To jealousy, nothing is more frightful than laughter.
There is a certain age when a woman must be beautiful to be loved, and then there comes a time when she must be loved to be beautiful.
I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, That which to me, Is the only sensible way to love.
I always believe things are going to work out.
Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.
Money may not buy happiness, but I'd rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.
Love is worth whatever it costs.
One can never speak enough of the virtues, the dangers, the power of shared laughter.
I like men to behave like men. I like them strong and childish.
A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to take it off of you.
I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too.
For what are we looking for if not to please? I do not know if the desire to attract others comes from a superabundance of vitality, possessiveness, or the hidden, unspoken need to be reassured.
Curiosity is the beginning of all wisdom.
Jazz music is an intensified feeling of nonchalance.
If you treat life well, life is usually good to you. And I love life. There's a long-standing affair between us.
Art must take reality by surprise.
Nothing brings on jealousy like laughter.
I recognize limitations in the sense that I've read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky and Shakespeare . . . Aside from that I don't think of limiting myself.
For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.
I think the best way to waste time is to try to save time.
Writing is just having a sheet of paper, a pen and not a shadow of an idea of what you are going to say.
There is no such thing as an ideal man. The ideal man is the man you love at the moment.
Of course the illusion of art is to make one believe that great literature is very close to life, but exactly the opposite is true. Life is amorphous, literature is formal.
I was thinking that I should be content to kiss him until the break of day. Bertrand ran out of kisses too soon; desire made them superfluous in his eyes. They were only a stage on the road to pleasure, not something inexhaustible and self-sufficient, as Luc had revealed them to me.
For me writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz.
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