Money may not buy happiness, but I'd rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.
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.
To jealousy, nothing is more frightful than laughter.
Love is worth whatever it costs.
A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to take it off of you.
We are torn between the craving to know and the despair of having known.
Passion is the salt of life, and that at the times when we are under its spell this salt is indispensable to us, even if we have got along very well without it before.
I always believe things are going to work out.
Curiosity is the beginning of all wisdom.
Art must take reality by surprise.
There is no such thing as an ideal man. The ideal man is the man you love at the moment.
Whisky, gambling and Ferraris are better than housework.
If you don't have imagination you're lost. But it's a virtue that's becoming increasingly rare, especially in its higher form: spontaneity. Mad, happy spontaneity.
One can never speak enough of the virtues, the dangers, the power of shared laughter.
Love lasts about seven years. That's how long it takes for the cells of the body to totally replace themselves.
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.
Illness is the opposite of freedom. It makes everything impossible.
I like men to behave like men. I like them strong and childish.
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.
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.
In love, as in finance, only the rich can get credit.
At night, time becomes a calm sea. It goes on for ever.
A Strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow has always appealed to me but now I am almost ashamed of it's complete egoism. I have known boredom, regret, and occasionally remorse, but never sorrow. Today it envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, and sets me apart from everybody else.
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