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Of all the passions, the only one that seems respectable to me is the passion for food

Guy de Maupassant

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Guy de Maupassant
Age: 42 †
Born: 1850
Born: August 5
Died: 1893
Died: July 6
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Short Story Writer
Writer
Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant
Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant
Guy de Valmont
Joseph Prunier
Food
Passion
Seems
Respectable
Passions

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I entered literary life as a meteor, and I shall leave it like a thunderbolt.
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The simplest of women are wonderful liars who can extricate themselves from the most difficult dilemmas with a skill bordering on genius.
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You have the army of mediocrities followed by the multitude of fools. As the mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority, it is impossible for them to elect an intelligent government.
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To avoid each other, their eyes had developed an amazing mobility with all the cunning of enemies fearful of meeting each other head on.
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A man forced to spend his life without ever having the right, without ever finding the time, to shut himself up all alone, no matter where, to think, to reflect, to work, to dream? Ah! my dear boy, a key, the key of a door which one can lock this is happiness, mark you, the only happiness!
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I know nothing more enjoyable than that happy-go-lucky wandering life, in which you are perfectly free without shackles of any kind, without care, without preoccupation, without thought even of to-morrow. You go in any direction you please, without any guide save your fancy.
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...A strange art – music – the most poetic and precise of all the arts, vague as a dream and precise as algebra.
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A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.
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A human being - what is a human being? Everything and nothing. Through the power of thought it can mirror everything it experiences. Through memory and knowledge it becomes a microcosm, carrying the world within itself. A mirror of things, a mirror of facts. Each human being becomes a little universe within the universe!
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One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.
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And taking her friend’s hand, she put it on her breast, on that firm round covering of a woman’s heart which the male often finds so satisfying that he makes no attempt to find what lies beneath it.
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Travel, like dreams, is a door that opens from the real world into a world that is yet to be discovered
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Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time we people the void with phantoms
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Every government has as much of a duty to avoid war as a ship's captain has to avoid a shipwreck.
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I said, 'If other beings besides us exist on Earth, why didn't we meet them a long time ago?
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How weak our mind is how quickly it is terrified and unbalanced as soon as we are confronted with a small, incomprehensible fact. Instead of dismissing the problem with: We do not understand because we cannot find the cause, we immediately imagine terrible mysteries and supernatural powers.
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Ale, not beer, in a pewter mug was comme il faut, the only thing for a gentleman of letters, worthy of the name, to drink.
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Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.
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She was the temptress who had ensnared the first man, and who still continued her work at damnation she was the being who is feeble, dangerous, mysteriously troubling. And even more than her body of perdition, he hated her loving soul.
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We breathe love as we breathe air we hold it in ourselves as we hold our thoughts. Nothing more exists for us.
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