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.… — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
I love my past, I love my present. I am not ashamed of what I have had, and I am not sad because I… — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
The faults of husbands are often caused by the excess virtues of their wives. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
Look for a long time at what pleases you, and a longer time at what pains you. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
Is suffering so very serious? I have come to doubt it. It may be quite childish, a sort of undignified pastime I'm referring to… — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
No temptation can ever be measured by the value of its object. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
A happy childhood is poor preparation for human contacts. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
I've entered the world of wine without any professional training, but a definite appetite for good bottles. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
There is no need to waste pity on young girls who are having their moments of disillusionment, for in another moment they will recover… — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
A pretty little collection of weaknesses and a terror of spiders are our indispensable stock-in-trade with the men. — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
By means of an image we are often able to hold on to our lost belongings. But it is the desperateness of losing which… — Sidonie Gabrielle Colette Copy Share Image
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 Copy Share Image
