Short Story Writers From England

"Can loveliness lose its power ? Ah, yes ! when love can lose its truth. Weak and impetuous, yielding to temptation, but trembling to enjoy the reward of the committed crime ; such is the man of whom my heart made its divinity, — for whose sake I would have toiled as a slave; ay, and do ; but with far other aim now. Let us but once meet again, Jehanghire, and thou art mine ! but I — I can never be thine again. Life, throne, fortunes, we will yet share together ; but my heart, never, never more !"

"The startled terror of remorse that dares not think of what it fears, is as inconsistent as all other human feelings."

"Hope deferred is sickness to the heart — and she was now suffering that sickness, at its worst."

"The city and the crowd unidealise love; and love, in the young warm heart of a girl, should be a dream apart from all commoner emotions — as sweet and as ethereal as the blush with which it is born and dies. Beauty gives its own gracefulness to love — there must be romance blended with the passion inspired by the very lovely face which the mirror reflected."

"The evil spirit of love left his soul for a moment, but returned, though with a strange and lurid aspect, bringing with him other and worse spirits than himself—hate, revenge, blood-thirstiness—all merged in and coloured by the excited and fanatic temper of the time."

"There is one conviction at which, though forced upon us by daily experience, we never arrive, namely, the conviction that Nobody in reality cares for Anybody; but this truth is so cold that we fence it out by all sorts of cloaks and coverings, delusions and devices."

"Perfect equality, and perfect despotism, are theories equally unreducible to practice; but there are many fine sentiments belonging to the first, and there is singular fascination in a fine sentiment—we pay ourselves a compliment by uttering it."

"But the tyranny of custom, like all other tyrannies, when grown quite unbearable—for it is wonderful what people will endure-;had already sown the seeds of its own dissolution. Out of the hardship had grown the repining, and to repine at the exercise of an alleged right is soon to question its authority, and the first question asked shakes the whole ancient and time-honoured fabric of privilege."

"Youth suffers but for a season; the bowed but unbroken spirit resumes its elasticity; the future, unknown and beautiful, wins the present to itself, and the past waits for that dark and overwhelming influence which sooner or later will darken our whole horizon."

"But the knowledge of the library is not that of the world; a youth of solitude is bad preparation for a manhood of action; from the earliest age we need to mingle with our kind; the child corrects and instructs the child more than their masters; our equals are the tools wherewith experience works out its lessons; and the play-ground, with its rival interests, its injustices, its necessity for the ready wit and the curbed temper is both miniature and prophesy of the world, which will but bring back the old struggles only with a sterner aspect, and the same successes, but with more than half their enjoyment departed."

"There is nothing in nature so impracticable as the obstinacy of your true husband; it is the insurmountable obstacle—the Alps no female vinegar can melt."

"Time past on as lightly as he always steps over flowers, Brussels carpets, marble terraces, green turfs, or whatever simile may best express a path without an impediment."

"... what could have brought him to Dalton. There were no chalybeate-springs, warranted to cure every disease under the sun; no ruins in the neighbourhood, left expressly for antiquarians and pic-nic parties; no fine prospects, which, like music, people make it matter of conscience to admire; no celebrated person had ever been born or buried in its environs; there were no races, no assizes—in short, there was “no nothing.""

"But youth is as a flowing stream, on whose current the shadow may rest but not remain."

"A letter then, breathing of home and affection, is a treasure ; it is like a memento from the dead, for absence is as death in all but that its resurrection is in this life."

"They say women are more constant than men : it is the constancy of circumstance ; the enterprise, the exertion required of men continually force them out of themselves, and that which was at first necessity soon becomes habit — whereas the constant round of employments in which a woman is engaged requires no fatigue of mind or body; the needle is, generally speaking, both her occupation and amusement, and this kind of work leaves the ideas full play ; hence the imagination is left at liberty to dwell upon one subject, and hence habit, which is an advantage on the one side, becomes to her an additional rivet."

"It is strange, though true, that the happiest part of our life is the shortest in detail. We dwell on the tempest that wrecked, the flood that overwhelmed — but we pass over in silence the numerous days we have spent in summer and sunshine."

"Faintly coloured like a dream of bliss, a half formed rainbow hung on the departing storm, as fearful of yet giving promise of peace."

"It may seem fanciful, but to me the violet is the very emblem of woman's love; it springs up in secret; it hides its perfume even when gathered ; how timidly its deep blue leaves bend on their slight stem ! The resemblance may be carried yet further — woman's love is but beautiful in its purity ; let the hot breath of passion once sully it, and its beauty is departed — thus as the summer advances, the violet loses its fragrance ; June comes, but its odours are fled — the heart too has its June ; the flower may remain, but its fragrance is gone for ever."

"There is truth and certainty in our first impressions. First impressions are natural monitors, and nature is a true guide."

"The voyage appeared short, for I had nothing to anticipate."

"No one can say farewell with indifference."

"Yes; for, while memory languidly is fetching Her treasures from the depths which they have lain among, A fragile hand — how thin — how weak — is sadly sketching Figures and fancies that cell's white walls along. On the lip there is a murmur — It is the swan's last song."

"Like a human thought in quest Of a future hour."

"Lonely — lonely on the shore — Where the mighty waters roar, Would that she could pass them o'er! Doth the maiden stand."

"Grief hath stern and silent powers, And her house is proud ; Not to-day's cold guarded hours Is despair allow'd ; But, shut out with haughty fears, Pride with daylight disappears, From the lovely Zegri Ladye — The Ladye weeping there."

"Ever sits the lady weeping — Weeping night and day — One perpetual vigil keeping, Till life pass away, And she join the seven who sleep."

"We change, and others change, while recollection Fain would renew what it can but recall : Dark are life's dreams, and weary its affection, And cold its hopes, — and yet I felt them all, A long while ago."

"Upon the sunny grass-plot stood the dial, Whose measured time strange contrast with ours made : Ah ! was it omen of life's after trial, That even then the hours were told in shade, In the old, old times, The dear old times ?"

"Life is but the spirit's prison, Where its wings are furl'd, Stretching to their flight in vain, — Seeking that eternal home Which is in a world to come."

"Lonely by the moonlit waters Does the conqueror stand, Yet unredden'd by the slaughters Of his mighty band. Yet his laurel wants a leaf. There he stands, sad, silent, lonely ; For his hope is vain : He has reached that river only To return again."

"To dream and to create has been my fate, Alone, apart from life's more busy scheming ; I fear to think that I may find too late Vain was the toil, and idle was the dreaming."

"We know not of its presence, though its power Be on the gradual round of every hour, Now flinging down an empire, now a flower."

"How much of the full heart must be A seal'd book at whose contents we tremble ?"

"We might have been !— these are but common words, And yet they make the sum of life's bewailing;"

"A day may be a destiny ; for life Lives in but little— but that little teems With some one chance, the balance of all time"

"Farewell, and when to-morrow Seems little, like to-day, And we find life's deepest sorrow Melts gradual away ; Yet do not quite forget me."

"They named him — ah ! yet Do I start at that name ;"

"When every worldly thought is utterly forsaken, Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's gifted few; Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken To a being more intense, more spiritual and true. So doth the soul awaken, Like that youth to night's fair queen !"

"Lone upon a mountain, the pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youth is laid ; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him, Yet his beauty, like a statue's pale and fair, is undecay'd. When will he awaken ?"

"Once the buds of the pomegranate Paled beside her cheek's warm dye, Now 'tis like the last sad planet Waning in the morning sky — She has wept away its red."

"One sweet whisper from her came ; And he drank to catch her breath, — Wine and sigh alike are death !"

"Well he knows his course has hasted Through delicious sin, Borne tumultuously along. Never have the stars above Chronicled such utter love."

"She is but the type of all, Mortal or celestial, Who allow the heart, In its passion and its power, On some dark and fated hour, To assert its part."

"Like a marble statue placed, Looking o'er the watery waste, With its white fixed gaze ; There the Goddess sits, her eye Raised to the unpitying sky ;"

"It was hidden in a wild wood Of the larch and pine ; It had been unto his childhood Solitude and shrine, — There he dream'd the hours away."

"A word — a name — Conjures the past before me, till it grows More actual than the present : that — I see But with the common eyes of daily life, Imperfect and impatient ; but the past Out of imagination works its truth, And grows distinct with poetry."

"As steals the dew along the flower, So stole thy smile on me ; I cannot tell the day, nor hour I first loved thee !"

"Experience has rude lessons, and we grow Like what we have been taught too late to know, And yet we hate ourselves for being so."

"In the east the day was reddening, When the warriors pass'd ; In the west the night was deadening, As they looked their last ; As they looked their last on him — He, their comrade — their commander — He, the earth's adored — He, the godlike Alexander ! Who can wield his sword ? As they went their eyes were dim, The silver-shielded warriors, The warriors of the world !"