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The only virtue on which I pride myself is my self-doubt when a writer loses her self-doubt, the time has come to lay aside her pen.
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
Loses
Virtue
Doubt
Come
Pens
Self
Aside
Time
Lays
Pride
Writer
More quotes by Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
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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January, month of empty pockets! let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer's forehead.
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I've entered the world of wine without any professional training, but a definite appetite for good bottles.
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That lovely voice how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!
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- and how time flies! What, has it already been twenty years, already forty years that we are together? Why, how terrible! We haven't yet said all we wanted to say to each other... May we have a little respite, or else may we be allowed to begin all over again!
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We only do well the things we like doing.
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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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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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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.
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When she raises her eyelids it's as if she were taking off all her clothes.
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Time spent with a cat is never wasted.
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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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In the matter of furnishing, I find a certain absence of ugliness far worse than ugliness.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
Smokers, male and female, inject and excuse idleness in their lives every time they light a cigarette.
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There are no ordinary cats.
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If we want to be sincere, we must admit that there is a well-nourished love and an ill-nourished love. And the rest is literature.
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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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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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Writing only leads to more writing.
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