of Art.
Beautiful
Art
Thoughtful
The Style, Which Is Something I Take To Heart, Is Getting On My Nerves Horribly. It Frustrates And Torments Me. I Have Days When Iam Sick About It And Nights When It Gives Me A Fever. The More I Go At It The More I Find Myself Incapable Of Conveying The Idea.
Work
Heart
Night
Maybe Happiness Too Is A Metaphor Invented On A Day Of Boredom
Boredom
Metaphor
You Don't Know What It Is To Stay A Whole Day With Your Head In Your Hands Trying To Squeeze Your Unfortunate Brain So As To Find A Word.
Hands
Brain
Trying
In The Dark Room A Cloud Of Yellow Dust Flew From Beneath The Tool Like A Scatter Of Sparks From Under The Hooves Of A Galloping Horse. The Twin Wheels Turned And Hummed. Binet Was Smiling, His Chin Down, His Nostrils Distended. He Seemed Lost In The Kind Of Happiness Which, As A Rule, Accompanies Only Those Mediocre Occupations That Tickle The Intelligence With Easy Difficulties, And Satisfy It With A Sense Of Achievement Beyond Which There Is Nothing Left For Dreams To Feed On.
Dream
Horse
Dark
I Invite All Brats To Throw Their Cookies At The Baker's Head If They're Not Sweet, Winos To Chuck Their Wine If It's Bad, The Dying To Shuck Their Souls When They Croak, And Men To Throw Their Existence In God's Face When It's Bitter
Sweet
Wine
Men
He Loved The Extensive Vaults Where You Could Hear The Night Birds And The Sea Breeze; He Loved The Craggy Ruins Bound Together By Ivy, Those Dark Halls, And Any Appearance Of Death And Destruction. Having Fallen So Far From So High A Position, He Loved Anything That Had Also Fallen From A Great Height
Dark
Night
Sea Breeze
Beautiful Things Spoil Nothing.
Beautiful
Beautiful Things
Spoil
One's Duty Is To Feel What Is Great, Cherish The Beautiful, And To Not Accept The Conventions Of Society With The Ignominy That It Imposes Upon Us.
Beautiful
Flannels
Cherish
It Seems To Me... That I Have Always Lived! I Possess Memories That Go Back To The Pharoahs. I See Myself Very Clearly At Different Ages Of History, Practicing Different Professions... My Present Personality Is The Result Of My Lost [past] Personalities.
Memories
Past
Personality
Reveal Art; Conceal The Artist.
Art
Artist
Revelations
It's A Delicious Thing To Write. To Be No Longer Yourself But To Move In An Entire Universe Of Your Own Creating.
Moving
Writing
Creating
The Principal Thing In This World Is To Keep One's Soul Aloft.
Soul
World
This World
Adultery ... Could Be As Banal As Marriage.
Adultery
There Are Two Infinities That Confuse Me: The One In My Soul Devours Me; The One Around Me Will Crush Me
Crush
Two
Soul
The Idea Of Bringing Someone Into The World Fills Me With Horror. I Would Curse Myself If I Were A Father. A Son Of Mine! Oh No, No, No! May My Entire Flesh Perish And May I Transmit To No One The Aggravations And The Disgrace Of Existence.
Father
Son
Aggravation
I Am A Man-pen. I Feel Through The Pen, Because Of The Pen.
Men
Feels
Pens
La Parole Humaine Est Comme Un Chaudron Fe" Le O U' Nous Battons Des Me Lodies A' Faire Danser Les Ours, Quand On Voudrait Attendrir Les E Toiles. Human Speech Is Like A Cracked Kettle On Which We Beat Out Tunes For Bears To Dance To, When All The Time We Are Longing To Move The Stars To Pity.
Stars
Moving
Speech
But An Infinity Of Passions Can Be Contained In A Minute, Like A Crowd In A Tiny Space.
Passion
Space
Crowds
What Is The Beautiful, If Not The Impossible.
Beauty
Beautiful
Possible And Impossible
Everything Is There: The Love Of Art.
Art
Artist
Of All Possible Debauches, Traveling Is The Greatest That I Know; That's The One They Invented When They Got Tired Of All The Others.
Travel
Tired
Literature
The Most Important Quality Of Art And Its Aim Is Illusion; Emotion, Which Is Often Obtained By Certain Sacrifices Of Poetic Detail, Is Something Else Entirely And Of An Inferior Order.
Art
Sacrifice
Order
The One Way Of Tolerating Existence Is To Lose Oneself In Literature As In A Perpetual Orgy.
Book
Literature
Way
A Man, At Least, Is Free; He Can Explore Every Passion, Every Land, Overcome Obstacles, Taste The Most Distant Pleasures. But A Woman Is Continually Thwarted. Inert And Pliant At The Same Time, She Must Struggle Against Both The Softness Of Her Flesh And Subjection To The Law. Her Will, Like The Veil Tied To Her Hat By A String, Flutters With Every Breeze; There Is Always Some Desire Luring Her On, Some Convention Holding Her Back.
Women
Struggle
Passion
The Better A Work Is, The More It Attracts Criticism; It Is Like The Fleas Who Rush To Jump On White Linens.
White
Criticism
Fleas
I Believe That If One Always Looked At The Skies, One Would End Up With Wings.
Nature
Believe
Sky
What An Awful Thing Life Is, Isn’t It? It’s Like Soup With Lots Of Hairs Floating On The Surface. You Have To Eat It Nevertheless.
Food
Hair
Floating
Abstraction Can Provide Stumbling Blocks For People Of Strange Intelligence.
Block
People
Strange
As Humanity Perfects Itself, Man Becomes Degraded. When Everything Is Reduced To The Mere Counter-balancing Of Economic Interests, What Room Will There Be For Virtue? When Nature Has Been So Subjugated That She Has Lost All Her Original Forms, Where Will That Leave The Plastic Arts? And So On. In The Mean Time, Things Are Going To Get Very Murky.
Art
Money
Mean
One Must Laugh And Weep, Love, Work, Enjoy And Suffer, In Short Vibrate As Much As Possible In All His Being.
Laughing
Suffering
Enjoy
Iced Champagne Was Served, And The Feel Of The Cold Wine In Her Mouth Gave Emma A Shiver That Ran Over Her From Head To Toe.
Wine
Mouths
Toes
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