55 Quotes by Peter Mayle

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    The funny thing in France is that writers are not allowed to retire, because the French government say you are still earning money from books you wrote 20 years ago.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    In the south of France the phones cut in and out, the electricity isn't particularly reliable. I think many people would get very irritated with that life.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    I left school at 16 and skipped university to work, initially as a waiter. I think I missed out on what would have been great years.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    When I was very young in London, I had a bank account, which didn't have a great deal in it. I should think at least every three months the bank manager would call me up and threaten to strangle me because I had no money, and I was writing checks.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    There is nothing like a comfortable adventure to put people in a good humor. . .

  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    Next to the defeated politician, the writer is the most vocal and inventive griper on earth. He sees hardship and unfairness wherever he looks. His agent doesn’t love him (enough). The blank sheet of paper is an enemy. The publisher is a cheapskate. The critic is a philistine. The public doesn’t understand him. His wife doesn’t understand him. The bartender doesn’t understand him.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    Sunglasses must be kept on until an acquaintance is identified at one of the tables, but one must not appear to be looking for company. Instead, the impression should be that one is heading into the cafe to make a phone call to one's titled Italian admirer, when--quelle surprise!--one sees a friend. The sunglasses can then be removed and the hair tossed while one is persuaded to sit down.

  • Tags
  • Share

  • Author Peter Mayle
  • Quote

    Day after day we looked for rain, and day after day we saw nothing but the sun. Lavender that we had planted in the spring died. The patch of grass in front of the house abandoned its ambitions to become a lawn and turned into the dirty yellow of poor straw. The earth shrank, revealing its knuckles and bones, rocks and roots that had been invisible before.

  • Tags
  • Share