English Novels

"… there is a readiness of attachment in youth — the fresh and unused heart is so alive to the kindlier impressions. Pass but a few, a very few years, and we shall marvel how we ever could have found love enough for the many objects which were once so dear! … … Ah! that exaggeration of liking — that readiness to like — that taking for granted all imaginable good qualities — to what a joyous time, to what a buoyant and happy state of feeling, does it belong !"

"Be as philosophical as we can on the subject, fortify the mind with as many old proverbs as we will, — how that beauty is a flower of the field that perisheth, and that "handsome is that handsome does," — yet there will always be something in beauty that attracts and interests us — we know not how. Such homage is a sort of natural religion of the heart, or rather superstition, that the good must be inherent in the lovely."

"... reasons are proofs given as much for our own satisfaction as for that of others."

"A sweet smile and a soft word have usually their desired effect ; …"

"The radiance now began to mellow ; a large cloud, which had been slowly floating up, crossed the burning centre ; it melted, but into a rich crimson ; the reddening tints spread rapidly, softening as they receded from the round orb that now seemed to rest on the waters ; many small white clouds rose flitting from afar, and each as they approached caught a tinge of pink. The sun sunk below the waters, which glowed with his descent ; but, almost unperceived, a purple shadow fell on the atmosphere— Nature's royal mourning over her king. Far as the eye could reach, the waves had a faint lilac dye, reflected from deeper-dyed heavens above, whose magnificence at last faded into a broad and clear amber line, with an eddy of pale crimson on its extremest verge. The long shadows now heralded the coming darkness ; …"

"The host himself was one of those very quiet men whom we usually see linked to the most active helpmates. Whether Nature, in the first instance, pointed out the necessity of a supply from another of that quality in which each was most deficient, and thus the match originated — or whether the state of quietude comes on after marriage, exertion on both sides being discovered to be a superfluity, — is really too profound an investigation ; but the fact is certain, that the keen-tongued, quick-witted, bustling wife is always united to the slow, silent, and quiet husband."

"But now, the first fog of the morning had cleared away, and the round red sun looked cheerfully as it shed its crimson hues amid the topmost branches. The light snow lay on the narrow and winding path before them, pure as if just fresh winnowed by the wind. The outline of every tree was marked with the utmost distinctness by the frost which covered it; but every spray drooped beneath the weight of the fairy and fragile tracery that gemmed them ; while the gossamer threads, like strung and worked pearls, seemed to catch every stray sunbeam, and glitter with the bright and passing hues of crystal. Every tree was as distinguishable as in summer."

"In all things there is one period more lovely than aught that has gone before — than aught that can ever come again. That delicate green of the young leaves, when the boughs are putting forth the promise of a shadowy summer — the tender crimson of the opening bud, whose fragrant depths are unconscious of the sun, — these are the fittest emblems for that transitory epoch in the history of a girl's heart, when her love, felt for the first time, is as simple, as guileless, as unworldly as herself. It is the purest, the most ideal poetry in nature. It does not, and it cannot last. It is only too likely that the innocent and trusting heart will be ground down to the very dust. Falsehood, disappointment, and neglect, form the majority of chances ; and even if fortunate— fortunate in requited faithfulness and a sheltered home — still the visionary hour of youth is gone by. There are duties instead of dreams, romance exhausts itself — and the imaginative is merged in the commonplace. The pale green returns not to the leaf, the delicate red to the flower, and, still less, its early poetry to the heart."

"[From Francesca]: The truth is, we begin life with too exalted ideas — our wishes and our expectations go together. We are soon forced to lower our standard ; and this depreciation brings at first coldness, distress, and distrust, but also wisdom. We learn not to anticipate so much, and to cling with firmer faith to those whose truth has been proved. Courtesy from the many, kindness from the few, and affection from the individual, become the limit of our hopes; and. even that moderate limit must prepare for exceptions."

"[From Guido]: From the beginning of the show to the end, vanity is the sole stimulus and reward of action."

"[From De Joinville]: {of Madame de Savoie} She uses a whole language to herself. Her discourse is an avalanche of words, beneath which the hearers are overwhelmed."

"… ; but I never, for the life of me, could discover what consolation there is in knowing that we are suffering from our own folly. To my taste, it rather aggravates the ill ; for there is always a sort of comfort in being able to lay the blame on others."

"It is curious, in any great festival, to note the various motives that animate its crowd. Some — and these are the very young — are joyful in the mere delight of being dressed, and of going out ; some — and these are the very happy — look forward to meeting the individual at once their dream and their destiny. … … Others go as a matter of course; society is the business of their life, and attendance on a fête is a moral duty. Some go to see — more, to be seen ; some to be flattered — others, to flatter. Some go for the sake of their jewels — others, for themselves ; and at the close of the festival, how few come away but worn out with lassitude and discontent !"

"Climax of feminine indifference, she did not care how she looked !"

"When I have marked, as all must do, the disappointment that rewards the noblest efforts, the agony that attends the most generous affections, I have asked, is it not better to waste life than to use it ? The vain question of a mood of profitless dejection— the most unprofitable state in which we can indulge !"

"Generally speaking, ambition grows upon the ruins of disappointed love; and we ask from honours and interests that delusion which we can no longer find in affection."

"But fortune takes a strange pleasure in mocking herself, and sometimes bestows all her gifts only to show how unavailing she can make them."

"— and quarrels are the common resource of the unoccupied —"

"It is a great error for the heart to hoard up that romance which is only graceful in youth — and it is dangerous, too ; for the feeling is as real and as keen, though no longer likely to meet return or sympathy."

"I have heard a great deal said of the cheerfulness of music, lighted rooms, and a gay crowd. I only know, that the most melancholy moments of one's life are passed in such scenes. There is such a feeling of solitude — so much conversation going on in which you can take no interest — so many persons who care not whether you are living or dead — so many forced words and smiles — so much fatigue — such a mockery of gaiety — such a dragging together of strangers, who can have nothing in common —and so much neglect, impertinence, and indifference. A large festival always appears to me a funeral on a grand scale of all human graces, affections, and kindlinesses. Like dancing, it is a remnant of ancient barbarism — fit for the days of the Chaldeans or the Babylonians, when people were only amused through their eyes — the sole entertainment of which savage nations are susceptible."

"The actions on which we calculate and decide never bring the important consequences which we expected from them. It is the thoughtless, the careless, the unmarked of the minute, that set their seal upon our fate — that are the final and the fatal in their results."

"He was roused from his brief rest by a violent fit of coughing, which seemed to shake the whole system. It was one which in England is so simply, yet so emphatically, denominated a churchyard cough. It was hollow, like the echo of the grave."

"Half inclined! — that little phrase contains the secrets of all failures : it is the strong will, which knows nothing of hesitation, that masters the world."

"[From De Joinville]: … the causes of inconstancy are much misunderstood. It is commonly said that love never lasts. Now, that is not so much from change, or that it exhausts itself, as that it is mixed up with the paltry cares and daily interests of life ; thus losing its ideality, which constitutes its great charm. Two lovers begin by reading poetry, and end by casting up bills together. The real reason why an unfortunate attachment outlasts the one more happy is, that it is less confounded with the commonplace of existence."

"[From De Joinville]: But I consider that all individuals have but a certain portion of love in their composition, and it is a pity to exhaust it at once. Who are the persons with whom we remain on good terms to our old age? Why, those whom we never cared much about."

"[From De Joinville]: Ah! the truth is, that nobody knows anything about anybody. Our nearest and dearest friends have a thousand thoughts and feelings which we have never even suspected. We look in them only for what reflects our own. Our very sympathy is egotism."

"Now it is not in human nature — at least in feminine nature — to see pretty things, yet not wish for them ; …"

"We cannot understand what we have never experienced ; and we need pain, were it only to teach us sympathy."

"[From De Joinville]: Now, I hold that, in most matrimonial instances, it is as well to provide for repentance ; and wealth has its advantages and its alleviations in affairs of the heart, as in all other affairs. It was by means of a golden bough that Æneas passed the evil spirits of Tartarus, and gained Elysium in safety."

"[From Francesca]: Nay, there is nothing which appears to me so much exaggerated as the common exclamations about the selfishness of human nature. We are a great deal better than we make ourselves out to be."

"[From Marie Mancini]: … ; my features do not express superb disdain with any effect. That is the reason, I firmly believe, why Cleopatra poisoned herself, while Zenobia walked in the triumph of the Roman conqueror. The one knew she would not look well — the other knew she would.""

"[From Marie Mancini]: Yes, it is ; for amusement destroys interest. There is nothing for which people are less grateful than for being entertained; in their hearts they are ashamed of not being able to entertain themselves, and therefore seek consolation in despising, or at least undervaluing, those to whom they owe that very entertainment."

"Let a fortunate man do what he will for his own fate, he nevertheless works the most for the benefit of others."

"No man likes to hear that any woman is in love with his friend — it seems a sort of personal affront to himself; … … And here we cannot but note the less selfish nature of woman. In nine cases out of ten, a girl is delighted in her companions' conquests — to be the confidante is almost equal to having the lover her own. This, we grant, is confined to the very young, and perhaps they may consider it as an augury ; still, this mere satisfaction in confidence is a purely feminine feeling."

"There are few but must recollect the first awakening after any event ; the unconscious rousing, the gradual remembrance that something unusual has occurred, the half reluctance to recall it, till suddenly it flashes full upon your mind, and you start up in astonishment at even your momentary oblivion."

"[From Marie Mancini]: Ah ! beauty without vanity is but a sort of barbaric gold, unfit for any of the purposes of civilised life. I can only supply its place by the delusions of self-love — by deceiving people into the belief that they are thinking of me, when they are in reality thinking of themselves."

"One proof of a great man is fitness for the circumstances in which he is placed. That talent may reasonably be doubted which is never exercised; …"

"[From Francesca]: Kind and generous impulses are rife in our nature. Look at the pity which springs spontaneously at the sight of affliction — witness the admiration so ready to welcome any great action ; and call to mind the thousand slight acts of kindness, almost unmarked, because of such daily occurrence."

"We take some most favourable portion of another's existence, and compare it with one of the darkest in our own, and then exclaim against the difference."

"I believe there are few who have not, even in their gladdest hours, felt how nearly gaiety and sadness are allied ; a shadow steals over the spirits, like a cloud over the moon, soft and subduing, perhaps transitory, but not the less dark for the moment."

"Evelyn — for falsehood brings its own cowardice — was speechless."

"No entertainment, however brilliant, to which you merely go, can at all equal the delights of one where you have assisted from the original idea of the giving to the actual accomplishment of its being given. Your taste has been consulted, and your self-love enlisted in its cause; your advice has been asked, and, consequently, you have a personal interest in its success. Your time has been taken up by a thousand details — and occupation is the life of time."

"Enjoyment is the least descriptive of all feelings ; …"

"— shame can never be the first feeling of the innocent; but even the falsest accusation brings the burning and bitter blush, to think that such can even have been imagined."

"Time passed as time ever does when passed monotonously, that is, with a degree of rapidity which only astonishes us when it is recalled to mind by some chance circumstance. Time should he reckoned by events, not hours ; the heart is its truest time-piece, at least as concerns ourselves."

"There is a grief which may darken a whole life, shut up the heart from every influence but its own, remain unchanged through every change of various fortune, flinging its own shadow over all that is fair, its own bitterness into all that is sweet; but that grief is the silent and the secret — it goes abroad with a smooth brow and a smiling lip — it knows not the relief of tears, and words it disdains. None have fathomed its depths, for its existence is denied; pride is mingled with its strength, for the hidden soul knows there is that within which parts it from its kind, and perhaps triumphs even in such agonising consciousness. With such the spirits often seem buoyant without a cause — often too guy for the occasion. The truth is, that society is to them as a theatre; and what actor is there who does not occasionally over act his part ? Few ever penetrate their dark and weary seclusion, for few ever look beyond the surface, unless actuated by some hope, fear, or love of their own, and then their feelings blind their judgment. Such motives turn all objects into mirrors, which reflect some likeness, even if distorted, of themselves. We conjecture, question, desire, anticipate — do everything but observe. And slight, indeed, are the tokens by which the seared heart betrays itself. But it has its signs ; there is that real disregard of the pleasures in which it shares, half as a disguise, half to avoid the trouble of importunity. But the eye, however trained to attention, will wander; the set smile becomes absent — weariness is pleaded as an excuse — and lassitude serves as the cloak to indifference. Moreover, though almost unconsciously, the words have a biting and shrewd turn — the opinions are either harsh or given with undue levity — contradiction is almost habitual — and the feelings, denied the resource of sympathy, take refuge in sarcasm."

"True enough was the Chevalier's assertion, that we know but little of even our most intimate friends — and yet this does not originate from want of sympathy ; it is rather owing to the extreme sensitiveness of all our more imaginative feelings. How many emotions rise in every heart which we never dream of communicating! They are too fine, too fragile, for expression, like those delicate hues of the atmosphere, which never yet could painter embody. Moreover, there is an odd sort of satisfaction which we all take in making ourselves other than we are. This is a species of deception which defies analysis, and is yet universally practised. Some make themselves out better, some worse, than they really are; but none give themselves their exact likeness. Perhaps it is that the ideal faculty is so strongly developed in us, that we cannot help exercising it even upon the reality of ourselves."

"I say, deeply is that woman to be pitied whose first attachment has been ill requited. The qualities most natural to youth are at once destroyed ; suspicion takes the place of confidence, reserve of reliance, distrust instead of that ready belief in all that was good and beautiful. Knowledge has come to her too soon — knowledge of evil, unqualified by the general charities which longer experience infallibly brings; but her age has lent its own freshness to this first great emotion ; it becomes unconsciously a criterion, and the judgment is harsh, because the remembrance is bitter. Another affection may, and in nine cases out of ten does, supersede the first ; and it is well that it should; the daily contentment of life, the household happiness of hourly duty and hourly love, are not to be offered up in vain sacrifice to the unpitying past. But not the less at the time did the disappointment appear too heavy, not the less cruel was its influence over the mind ; the ideal of love is gone for ever — its poetry a dream, its fairy-land a departed vision."

"I do believe, that the rule of love at first sight, like all other rules, admits of exceptions — while so many characters and temperaments exist, no one law can extend to all ; but this I also believe, that love at first sight belongs to the highest and most imaginative order of passion — it stamps it at once with the seeming of destiny."

"[Guido] 'I do believe there is no existence so content as that whose present is engrossed by employment, and whose future is filled by some strong hope, the truth of which is never proved.'"