Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Business before pleasure.
My heart is its own grave!
Fame is bought by happiness.
Curiosity is its own suicide.
habit is our idea of eternity.
We are ourselves our happiness.
Confidence is its own security.
The stars are so far, far away!
The fearless make their own way.
Farewell's a bitter word to say.
Shopping, true feminine felicity!
Eyes that droop like summer flowers.
Few save the poor feel for the poor.
A woman only can understand a woman.
Delicious tears! The heart's own dew.
Youth is a season that has no repose.
To be rude is as good as being clever.
All sweeping assertions are erroneous.
Few, save the poor, feel for the poor.
Affection exaggerates its own offenses.
Anticipation is a bad sleeping draught.
doubts, like facts, are stubborn things.
Childhood, whose very happiness is love.
The past is perpetual youth to the heart.
Restraint is the golden rule of enjoyment.
All beginnings are very troublesome things.
anybody's applause is better than nobody's.
Hope is love's happiness, but not its life.
A sealed book, at whose contents we tremble.
There is no wretchedness like self-reproach.
A woman's fame is the tomb of her happiness.
How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.
no hour arrives so soon as the one we dread.
We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse.
We need to suffer, that we may learn to pity.
Thou know'st how fearless is my trust in thee.
The heart's hushed secret in the soft dark eye.
How beautiful, how buoyant, and glad is morning!
Travel is as much a passion as ambition or love.
The very effort to forget teaches us to remember.
Curiosity and courtesy are very often at variance.
Conscience, like a child, is soon lulled to sleep.
A friend is never alarmed for us in the right place.
Truly, a little love-making is a very pleasant thing.
It merely shews, after all, that affection is a habit.
Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of existence.
It is strange what society will endure from its idols.
No thoroughly occupied man was ever yet very miserable.
Alas! we give our own coloring to the actions of others.
Were it not better to forget than to remember and regret?