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.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTEI have found my voice again and the art of using it.
More Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Quotes
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Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.
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As for an authentic villain, the real thing, the absolute, the artist, one rarely meets him even once in a lifetime. The ordinary bad hat is always in part a decent fellow.
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Is suffering so very serious? …I’m referring to the kind of suffering a man inflicts on a woman or a woman on a man. It’s extremely painful… hardly bearable. But I very much fear that this sort of pain… is no more worthy of respect than old age or illness.
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There is no need to waste pity on young girls who are having their moments of disillusionment, for in another moment they will recover their illusion.
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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.
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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.
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Don’t cudgel your brains over my little problems.
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I am indebted to the cat for a particular kind of honorable deceit, for a greater control over myself, for a characteristic aversion to brutal sounds, and for the need to keep silent for long periods of time.
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One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.
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A kindly gesture bestowed by us on an animal arouses prodigies of understanding and gratitude.
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Look for a long time at what pleases you, and a longer time at what pains you.
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By means of an image we are often able to hold on to our lost belongings. But it is the desperateness of losing which picks the flowers of memory, binds the bouquet.
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January, month of empty pockets! let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer’s forehead.
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Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.
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We only do well the things we like doing.
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I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.
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There are days when solitude, for someone my age, is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.
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In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge.
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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.
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I went to collect the few personal belongings which. I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.
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By an image we hold on to our lost treasures, but it is the wrenching loss that forms the image, composes, binds the bouquet.
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Writing only leads to more writing.
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It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts.
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I am going away with him to an unknown country where I shall have no past and no name, and where I shall be born again with a new face and an untried heart.
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I have found my voice again and the art of using it.
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What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.
SIDONIE GABRIELLE COLETTE