What you call types of mind are only mental ages.

I dreamt of being a writer once I started to read. I started to write 'Bonjour Tristesse' in bistros around the Sorbonne. I finished it, I sent it to editors. It was accepted.

Usually I avoided college students, whom I considered brutal, wrapped up in themselves, particularly in their youth, in which they found material for drama or an excuse for their own boredom. I did not care for young people.

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.

No one, but no one, ever behaves 'well' in bed unless they love or are loved - two conditions seldom fulfilled.

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