Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Quotes
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A happy childhood is poor preparation for human contacts.
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If I can't have too many truffles, I'll do without truffles.
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You don't think before you do something foolish. You do your thinking afterwards.
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Don't cudgel your brains over my little problems.
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Never touch a butterfly's wing with your finger.
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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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The day after that wedding night I found that a distance of a thousand miles, abyss and discovery and irremediable metamorphosis, separated me from the day before.
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Voluptuaries, consumed by their senses, always begin by flinging themselves with a great display of frenzy into an abyss. But they survive, they come to the surface again. And they develop a routine of the abyss: It's four o clock. At five I have my abyss.
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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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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.
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Time spent with a cat is never wasted.
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It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.
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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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Total absence of humor renders life impossible.
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On the first of May, with my comrades of the catechism class, I laid lilac, chamomile and rose before the altar of the Virgin, and returned full of pride to show my blessed posy. My mother laughed her irreverent laugh and, looking at my bunch of flowers, which was bringing the may-bug into the sitting-room right under the lamp, she said: Do you suppose it wasn't already blessed before?
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At sixty-three years of age, less a quarter, one still has plans.
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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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beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water
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It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts.
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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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I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.
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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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But what is the heart, madame? It's worth less than people think. it's quite accommodating, it accepts anything. You give it whatever you have, it's not very particular. But the body... Ha! That's something else again! It has a cultivated taste, as they say, it knows what it wants. A heart doesn't choose, and one always ends up by loving.
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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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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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At the top of the iron staircase leading to the stage, the good, dry, dusty warmth wraps me round like a comfortable dirty cloak.
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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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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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Truffles must come to the table in their own stock and as you break open this jewel sprung from a poverty-stricken soil, imagine - if you have never visited it - the desolate kingdom where it rules.
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Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
- Born: January 28, 1873
- Died: August 3, 1954
- Occupation: Novelist
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