Explore Quotes by Francoise Sagan

No one ever has time to examine himself honestly, and most people look no further than their neighbors' eyes, in which they may see their own reflection.

Unhappiness has nothing to teach, and resignation is ugly.

No one is more conventional than a woman who is falling out of love.

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.

Jazz music is an intensified feeling of nonchalance.

It seems to me that there are two kinds of trickery: the "fronts" people assume before one another's eyes, and the "front" a writer puts on the face of reality.

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.

Writing is just having a sheet of paper, a pen and not a shadow of an idea of what you are going to say.

I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, That which to me, Is the only sensible way to love.

One can never speak enough of the virtues, the dangers, the power of shared laughter.

It amused me to think that one can tell the truth when one is drunk and nobody will believe it.

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 this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.

Money may not buy happiness, but I'd rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.

The questions I would have liked to ask people were: ‘Are you in love? What are you reading?

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.

What you call types of mind are only mental ages.

My love of pleasure seems to be the only consistent side of my character. Is it because I have not read enough?

He lifted me up and held me close against him, my head on his shoulder. At that moment I loved him. In the morning light he was as golden, as soft, as gentle as myself, and he would protect me.

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.

I found myself both touched and irritated by the discovery that she was vulnerable.