Edith Piaf Quotes

Je ne regrette rien!

For me, sleeping is a waste of time. I'm afraid to sleep. It's a form of death.

Non, je ne regrette rien

France is going to endure, and I’ll tell you [ISIS people who attacked Paris ] why. If you’re in a war of culture and lifestyle with France, good fucking luck, because go ahead, bring your bankrupt ideology. They’ll bring Jean-Paul Sartre, Edith Piaf, fine wine, Camus, Camembert, madeleines, macarons, Marcel Proust and the fucking croquembouche. You just brought a philosophy of rigorous self-abnegation to a pastry fight, my friend. You are fucked.

I want to make people cry even when they don't understand my words.

Use your faults, use your defects; then you're going to be a star.

American journalist: If you were to give advice to a woman, what would it be? Edith Piaf: Love. American journalist: To a young girl? Edith Piaf: Love. American journalist: To a child? Edith Piaf: Love.

Every damn fool thing you do in this life you pay for.

Il faut tant, et tant de larmes Pour avoir le droit d'aimer.

Моето слънце пламва у мен, когато падне нощта. Само в този момент започвам да виждам ясно.

You say things that make my eyes close and I find that marvelous.

Whenever I hear Edith Piaf sing “Non, je ne regrette rien”—which is more often than I’d like, now that I’m at university—I can’t help thinking, What the hell is she talking about? I regret pretty much everything.

„Ако един мъж има красиви ръце, наистина красиви, той не може да бъде грозен отвътре. Ръцете не лъжат като лицето.

As far as I'm concerned, love means fighting, big fat lies, and a couple of slaps across the face.

L'amour comme moi part en voyage Un jour je le rencontrerai A peine j'aurai vu son visage Tout de suite je le reconnaîtrai...

Then again, 1947 was hell for any girl who would rather work calculus problems than read Vogue, any girl who would rather listen to Edith Piaf than Artie Shaw, and any girl with an empty ring finger but a rounding belly.

I loathed being sixty-four, and I will hate being sixty-five. I don’t let on about such things in person; in person, I am cheerful and Pollyannaish. But the honest truth is that it’s sad to be over sixty. The long shadows are everywhere—friends dying and battling illness. A miasma of melancholy hangs there, forcing you to deal with the fact that your life, however happy and successful, has been full of disappointments and mistakes, little ones and big ones. There are dreams that are never quite going to come true, ambitions that will never quite be realized. There are, in short, regrets. Edith Piaf was famous for singing a song called “Non, je ne regrette rien.” It’s a good song. I know what she meant. I can get into it; I can make a case that I regret nothing. After all, most of my mistakes turned out to be things I survived, or turned into funny stories, or, on occasion, even made money from. But

Улицата е моята консерватория.

I tap my pen against the Edith Piaf record, thinking of how to express my future sentiments when my journey comes to an end. Either in the arms of the girl I love, or buried in a box of memories, this note will be the last. 'Ma femme, Je ne regrette rien, because I found everything. I love you.

Love goes on a journey, like I do One day I'll find it By the time I see its face I'll recognize it right away

Er hat mich meinem Schicksal überlassen, eines schönen Morgens, als er ging. (Edith Piaf)

La vida no es ni siempre rosa como canta Edith Piaf, ni negra y oscura como pintan los pesimistas, sino un arco iris mezclado de diferentes colores. Lo importante es disfrutar. Ikrame SELKANI

Americans want beauties, not me. I'm not the Parisian bombshell they expected. Can you see me as a chorus girl? Where's my feather up the ass? They think I'm sad, they're dumb. I don't connect to them.

- Невъзможно е, Момон, в една къща да няма мъж. Това е по-лошо от ден без слънце. Без слънце можеш да минеш, нали има електричество, но в един дом, в който липсва някоя мъжка дрипа, където не се виждат чифт чорапи или вратовръзка, където на някой стол не виси изоставено сако, е дом на вдовица, в такъв дом можеш да откачиш.

Случи ми се и още нещо, много забавно. Някакъв си парижки тип ми изпрати поздравления в голям плик. Понеже нямал точния ми адрес, той написал: "Едит Пиаф в Съединените щати". Момчетата от пощата добавили върху плика: "Парижките пощаджии ви целуват." Можеш да си представиш колко е препускало по следите ми това писмо, докато ме намери! Навсякъде, откъдето е минавало, пощенските служители написвали по нещо - "И ние също!" А тия от Чикаго - "Ние ви обичаме!" В Лос Анджелес допълнили: "И ние заедно с другите!" Когато получих писмото, на него нямаше неизписано местенце. В пощата навярно са се страхували да не се загуби, затова един раздавач лично ми го донесе. Вместо да почука на вратата, той изсвири с уста "Животът в розово". Не е ли красиво всичко това?

Muzeul Edith Piaf,

Hello father, mother Hello dear parents, And of course Céline Whom my heart so dearly loves" His father answers: "But your Céline is dead, But your Céline is dead She died calling out to you Her body is underground And her soul in heaven" Then the gentleman goes To cry on her grave: "Céline, my Céline Talk, talk to me! My heart despairs Of not seeing you anymore..." Céline answers him: "My mouth is filled with earth, My mouth is filled with earth... Yours is filled with love! I still cherish the hope Of seeing you again someday...

Céline answers him: "My mouth is filled with earth, My mouth is filled with earth... Yours is filled with love! I still cherish the hope Of seeing you again someday...

Petite Catherine, demain matin, Dans l'eau glacée de ton chagrin, Dans l'eau étrange de la mer, Tu flotteras, les yeux ouverts, Les yeux ouverts sur ton destin Et, dans ta robe de satin, Juste où la mer se mêle au ciel, Tu rejoindras l'amant fidèle... Te voilà mariée, Catherine, Mariée avec l'amour... Celui que tu aimes, Catherine, Est à toi pour toujours...

Edith Piaf stava tenendo uno dei suoi tanti ultimissimi concerti all'Olympia di Parigi. Cantava Je ne suis pas folle. Terminò la canzone, come sempre, con una risata pazza. Quella sera, qualcuno in fondo al teatro fece eco alla sua risata. All'inizio si pensò che fosse una burlona, o almeno una disturbatrice. Poi si pensò che facesse parte dello spettacolo. Ma quando quella folle risata continuò, sgradevole, agghiacciante, sulla stessa nota di Edith Piaf, come un diapason di pazzia che rispondesse a un altro, tre maschere e sei membri del pubblico accompagnarono fuori, con infinita cortesia, la signora che rideva.

unlike Edith Piaf, I regret everything just because it is finished,

Edith Piaf’s

Portrait de l'artiste en jeune homme Christophe Colomb a découvert l'Amérique. Le Titanic a coulé. Esenine s'est suicidé dans une chambre d'hôtel. Edith Piaf chante encore dans les rues des Paris. J'ai un mètre soixante-quinze J'aurais le prix Nobel Je vais être publié à titre posthume. Je vais peindre une nature morte encadrée de rose. J'ai une tache de chaux à blanchir sur l'épaule gauche. Ma main a cinq doigts E=mc2 Eli, eli, lama sabasctani aujourd'hui on est le 29 septembre.] [Portret al artistului în tinerețe Columb a descoperit America. Titanicul s-a scufundat. Esenin s-a sinucis într-o cameră de hotel. Edith Piaf mai cântă încă pe străzile Parisului. Am 1,75 m. Voi lua premiul Nobel. Voi publica postum. Voi picta o natură moartă cu chenar roz. Am o pată de var pe umărul stâng. Mâna mea are cinci degete. E=mc2 Eli, eli, lama sabasctani astăzi e 29 septembrie.] (p. 40, traduit en français par Gabrielle Danoux)

I make no apologies for lack of chronology in my reminiscences, as one incident recalls another, so I put it down.

Life is not always pink as Edith Piaf sings, nor black and dark as the pessimists paint it, but a rainbow of different colors.