Casanova Quotes

Be the flame, not the moth.

one who makes no mistakes makes nothing

I’ll be strong for you Syn, if you need it. You don’t always have to be the strong one, I’ll be your glue if you want to crumble, I’ll hold you together,”.

If you have not done things worthy of being written about, at least write things worthy of being read.

I remembered a piece of sisterly advice, which Feely once gave Daffy and me: "If ever you're accosted by a man," she'd said, "kick him in the Casanovas and run like blue blazes!" Although it had sounded at the time like a useful bit of intelligence, the only problem was that I didn't know where the Casanovas were located. I'd have to think of something else.

The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won.

And if you don’t think I can hold my own against all those eighteenth-century mortals you were out tagging, then you’re a fool, Casanova.” ... “Oh, yes, I know all about you.” He went still. “What are you talking about?” “I was alive back then. And all the Lore heard about the ruthless warlord brothers from Estonia. The general, the scholar, the enigma, and . . . the manwhore.

I have always loved truth so passionately that I have often resorted to lying as a way of introducing it into the minds which were ignorant of its charms.

I have loved women even to madness, but I have always loved liberty better.

Beauty without wit offers nothing but the enjoyment of its material charms, whilst witty ugliness captivates by the charms of the mind, and at last fulfils all the desires of the man it has captivated.

We ourselve are the authors of almost all our woes and griefs, of which we so unreasonably complain.

As for myself, I always willingly acknowledge my own self as the principal cause of every good and of every evil which may befall me; therefore, I have always found myself capable of being my own pupil, and ready to love my teacher.

Give me a man who is man enough to give himself just to the woman who is worth him. If that woman were me,I would love him alone and forever

I am writing My Life to laugh at myself, and I am succeeding.

There is no such thing as destiny. We ourselves shape our lives.

You make me think of Casanova, except that in between the erotic, Casanova was boring, while you, in between eroticism and even because of it, you get profound.

The same principle that forbids me to lie does not allow me to tell the truth.

Enjoy the present, bid defiance to the future, laugh at all those reasonable beings who exercise their reason to avoid the misfortunes which they fear, destroying at the same time the pleasure that they might enjoy.

Desires are but pain and torment, and enjoyment is sweet because it delivers us from them.

When a man is in love very little is enough to throw him into despair and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost.

Merda! Her lace panties had snagged on his ring, the signet ring he'd inherited from his father, Giacomo Casanova. His father had seduced hundred of women without any problems whatsoever, and he was having trouble with just one. This was the real reason he never used the Casanova name. He could never live up to his father's reputation. The old man was probably laughing in his grave. Nine circles of hell," Jack muttered. Hell?" Lara asked. "I thought I was the Holy Land." You're paradise. Unfortunately, I am stuck there." Her eyes widened. "Stuck?" Normally, I would love being stuck to your lovely bum, but it would look odd if we go sightseeing with my hand under your skirt. Especially in the basilica." She glanced down. "How can you be stuck?" My ring. It's caught in the lace. See?" He moved his hand down her hip, dragging her undies down a few inches. Okay, stop." She bit her lip, frowning, then suddenly giggled. "I can't believe this has happened." I assure you, as much as I had hoped to get your clothes off, this was not part of my original plan." She snorted. "No problem. Just rip yourself loose." Are you sure?" It will destroy you undies." She narrowed her eyes with a seductuve look. "Rip it." Very well." He jerked his hand away, but the panties came with him. He yanked his hand back and forth, but the lacy, latex material simply stretched with him. "Santo cielo, they are indestructible." Lara laughed. He continued to wage battle, but to no avail. "They could use this material to build spaceships.

The man who seeks to educate himself must first read and then travel in order to correct what he has learned.

Man is a free agent; but he is not free if he does not believe it, for the more power he attributes to Destiny, the more he deprives himself of the power which God granted him when he gave him reason.

The story she had told me was possible, but it was not believable.

Cheating is a sin, but honest cunning is simply prudence. It is a virtue. To be sure, it has a likeness to roguery, but that cannot be helped. He who has not learned to practice it is a fool.

lies, truth, loveI have always loved truth so passionately that I have often resorted to lying as a way of introducing it into the minds which were ignorant of it's charms.

Love is a great poet, its resources are inexhaustible, but if the end it has in view is not obtained, it feels weary and remains silent.

The thing is to dazzle

Beds are not the right place for reading, watching TV, discussing daily issues or worrying about the future. Beds are only good for two things that always go together: Sleeping and pleasure!

I reject passive consumption. I reject the premise. I will have no passive consumers. Casanova will not stop and explain itself to you. It will not allow you to flip through it while you're dropping a deuce and waiting for Batman to show up.

We love without heeding reason, and cease to love in the same manner.

so damn beautiful." She grinned. "So you've said." Perched on his elbow, stretched alongside her body, he'd say it again and again until she tired of hearing it. "You're beautiful." "Uh huh." "So fucking bea-" "All right, Casanova. Enough!

Love is only a feeling of curiousity more or less intense, grafted upon the inclination placed in us by nature that the species may be preserved.

From that moment our love became sad, and sadness is a disease which gives the death-blow to affection.

Women! They madly love Casanovas for their traits and equally hate them for being disloyal.

The philosopher is a person who refuses no pleasures which do not produce greater sorrows, and who knows how to create new ones.

Passing through the early fog, the fruitseller’s boat nudged the edge of the canal beside the Palazzo Malipiero. All around was stillness. Casanova whispered to me, “This is the type of pause that occurs just in the instant before la petite mort. The breath held before the gasp followed by the exquisite release.

He moved so suddenly that before I knew it, he had already picked me up and thrown me to the bed. "What the heck? What do you think you're doing?" "Let's go to sleep." Was that the code for 'let's have sex'?

I am writing My Life so that I may laugh at myself, and I am succeeding.

economy spoils pleasure

Cultivating whatever gave pleasure to my senses was always the chief business of my life; I have never found any occupation more important. Feeling that I was born for the sex opposite mine, I have always loved it and done all that I could to make myself loved by it. I have also been extravagantly fond of good food and irresistibly drawn by anything which could excite curiosity.

There is no such thing as a perfectly happy or perfectly unhappy man in the world. One has more happiness in his life and another more unhappiness, and the same circumstance may produce widely different effects on individuals of different temperaments.

It is shallow desires which make a young man bold; strong desires confound him.

My great treasure is that I am my own master, that I am not dependent upon anyone, and that I am not afraid of misfortunes.

Pomposity plans your eviction just as your derriere is settling on to the finest of cushions.

In the darkness, in her arms, I listen to her heartbeat. And I lose sight of mine.

Beauty without wit offers love nothing but the material enjoyment of its physical charms, whilst witty ugliness captivates by the charms of the mind, and at last fulfills all the desires of the man it has captivated... Let anyone ask a beautiful woman without wit whether she would be willing to exchange a small portion of her beauty for a sufficient dose of wit. If she speaks the truth, she will say, "No, I am satisfied to be as I am." But why is she satisfied? Because she is not aware of her own deficiency. Let an ugly but witty woman be asked if she would change her wit against beauty, and she will not hesitate in saying no. Why? Because, knowing the value of her wit, she is well aware that it is sufficient by itself to make her a queen in any society.

I cannot think without a shudder of contracting any obligation towards death. I hate death; for, happy or miserable, life is the only blessing which man possesses, and those who do not love it are unworthy of it.

I admire the Queen greatly,” Casanova confided in me. “She can tie a man up by his thumbs, discuss philosophy with Diderot and Voltaire, and plot and scheme like a Dutch diplomat. She has voracious appetites, uses exquisite French scents, is kind to animals, fences like a Hungarian hussar, recreates herself on a white silk swing in a room full of mirrors, and gives afternoon tea parties for society ladies. Useful horsewoman, too.

I found that the writer who says SUBLATA LUCERNA NULLUM DISCRIMEN INTER MULIERES ('when the lamp is taken away, all women are alike') says true; but without love, this great business is a vile thing.

I often had no scruples about deceiving nitwits and scoundrels and fools when I found it necessary. ...We avenge intelligence when we deceive a fool, and... deceiving a fool is an exploit worthy of an intelligent man. What has infused my very blood with an unconquerable hatred of the whole tribe of fools from the day of my birth is that I become a fool myself when I am in their company.

Plans are for those without the good sense to savor the present. Others make plans and neglect their opportunities as they trickle through their fingers like dust. We find beauty in what is.

They [his readers, whom he asks to be his friends] will find that I have always loved truth so passionately that I have often resorted to lying as a way of first introducing it into minds which were ignorant of its charms” (Casanova, p.34, Vol 1 Preface).

I know why she stormed out of here." Decebel's and Jacque's heads both whipped around. "You do?" they both asked at the same time. Fane raised an eyebrow at Sally's words. Sally in turn eyeballed Decebel. "Jen never really learned how to use an inside voice. So, Decebel, why don't you share how she asked you if you were involved with Crina, and how you never really gave her an answer but instead taunted her, and then nearly made her hyperventilate with desire." Decebel's head cocked to the side, his eyebrows drawn together. "How -" "I would say it's a gift, but really I'm just nosy as hell. And damn, boy, the look you were giving her nearly had me in a puddle." "Shut up!" Jacque squealed. "Are you telling me Jen stormed out of here because he got her all hot and bothered?" Sally was grinning from ear to ear. Decebel looked like he would be perfectly happy if the universe would just swallow him whole. "She was angry when she left," Decebel defended. "She left because she was mad." "Yeah, mad because she's got it bad for you, Sherlock," Sally told him, rolling her eyes. "Really? She likes me?" Jacque laughed at Decebel's cocky smile. "Um, if you aren't her mate that's not a good thing, Casanova," Jacque reminded him. Sally nodded in agreement, scrutinizing Decebel. "Let's just hope that she finds her mate at Mate Fest so she can get over you." Decebel took a step towards Sally. Fane stepped around Jacque and laid a hand on Decebel's chest, stopping him. "Easy, Beta." Decebel closed his eyes taking slow breaths, leashing his wolf. Then Sally's words worked past the jealous fog. "Mate Fest?" he questioned. Sally grinned. "Jen deemed it." "Naturally," Decebel muttered with a slight smile.

Hope is nothing but a deceitful flatterer accepted by reason only because it is often in need of palliatives.

if you have not done anything worthy of being recorded, at least write something worthy of being read.

The only thing the Marquis does in moderation is moderation

Passion is the combination of lust and intellect. - (Giacomo Casanova)

I'd rather entrust my daughters to Casanova than my secrets to a novelist. Literary fires are hotter even than sexual ones.

The werehyena Casanova strikes again.

youth runs away from old age, because it is its most cruel enemy

Finishing first is nothing to brag about.

Never wait for a woman to show interest. It is not her interest we seek, but her desire,” whispered Casanova. “Intrigue her, tantalize her, flatter her and let her know that she is the only one in the room that you truly want. Women want to be admired and desired above all others. Even if they refuse you, they will never forget you.

لا شئ أخطر من رجل لا يخضع للطاغية

We were both chilled from the rain and as hungry as wolves. Over a fine meal of oysters, cappeletti alla cortigiana and orecchiette with tomatoes, anchovies and eggplant served with a crisp dry chablis, we discussed our plans, if not for immortality, at least for defying the eroding qualities of time.

To lead a blameless life you must curb your passions , and whatever misfortune may befall you cannot be ascribed by anyone to want of good luck, or attributed to fate; these words are devoid of sense, and all fault will rightly fall on your own head.

That did it. With his masculine pride completely trampled beneath her sturdy and practical heel, Jack made a vow. The moment this ends, I am going straight up to London to cut a swath through Society that will ensure my place in history alongside Casanova and every other great rake. There won't be a woman's heart safe from my charms.

I knew in my heart that I was called to them for a reason. It’s you, Kate, you are the reason.

Yes . . . you are. I know your scent.” His eyes hold mine. “And . . . today it’s different.” He knows my scent . . . what the fuck?

It is always easy to break one’s word to oneself.

…they looked about as careful and as discreet as a troupe of Visigoths at an afternoon tea party.

Disgusting foods, as Madame de Pompadour discovered, do not arouse the senses. They only dull them. Seduction, as you know by now, for women starts with the ears and for men starts with the eyes and for both, travels directly to the stomach. Some say you need sweet murmurings in the ears, but I say laughter, intrigue and delicacies are more powerful.

Here it is. You assume that I am rich; I am not. I shall have nothing once I have emptied my purse. You perhaps suppose that I am a man of high birth, and I am of a rank either lower than your own or equal to it. I have no talent which can earn money, no employment, no reason to be sure that I shall have anything to eat a few months hence. I have neither relatives nor friends nor rightful claims nor any settled plan. In short, all that I have is youth, health, courage, a modicum of intelligence, a sense of honor and of decency, with a little reading and the bare beginnings of a career in literature. My great treasure is that I am my own master, that I am not dependent upon anyone, and that I am not afraid of misfortunes. My nature tends toward extravagance. Such is the man I am. Now answer me, my beautiful Teresa.

As libertines we seek to find and provide pleasures for others before pleasing ourselves. Libertines are never boorish, profane or blasphemous. We seek to lessen any cause for offence while maximizing pleasure. After our liaisons, our return is eagerly anticipated, and our departure is mourned. For most men the reverse is the case. In a world where most men are barely on before they are off again, we take the time and the care to be gentle lovers and build the sighs and the panting of true delight.

If you refuse me, I shall be compelled to believe that you are cruelly enjoying my misery, and that you have learned in the most accursed school that the best way of preventing a young man from curing himself of an amorous passion is to excite it constantly; but you must agree with me that, to put such tyranny in practice, it is necessary to hate the person it is practised upon, and, if that be so, I ought to call upon my reason to give me the strength necessary to hate you likewise.

What has infused my very blood with an unconquerable hatred of the whole tribe of fools from the day of my birth is that I become a fool myself whenever I am in their company.

كأن أحدهم بعث بإشارة سرية تخبرهم أن الحياة ببساطة ليست قواعد ومحظورات وقيود، بل مشاعر أقل عقلانية وأقل رشداً وأكثر حرية مما ظلوا يعتقدونه حتى هذه اللحظة

If I don’t look pretty, nobody will notice me . . . and my heart can never get broken again.

Send two ambulances,” I bark. “I’m about to have a fucking heart attack myself.

A beautiful woman without a mind of her own leaves her lover with no resource after he had physically enjoyed her charms.

Rhetoric makes use of nature’s secrets in the same way as painters who try to imitate it: their most beautiful work is false.

marriage is the tomb of love

Feeling that I was born for the opposite sex, I have always loved it, and I have done everything I could to make myself beloved by it.

Everyone looked like a broken-down movie extra, a withered starlet; disenchanted stunt-men, midget auto-racers, poignant California characters with their end-of-the-continent sadness, handsome, decadent, Casanova-ish men, puffy-eyed motel blondes, hustlers, pimps, whores, masseurs, bellhops-- a lemon lot, and how's a man going to make a living with a gang like that?

Happiness is gained by complying with the duties of whatever condition of life one is in, and you must constrain yourself to rise to that exalted station in which destiny has placed you.

In so much firm, pleasure-loving flesh, we cannot find the merest trace of a moral nervous system. That explains the whole enigma of Casanova's subtle genius. Lucky man that he is, he has only sensuality, and lacks the first beginnings of a soul. Bound by no ties, having no fixed aim, restrained by no prudent considerations, he can move at a different tempo from his fellow mortals, who are burdened with moral scruples, who aim at an ethical goal, who are tied by notions of social responsibility. That is the secret of his unique impetus, of his incomparable energy.

When a man gets it into his head to do something, and when he exclusively occupies himself in that design, he must succeed, whatever the difficulties. That man will become Grand Vizier or Pope.

I have decided, before the embers of my life dwindle anymore, to embark on a grand tour. With rumblings of revolution and troubled times to come, the old ways are passing on. I have had enough of sitting here twiddling with a quill writing my wretched memoirs. Twelve volumes. Mostly lies but amusing, nevertheless. It is time to return to life.

He puts his mouth to my ear. “Did you touch yourself?” he whispers. His breath tickles my skin and goosebumps scatter up my arms. “Did you?” I ask. His lips dust mine. “Every day. Coming is my favorite pastime.

Milovat znamená dát někomu příležitost, aby nás zranil, a důvěřovat mu, že to neudělá.

You will laugh when you discover that I often had no scruples about deceiving nitwits and scoundrels and fools when I found it necessary. As for women, this sort of reciprocal deceit cancels itself out, for when love enters in, both parties are usually dupes

Love becomes imprudent only when it is impatient to enjoy; but when it is a matter of procuring the return of a happiness to which a baleful combination of circumstances has raised impediments, love sees and foresees all that the most subtle perspicacity can discover.

As soon as Santangelo and Raffy’s heads go under, Griggs leans over and kisses me. It’s a hungry kind of kiss, like he’s been dying to do it for ages and he can’t get enough but after a while I open my eyes and just stare at him. “You’re supposed to close your eyes,” he says, a little unnerved. “I’m not supposed to do anything,” I say, moving away from him and looking into the river, waiting for Raffy and Santangelo to come back up. “Is there a problem here?” “There’s nothing here.” “Really? Because that wasn’t the message you were giving me last Saturday night.” “And between last Saturday and today there have been at least six days, so let’s just say that I’m going by the message that you’ve been giving me since then.” “We’ve been surrounded by the Santangelo circus and that little pest who is either attached to you surgically or me and then, when they’re not around, Casanova Cassidy is hanging off every word you say or Raffy is giving me one of those ‘girl zone only’ looks,” he says. “So if I haven’t been giving you the attention—” “So you’re admitting it. That you can just switch this on and off?” “Yeah, whatever you say. I’m over it.” “Good, because I was never into it!

What decides whether a man will become immortal, is not his character but his vitality. Nothing save intensity confers immortality. A man manifests himself more vividly, in proportion as he is strong and unified, effective and unique. Immortality knows nothing of morality or immorality, of good or evil; it measures only work and strength; it demands from a man not purity but unity. Here, morality is nothing; intensity, all.

Por el amor, los tacaños se hacen desprendidos, los huraños sonríen, los cobardes se atreven, los ásperos son sensibles, los ignorantes se esmeran, los desaliñados se comportan con educación, los sucios se limpian, los viejos se las dan de jóvenes, los ascetas rompen sus votos y los castos se arrojan en los brazos de la lujuria. (El collar de la paloma - Ibn Hazm)

What do you want to say to me?’ ‘Nothing—just to talk about the profession I am entering. I am about to practice virtue in order to find a man who loves it only to destroy it' [replied Mademoiselle Vesian.] ‘That is it exactly; and believe me, everything in this life is much the same. We refer everything to ourselves, and each of us is a tyrant. That is why the best of mortals is he who is tolerant.

He was quite a Casanova, no doubt about it. He was in a very good mood today and stopped longer than usual. The girls could see he was gloriously drunk. ’Well, Ragna, why do you think I come here so often?’ asked Rolandsen. ’I’ve no idea,’ Ragna answered. ’You must think I’m sent by old Laban.’ The girls giggled. ’When he says Laban he really means Adam.’ ’I’ve come to save you,’ said Rolandsen. ’You have to beware of the fishermen around here, they’re out-and-out seducers!’ ’There’s no greater seducer than you,’ said another girl. ’You’ve got two kids already. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’ ’How can you talk like that, Nicoline? You’ve always been a thorn in my flesh and you’ll be the death of me, you know damned well. But as for you, Ragna, I’m going to save your soul wether you like it or not!

Alcuni dicono che la vita è solo un insieme di sventure; in altre parole, che la vita è una sventura; ma se la vita è una sventura, la morte deve essere sicuramente il contrario, cioè una fortuna, dato che la morte è l'opposto della vita. Questa conclusione sembrerebbe inevitabile. Ma coloro che parlano così sono sicuramente malati o poveri, fossero in buona salute, avessero la borsa ben fornita, l'allegria in cuore, delle Cecilie, delle Marine e la speranza di altre cose ancor migliori, allora cambierebbero sicuramente parere. Io li considero una razza di pessimisti che si alligna solo tra i filosofi spiantati e i teologhi bricconi e atrabiliari. Se il piacere esiste e lo si può godere solo da vivi, la vita è una fortuna.

The theory of behavior is useful to the life of man only as the index is useful to him who goes through it before reading the book itself; when he has read it, all that he has learned is the subject matter. Such is the moral teaching that we receive from the discourses, the precepts, and the stories we are treated to by those who bring us up. We listen to it all attentively; but when we have an opportunity to profit by the various advice we have been given, we become possessed by a desire to see if the thing will turn out to be what we have been told it will; we do it, and we are punished by repentance. What recompenses us a little is that in such moments we consider ourselves wise and hence entitled to teach others. Those whom we teach do exactly as we did, from which it follows that the world always stands still or goes from bad to worse.

The source of love, as I learned later, is a curiosity which, combined with the inclination which nature is obliged to give us in order to preserve itself. […] Hence women make no mistake in taking such pains over their person and their clothing, for it is only by these that they can arouse a curiosity to read them in those whom nature at their birth declared worthy of something better than blindness. […] As time goes on a man who has loved many women, all of them beautiful, reaches the point of feeling curious about ugly women if they are new to him. He sees a painted woman. The paint is obvious to him, but it does not put him off. His passion, which has become a vice, is ready with the fraudulent title page. ‘It is quite possible,’ he tells himself, ‘that the book is not as bad as all that; indeed, it may have no need of this absurd artifice.’ He decides to scan it, he tries to turn over the pages—but no! the living book objects; it insists on being read properly, and the ‘egnomaniac’ becomes a victim of coquetry, the monstrous persecutor of all men who ply the trade of love. You, Sir, who are a man of intelligence and have read these least twenty lines, which Apollo drew from my pen, permit me to tell you that if they fail to disillusion you, you are lost—that is, you will be the victim of the fair sex to the last moment of your life. If that prospect pleases you, I congratulate you