One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTEA few days later, I found my mother beneath the tree, motionless with excitement, her head turned toward the heavens in which she would allow human religions no place.
More Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Quotes
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Sit down and put down everything that comes into your head and then you’re a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own stuff’s worth, without pity, and destroy most of it.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I no longer have it.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
A few days later, I found my mother beneath the tree, motionless with excitement, her head turned toward the heavens in which she would allow human religions no place.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
I want nothing from love, in short, but love.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
A pretty little collection of weaknesses and a terror of spiders are our indispensable stock-in-trade with the men.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
It is wise to apply the oil of refined politeness to the mechanisms of friendship.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
A woman who thinks she is intelligent demands the same rights as man. An intelligent woman gives up.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
So now, whenever I despair, I no longer expect my end, but some bit of luck, some commonplace little miracle which, like a glittering link, will mend again the necklace of my days.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
When she raises her eyelids it’s as if she were taking off all her clothes.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE -
If we want to be sincere, we must admit that there is a well-nourished love and an ill-nourished love. And the rest is literature.
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Perhaps the only misplaced curiosity is that which persists in trying to find out here, on this side of death, what lies beyond the grave.
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Writing only leads to more writing.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE






