Octave Mirbeau





Octave Mirbeau

Author profile


born
in France
February 16, 1848

died
February 16, 1917

gender
male

genre

About this author


Average rating: 3.74 · 948 ratings · 92 reviews · 43 distinct works · Similar authors
The Torture Garden
3.81 of 5 stars 3.81 avg rating — 644 ratings — published 1899 — 41 editions
The Diary of a Chambermaid
by
3.46 of 5 stars 3.46 avg rating — 204 ratings — published 1900 — 39 editions
Le Calvaire
3.87 of 5 stars 3.87 avg rating — 23 ratings — published 1886 — 6 editions
Sebastien Roch
3.82 of 5 stars 3.82 avg rating — 17 ratings — published 1890 — 2 editions
Abbe Jules
3.73 of 5 stars 3.73 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 1888 — 4 editions
Memoria de Georges el amargado
by
4.0 of 5 stars 4.00 avg rating — 3 ratings — published 2009
Interpellations
by
5.0 of 5 stars 5.00 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2011
Les Vingt Et Un Jours D'un ...
3.33 of 5 stars 3.33 avg rating — 3 ratings
Contes cruels, #1
4.5 of 5 stars 4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings
Romans Autobiographiques
4.5 of 5 stars 4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1991
More books by Octave Mirbeau…
“You're obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions you despise, condemn, and know lack all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That'��s the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world.”
Octave Mirbeau

“‎The greatest danger of a terrorist's bomb is in the explosion of stupidity that it provokes.”
Octave Mirbeau

“While I was an honorable man in her eyes, she did not love me. But the minute she understood what I was, when she breathed the true and foul odor of my soul, love was born in her – for she does love me! Well, well! There is nothing real, then, except evil.”
Octave Mirbeau