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Tragedy is restful: and the reason is that hope, that foul, deceitful thing, has no part in it.
Jean Anouilh
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Jean Anouilh
Age: 77 †
Born: 1910
Born: June 23
Died: 1987
Died: October 3
Author
Director
Dramatist
Film Director
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Bordèu
Jean Marie Lucien Pierre Anouilh
Hope
Part
Reason
Restful
Thing
Deceitful
Hype
Foul
Deceit
Tragedy
More quotes by Jean Anouilh
I don't want people to love me. It makes for obligations.
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An ugly sight, a man who is afraid.
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God! Is there anything uglier than a frightened man!
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Things are beautiful if you love them.
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What fun it would be to be poor, as long as one was excessively poor! Anything in excess is most exhilarating
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We have found other terms far less vague than the old ones to designate the same complaints. It's a great advance linguistically.
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To say yes, you have to sweat and roll up your sleeves and plunge both hands into life up to the elbows. It is easy to say no, even if saying no means death.
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Nobody has a more sacred obligation to obey the law than those who make the law.
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Death is beautiful. It alone gives love its true habitat.
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There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy.
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Believe me all evil comes from the old. They grow fat on ideas and young men die of them.
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Death has to be waiting at the end of the ride before you truly see the earth, and feel your heart, and love the world.
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What you get free costs too much.
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Talent is like a faucet, while it is open, one must write.
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When you are forty, half of you belongs to the past... And when you are seventy, nearly all of you.
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However tight I shut my eyes, there will always be a stray dog somewhere in the world who'll stop me being happy.
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All children are sweet at five. But at twelve they begin to get silly.
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Life isn't what you think it is. It's like water, and the young let it trickle away between their fingers without even noticing. Cup your hands, keep it safe. Life eventually becomes something else, something hard, something simple, something you can hold in your hand and nibble on contentedly as you sit in the sun.
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Have you noticed that life, with murders and catastrophes and fabulous inheritances, happens almost exclusively in newspapers?
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The true masters of the art of living are already happy.
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