Best 146 quotes of George Sand on MyQuotes

The old woman I shall become will be quite different from the woman I am now. Another I is beginning.

The prayers of a lover are more imperious than the menaces of the whole world

... the progress of the language has caused us to lose many old treasures. It is thus with all progress, and one must make the best of it.

The publication of a book only brings very paltry results to its author.

There is but on virtue--the eternal sacrifice of self.

There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.

There is only one sex. A man and a woman are so entirely the same thing that one can scarcely understand the subtle reasons for sex distinctions with which our minds are filled.

The smoke of glory is not worth the smoke of a pipe.

The trade of authorship is a violent, and indestructible obsession.

The whole secret of the study of nature lies in learning how to use one's eyes.

The world will know and understand me someday. But if that day does not arrive, it does not greatly matter. I shall have opened the way for other women.

Time is always wanting to me, and I cannot meet with a single day when I am nut hurried along, driven to by wits'-end by urgent work, business to attent do or some service to render.

To be made evident, truth must be sought for; for of itself it is slow to appear, and between ourselves and God the obstacles are so many!

To eat together is one of the greatest promoters of intimacy. It is the satisfaction in common of a material necessity of existence, and if you seek a loftier meaning in it, it is a communion.

To forgive a fault in another is more sublime than to be faultless one's self.

Try to keep your soul young and quivering right up to old age.

Try to keep your soul young and quivering right up to old age, and to imagine right up to the brink of death that life is only beginning. I think that is the only way to keep adding to one's talent, and one's inner happiness.

Unrequited love is as different from the mutual love as the error from the truth.

Vanity is the most despotic and iniquitous of masters, and I can never be the slave of my own vices.

Vanity is the quicksand of reason.

Weakness is oftentimes so palpable as to be equivalent to wickedness.

We do not precisely enjoy liberty at the Figaro. M. de Latouche, our worthy director (ah! you should know the fellow), is always hanging over us, cutting, pruning, right or wrong, imposing upon us his whims, his aberrations, his fancies, and we have to write as he bids.

Weeds are omnipresent; errors are to be found in the heart of the most lovable.

We must love stupid people better than ourselves; are they not the really unfortunate ones of this world? Do not people without taste and without ideal grow constantly weary, rejoicing in nothing, and being quite useless here below?

... what is there over which the incomparable beauty of childhood would not triumph?

When I tried to draw near, you dissolved into air before my lips could touch you...

... when we are misunderstood it is always our own fault. What the reader wants most of all is to be able to grasp what we think; but you loftily refuse to comply.

Where love is absent there can be no woman.

Whoever has loved once, knows all that life contains of sorrow and of joy.

Women love always: when earth slips from them, they take refuge in heaven.

Work is not man's punishment. It is his reward and his strength and his pleasure.

Writing a journal means that facing your ocean you are afraid to swim across it, so you attempt to drink it drop by drop.

You don't have to write to me if you don't feel like it. There's no real friendship without absolute freedom.

You may impose silence upon me, but you can not prevent me from thinking.

Young love needs dangers and barriers to nourish it.

You see what stupid folk my publishers are; but they are all alike.

You, stupid one, who believe in laws which punish murder by murder...

Ce n'est pas la première fois que je remarque combien, en France particulièrement, les mots ont plus d’empire que les idées." ("It's not the first time I've noticed how much more power words have than ideas, particularly in France.")

Immodest creature, you do not want a woman who will accept your faults, you want the one who pretends you are faultless – one who will caress the hand that strikes her and kiss the lips that lie to her." (Letter, 17 June 1837)

[I]t is that we are too apt to despise what appears to be neither good nor beautiful, and thus we lose what is helpful and salutary.

It is warm, I am alive, I am calm and sad, I hardly know why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as I have here, I am in an element that weakens me morally while strengthening me physically; and I fall into melancholies of honey and roses which are none the less melancholy. It seems to me that all those I love forget me, and that it is justice, because I live a selfish life having nothing to do for any one of them.

[On Chopin's Preludes:] "His genius was filled with the mysterious sounds of nature, but transformed into sublime equivalents in musical thought, and not through slavish imitation of the actual external sounds. His composition of that night was surely filled with raindrops, resounding clearly on the tiles of the Charterhouse, but it had been transformed in his imagination and in his song into tears falling upon his heart from the sky. ... The gift of Chopin is [the expression of] the deepest and fullest feelings and emotions that have ever existed. He made a single instrument speak a language of infinity. He could often sum up, in ten lines that a child could play, poems of a boundless exaltation, dramas of unequalled power.

The maid told him that a girl and a child had come looking for him, but since she didn't know them, she hadn't cared to ask them in, and had told them to go on to Mers. "Why didn't you let them in?" asked Germain angrily. "People must be very suspicious in this part of the world, if they won't open the front door to a neighbor." "Well, naturally!" replied the maid. "In a house as rich as this, you have to keep a close watch on things. While the master's away I'm responsible for everything, and I can't just open the door to anyone at all." "That's a mean way to live," said Germain; "I'd rather be poor than live in fear like that. Good-bye to you, miss, and good-bye to this horrible country of yours!

When a marriage for love is on the carpet; you must expect to waste time. But when it’s a marriage of convenience between two people who have no whims and who know what they want; it’s soon arranged.

When mental [illness] increases until it reaches the danger point, do not exhaust yourself by efforts to trace back to original causes. Better accept them as inevitable and save your strength to fight against the effects.

You must write for all those who are thirsty to read and who can enjoy a good reading.