Words matter. These are the best Elizabeth Bibesco Quotes, and they’re great for sharing with your friends.
What an uncertain thing, marriage – what an elusive thing, happiness!
Happiness is a light, an atmosphere, an illumination. It sets a personality. I always feel that it is a creation that is difficult for some and easy for others, but essentially an achievement, never an accident.
Isn’t that what love means, to fill ordinary, commonplace, conventional things with magic and significance, not to need the moon and white scent-heavy flowers at night?
Can one end anything? A chapter, a paragraph, a sentence even? Doesn’t everything one has ever done go on living in spite of subsequent events?
Friendship is a difficult, dangerous job. It is also (though we rarely admit it) extremely exhausting.
A man who is available for lunch, has no wife, is interested in everything, and talks well is socially invaluable.
Oh, youth is a wicked, cruel thing – eating miracles with its breakfast and not knowing they are not porridge.
To some people, the impossible is impossible. One fine day, they wake up in the morning knowing that they will never hold the moon in their hands, and with the certainty, perfect peace descends on them.
What you possess is not what you jingle in the pockets of your memory, but the imaginings with which you fill the spaces of the future.
I do not know at what moment in life, if ever, we realise that we are neither George Sands nor Juliets. Of course, if we are not beautiful, we recognise early that beauty is nothing.
There is nothing in the world like health. Live cleanly, and the high thinking will look after itself – or at least won’t matter. Physical condition – there’s nothing like it.
We often call a certainty a hope, to bring it luck.
All my life, I have loved balloons – all balloons – the heavy English sort, immense and round, that have to be pushed about, and the gay, light, gas-filled French ones that soar into the air the moment you let go of them.
Blessed are those who give without remembering and take without forgetting.
Passion is no respecter of persons. She hardly seems to select her victims.
To others we are not ourselves but performers in their lives cast for a part we do not even know we are playing.
It is better not to sit on the grass after thirty when sprawling at all is difficult, let alone sprawling gracefully.
Irony is the hygiene of the mind.
Only the artists interest me whose hearts beat in unison with the poignant misery of the world. If you have not felt that, you have not lived. Pity is essential.
