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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
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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
Time
Greater
Characteristics
Lying
Cat
Sound
Sounds
Indebted
Keep
Silent
Aversion
Need
Periods
Characteristic
Needs
Particular
Deceit
Long
Control
Honorable
Kind
Animal
Brutal
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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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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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We only do well the things we like doing.
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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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If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.
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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.
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At sixty-three years of age, less a quarter, one still has plans.
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I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I no longer have it.
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Hope costs nothing.
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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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Is suffering so very serious? ...I'm referring to the kind of suffering a man inflicts on a woman or a woman on a man. It's extremely painful... hardly bearable. But I very much fear that this sort of pain... is no more worthy of respect than old age or illness.
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beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water
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No temptation can ever be measured by the value of its object.
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I am going away with him to an unknown country where I shall have no past and no name, and where I shall be born again with a new face and an untried heart.
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Writing only leads to more writing.
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Time spent with a cat is never wasted.
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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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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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There are no ordinary cats.
Sidonie Gabrielle Colette