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January, month of empty pockets! let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer's forehead.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
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Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
Age: 81 †
Born: 1873
Born: January 28
Died: 1954
Died: August 3
Actor
Ghostwriter
Journalist
Librettist
Novelist
Playwright
Prosaist
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
Montagne-sur-Loing
Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
Producers
Forehead
Theatre
Foreheads
Endure
January
Empty
Theatrical
Months
Producer
Evil
Pockets
Anxious
Month
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If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.
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At sixty-three years of age, less a quarter, one still has plans.
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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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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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It is wise to apply the oil of refined politeness to the mechanisms of friendship.
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Books, books, books. It was not that I read so much. I read and re-read the same ones. But all of them were necessary to me. Their presence, their smell, the letters of their titles, and the texture of their leather bindings.
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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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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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You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.
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The true traveler is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time.
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Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
A pretty little collection of weaknesses and a terror of spiders are our indispensable stock-in-trade with the men...
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
When she raises her eyelids it's as if she were taking off all her clothes.
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That lovely voice how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!
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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 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.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
There are no ordinary cats.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
Don't cudgel your brains over my little problems.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
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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