Sympathy is charming, but it does not make up for pain.

It was so kind of you to mention that I don't wear stays. What's the point? If you squeeze it in at one point, it only comes out at the other.

I am a grandmother now, and that means age is creeping on, creeping on.

I've put in as many as 40 weeks a year on stage. It is lonely and restricted, as all artistic life must necessarily be.

Feed the dogs. I hate to hear them barking like that.

The most lasting and pure gladness comes to me from my gardens.

Will I return to England? I don't know. I'll think it over.

I know I am at the end. I shall never get better, dear.

After being so bad I could hear the angels singing.

They saw me, those reckless seekers of beauty, and in a night I was famous.

Said I was beautiful, did he? He's being paid for treatment, not flattery.

I am happy as happiness goes, for a woman who has so many memories and who lives the lonely life of an actress.

I have known great things and wonderful persons, and I have known homage.

I have always been willing to take the blame for the things I have done.

It's the first time I've seen myself act, and I can't say I'm impressed.

Anyone's life truly lived consists of work, sunshine, exercise, soap, plenty of fresh air, and a happy contented spirit.

I must hurry back to my house and my flowers in Monaco.

On one night of my debut the Prince of Wales, the Princess, and the duchess of London came to see me. They loved me for what I was and what I gave them.

My husband is a general's chauffeur somewhere in France.

I'm not afraid. I never liked long last acts.

My agent tells me I am drawing the largest salary ever paid in the halls of England. Wonderful, isn't it? for a quiet, rural gardener like myself.

I was beautiful. Now, because I am old, I take no shame in so saying.

The sentimentalist ages far more quickly than the person who loves his work and enjoys new challenges.

No person in the world ever lost anything by being nice to me.

I found my interest lapse in both acting and racing.

I do not regret one moment of my life.

Anyone who limits her vision to memories of yesterday is already dead.

Sympathy is charming, but it does not make up for pain.

I felt weary of the responsibility of owning houses and was glad enough to pass mine on to others.

You wouldn't believe how the town was named for me. I was met by the whole population, headed by the mayor.

I shall fulfill my contract, no more nor less.

Why in the world would anyone want to photograph an old woman like me?

Being ill like this combines shock - this time I will die - with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar, that wrench me out of myself.

One of the things that has always motivated me to write is the desire to get it out and look at it in an objective way, so that it doesn't cause me any serious pain by staying inside.

I meditate a lot, but I am constantly in pain. I'm trying to live with this. You just have to accept it.

We may not commit a lesser Sin under pretence to avoid a greater, but we may, nay we ought to endure the greatest Pain and Grief rather than commit the least Sin.

The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing.

From this bestial view that the human mind consists of only sense certainty, pleasure and pain, Locke developed an equally bestial theory of the nation. Man originally existed in a State of Nature of complete liberty.

Imitation is the sincerest form of pain.

The vocabulary of pleasure depends on the imagery of pain.

I don't like painting flowers in my music. I like painting guts and pain.

Lives have been altered in fundamental ways, and later, after they acquire a more complete understanding of what goals are actually attainable, many are left facing a lot of pain and frustration. And yet, there's no culture of complaint.

When the Negro cries with pain from his deep hurt and lays his petition for elemental justice before the nation, he is calling upon the American people to kindle about that crucible of race relationships the fires of American faith.

It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.

My focus is to forget the pain of life. Forget the pain, mock the pain, reduce it. And laugh.

This horror of pain is a rather low instinct and... if I think of human beings I've known and of my own life, such as it is, I can't recall any case of pain which didn't, on the whole, enrich life.

To give pain is the tyranny; to make happy, the true empire of beauty.

An artist, under pain of oblivion, must have confidence in himself, and listen only to his real master: Nature.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.