Man has here two and a half minutes-one to smile, one to sigh, and a half to love: for in the midst of this minute he dies.
No heroine can create a hero through love of one, but she can give birth to one
Sorrows gather around great souls as storms do around mountains; but, like them, they break the storm and purify the air of the plain beneath them.
How narrow our souls become when absorbed in any present good or ill! It is only the thought of the future that makes them great.
Men, like bullets, go farthest when they are smoothest.
Woman and men of retiring timidity are cowardly only in dangers which affect themselves, but the first to rescue when others are in danger.
Has it never occurred to us, when surrounded by sorrows, that they may be sent to us only for our instruction, as we darken the eyes of birds when we wish them to sing?
Variety of mere nothings gives more pleasure than uniformity of something.
The last, best fruit which comes to late perfection, even in the kindliest soul, is tenderness toward the hard, forbearance toward the unforbearing, warmth of heart toward the cold, philanthropy toward the misanthropic.
What Cicero said of men-that they are like wines, age souring the bad, and bettering the good-we can say of misfortune, that it has the same effect upon them.
Like a morning dream, life becomes more and more bright the longer we live, and the reason of everything appears more clear. What has puzzled us before seems less mysterious, and the crooked paths look straighter as we approach the end.
He thought of the mouldering child, which laid its withered thin arms around his soul, as if it were his own, and to whom Death had given as much as a god gave to Endymion, — sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.
For the Infinite has sowed his name in the heavens in burning stars, but on the earth He has sowed his name in tender flowers.
The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering galleries, they are clearly heard at the end, and by posterity.
I would rather dwell in the dim fog of superstition than in air rarefied to nothing by the air-pump of unbelief-in which the panting breast expires, vainly and convulsively gasping for breath.
Universal love is a glove without fingers, which fits all bands alike and none closely; but true affection is like a glove with fingers, which fits one hand only, and sits close to that one.
It is easier and handier for men to flatter than to praise.
Whenever, at a party, I have been in the mood to study fools, I have always looked for a great beauty: they always gather round her like flies around a fruit stall.
The purer the golden vessel, the more readily is it bent; the higher worth of woman is sooner lost than that of man.
Nations and men are only the best when they are the gladdest, and deserve heaven when they enjoy it.
The happiness of life consists, like the day, not in single flashes (of light), but in one continuous mild serenity. The most beautiful period of the heart's existence is in this calm equable light, even although it be only moonshine or twilight. Now the mind alone can obtain for us this heavenly cheerfulness and peace.
Beauty attracts us men; but if, like an armed magnet it is pointed, beside, with gold and silver, it attracts with tenfold power.
Fancy rules over two thirds of the universe, the past, and future, while reality is confined to the present
feelings of man are always pure and the brightest to the meeting time and Farewell.
It is not great, but little good-haps that make up happiness.
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