Georges Simenon Quotes

Writing is not a profession but a vocation of unhappiness.

At five-thirty the rain began to fall in great, heavy drops which bounced off the pavement before th...

The lake and the mountains have become my landscape, my real world.

The street sprinkler went past and, as its rasping rotary broom spread water over the tarmac, half t...

Sunday lay so heavily in the air as to become almost nauseating. Maigret used to claim openly, half ...

I would like to carve my novel in a piece of wood. My characters—I would like to have them heavier, ...

The fact that we are I don't know how many millions of people, yet communication, complete communica...

Savez-vous que c'est à cause de cette recherche de ce que j'appellerais les compensations, cette rec...

The sun finally died in beauty, flinging out its crimson flames, which cast their reflection on the ...