97 quotes
When I say that I know women, I mean that I know that I don't know them. Every single woman I ever knew is a puzzle to me, as I have no doubt she is to herself.
Mr. Brown's Letters (1853)
She looks so haughty that I should have thought her a princess at the very least, with a pedigree reaching as far back as the Deluge. But this lady was no better born than many other ladies who give themselves airs; and all sensible people laughed at her absurd pretensions.
The Rose and the Ring (1855)
Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot
Ofttimes I hover,
And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.
The History of Pendennis (1848)
I should like to see before I die, and think of it daily more and more, the commencement of Jesus Christ's christianism in the world, where I am sure people may be made a hundred times happier than by its present forms, Judaism, ascenticism, Bullarism.
William Makepeace. Nov. 1840, A Collection of Letters (1887)
At that comfortable tavern on Pontchartrain, we had a bouillabaisse than which a better was never eaten at Marseilles: and not the least headache in the morning, I give you my word: on the contrary, you only wake with a sweet refreshing thirst for claret and water.
Roundabout Papers (1863)
Try to frequent the company of your betters. In books and life that is the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure of life is that. Note what the great men admired; they admired great things: narrow spirits admire basely, and worship meanly.
Then sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
“Who loves not wine, woman and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!”
Ballads (1855)
Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin,
That never has known the barber’s shear,
All your wish is woman to win,
This is the way that boys begin,—
Wait till you come to Forty Year.
Ballads (1855)
Love seems to survive life, and to reach beyond it. I think we take it with us past the grave. Do we not still give it to those who have left us? May we not hope that they feel it for us, and that we shall leave it here in one or two fond bosoms, when we also are gone?
The Virginians (1857)
Out of the fictitious book I get the expression of the life of the time; of the manners, the movement, the dress, the pleasures, the laughter, the ridicules of society—the old times live again, and I travel in the old country of England. Can the heaviest historian do more for me?
Those who are gone, you have. Those who departed loving you, love you still; and you love them always. They are not really gone, those dear hearts and true; they are only gone into the next room: and you will presently get up and follow them, and yonder door will close upon you, and you will no more be seen.
Roundabout Papers (1863)
Certain it is that scandal is good brisk talk, whereas praise of one's neighbour is by no means lively hearing. An acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with mustard and cayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a slice of cold friend with currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelishing meat.
Roundabout Papers (1863)
Young ladies may have been crossed in love, and have had their sufferings, their frantic moments of grief and tears, their wakeful nights, and so forth; but it is only in very sentimental novels that people occupy themselves perpetually with that passion; and, I believe, what are called broken hearts are very rare articles indeed.
The Newcomes (1854)
Humour is the mistress of tears; she knows the way to the fons lachrymarum, strikes in dry and rugged places with her enchanting wand, and bids the fountain gush and sparkle. She has refreshed myriads more from her natural springs, than ever tragedy has watered from her pompous old urn.
If love lives through all life; and survives through all sorrow; and remains steadfast with us through all changes; and in all darkness of spirit burns brightly; and if we die deplores us forever and loves still equally; and exists with the very last gasp and throb of the faithful bosom—whence it passes with the pure soul beyond death; surely it shall be immortal!
The Newcomes (1854)
The play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter’s bell:
A moment yet the actor stops,
And looks around, to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task;
And, when he’s laughed and said his say,
He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that’s anything but gay.
Ballads (1855)
The two most engaging powers of an author are to make new things familiar, familiar things new.
Misattributed