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.

The happiness of people who are in love and who are loved shows in their faces. They have an expression that's at once very far away and very much part of the present.

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

One partner is always more in love than the other.

It is healthier to see the good points of others than to analyze our own bad ones.

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

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