My eyes were dazed by you for a little, and that was all.
A novel is an impression, not an argument; and there the matter must rest.
A blaze of love and extinction, was better than a lantern glimmer of the same which should last long years.
If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.
My weakness has always been to prefer the large intention of an unskilful artist to the trivial intention of an accomplished one: in other words, I am more interested in the high ideas of a feeble executant than in the high execution of a feeble thinker.
Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks.
A woman would rather visit her own grave than the place where she has been young and beautiful after she is aged and ugly.
I wish I had never been born--there or anywhere else.
I may do some good before I am dead--be a sort of success as a frightful example of what not to do; and so illustrate a moral story.
It was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity
The value of old age depends upon the person who reaches it. To some men of early performance it is useless. To others, who are late to develop, it just enables them to finish the job.
So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in; some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope.
The defective can be more than the entire.
The resolution to avoid an evil is seldom framed till the evil is so far advanced as to make avoidance impossible.
And at home by the fire, whenever you look up there I shall be— and whenever I look up, there will be you. -Gabriel Oak
Of course poets have morals and manners of their own, and custom is no argument with them.
You concede nothing to me and I have to concede everything to you.
That aspects are within us; and who seems Most kingly is the King.
Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?
WEATHERS This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I; When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nestlings fly; And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,' And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I. This is the weather the shepherd shuns, And so do I; When beeches drip in browns and duns, And thresh and ply; And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe, And meadow rivulets overflow, And drops on gate bars hang in a row, And rooks in families homeward go, And so do I.
But his dreams were as gigantic as his surroundings were small.
It may have been observed that there is no regular path for getting out of love as there is for getting in. Some people look upon marriage as a short cut that way, but it has been known to fail.
Like the British Constitution, she owes her success in practice to her inconsistencies in principle.
Always wanting another man than your own.
There is always an inertia to be overcome in striking out a new line of conduct – not more in ourselves, it seems, than in circumscribing events, which appear as if leagued together to allow no novelties in the way of amelioration.
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