life is other, always there, further off, beyond you andbeyond me, always on the horizon, life which unlives us and makes us strangers, that invents our face and wears it away

The trouble with fiction, " said John Rivers, "is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense.

Don't let your will roar when your power only whispers.

We were lavish of blood in those days, and it was thought to be a grand thing to charge a battery or an earth-work lined with infantry.

You're alive only once, as far as we know, and what could be worse than getting to the end of your life and realizing you hadn't lived it?

And when she dreams, she dreams of a girl who was lost at sea but one day found the shore.

Man and boy, I have lived ever since I can remember.

I get called Jacqueline Bissette in America. In France, I get called Jackie Bisset. And actually, it is Jacqueline Bisset, which is not that easy to say.

At the age of nine, playing the violin at school, and then onto the mandolin.

I'm a control freak except that I'm a good team player. So I obsess about the details of things but I also trust the team.

While it is emotion that gives an impulse to the landscape painter, it is his style that inspires the critic's praise, and his subject that inveigles the untutored beholder.