Quotes About Colette

then Colette, everyone's girl crush, our trusted friend. One of the pretty ones, with her auburn shampoo-commercial hair, her Colorado-bred effortlessness and unmedicated home birth—the perfect female, topped in powdered sugar.

Attention all kitchen utensils, unfinished books, "useless childhood artifacts," and general household objects: take heed. Colette Yates is nesting. None of you are safe.

I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.

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.

I went to collect the few personal belongings which...I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.

I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time we call suffering.

There was something disagreeable, even English, about him, Colette thought

I went to collect the few personal belongings which...I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.

Then, bidding farewell to The Knick-Knack, I went to collect the few personal belongings which, at that time, I held to be invaluable: my cat, my resolve to travel, and my solitude.

The brooch was a cheap bauble, but one with powerful sentimental value. Not that Irene was the sentimental type, aside from the smother-love she lavished on her toy poodle, but she'd known Colette her whole life. They'd grown up in the same grimy apartment house in Bay Ridge and had at one time

beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water

A few days later, I found my mother beneath the tree, motionless with excitement, her head turned toward the heavens in which she would allow human religions no place.

The word 'pure' has never revealed an intelligent meaning to me. I can only use the word to quench and optical thirst for purity in the transparencies that evoke it - in bubbles, in a volume of water, and in the imaginary latitudes entrenched, beyond reach, at the very center of a dense crystal.

Her nature is like a demonstrative cat's; she is delicate, acutely sensitive to cold, and incredibly caressing in her ways.

There is no doubt that, if ever my heart were to call my master Chance by another name, I should make an excellent Catholic.

And since, through lack of vocation or from habit, [Julie] was prone to confuse pity with boredom, she felt herself practically a prisoner...

the feminine appetite for possession tends to emasculate every living contest, and can reduce a magnificient but inferior male to the status of a courtesan.

Does she deliberately make herself ugly out of modesty or pride?" Brice wondered, watching his wife walk pigeon-toed, run into the corner of the table, and rub her thigh. "It's a kind of lie, too.

I put on a martyred expression - like this - as if I was bored to death with every luxury under the sun. I had the time of my life.

Je ne parviens pas à m'expliquer comment la joie de mes réveils s'assombrit graduellement, dans le jour tombant, jusqu'à la mélancolie et au recroquevillement farouche.

She is made for moderate emotions, ash-blonde sorrow.

If you succeed as I did, in sublimating the sexual drive and putting it in the service of heaven knows what mortifying joy or egalitarian madness, you will see the furious flower of jealousy stripped of its thorns, along with the condign egotism of the human couple.

I seem to be annoyed not only with Colette, but with the frame of mind I have inherited along with her—the postmodern pride of calling things by their names, the arrogance of assuming integrity is a matter of being more and more open. Or simply that a label, firmly affixed, is honesty in the face of euphemism and discretion.