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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.
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
Hold
Bouquet
Lost
Bouquets
Form
Binds
Treasures
Treasure
Forms
Image
Composes
Loss
Wrenching
More quotes by Sidonie Gabrielle Colette
I went to collect the few personal belongings which...I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.
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Writing only leads to more writing.
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If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.
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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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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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At sixty-three years of age, less a quarter, one still has plans.
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There are no ordinary cats.
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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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I've entered the world of wine without any professional training, but a definite appetite for good bottles.
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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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The true traveler is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time.
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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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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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That lovely voice how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!
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It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.
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No temptation can ever be measured by the value of its object.
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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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One keeps forgetting old age up to the very brink of the grave.
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Time spent with a cat is never wasted.
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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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