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Love is always love, come whence it may. A heart that beats at your approach, an eye that weeps when you go away are things so rare, so sweet, so precious that they must never be despised.
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
Heart
Beats
Always
Approach
Things
Sweet
Never
Eye
Weeps
Love
Away
Whence
May
Despised
Come
Rare
Must
Precious
More quotes by Guy de Maupassant
Night was a very different matter. It was dense, thicker than the very walls, and it was empty, so black, so immense that within it you could brush against appalling things and feel roaming and prowling around a strange, mysterious horror.
Guy de Maupassant
...A strange art – music – the most poetic and precise of all the arts, vague as a dream and precise as algebra.
Guy de Maupassant
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.
Guy de Maupassant
A sick thought can devour the body's flesh more than fever or consumption.
Guy de Maupassant
Love always has its price, come whence it may.
Guy de Maupassant
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.
Guy de Maupassant
I said, 'If other beings besides us exist on Earth, why didn't we meet them a long time ago?
Guy de Maupassant
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.
Guy de Maupassant
She was a sweet girl but not really pretty, a rough sketch of a woman with a little of everything in her, one of those silhouettes which artists draw in three strokes on the tablecloth in a café after dinner, between a glass of brandy and a cigarette. Nature sometimes turns out creatures like that.
Guy de Maupassant
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.
Guy de Maupassant
History, that excitable and unreliable old lady.
Guy de Maupassant
I entered literary life as a meteor, and I shall leave it like a thunderbolt.
Guy de Maupassant
Life is a slope. As long as you're going up you're always looking towards the top and you feel happy, but when you reach it, suddenly you can see the road going downhill and death at the end of it all. It's slow going up and quick going down.
Guy de Maupassant
Champagne... the wine of kings, the king of wines
Guy de Maupassant
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!
Guy de Maupassant
To lie about a far country is easy
Guy de Maupassant
Since governments take the right of death over their people, it is not astonishing if the people should sometimes take the right of death over governments.
Guy de Maupassant
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.
Guy de Maupassant
To avoid each other, their eyes had developed an amazing mobility with all the cunning of enemies fearful of meeting each other head on.
Guy de Maupassant
One sometimes weeps over one's illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.
Guy de Maupassant