Works By Letitia Elizabeth Landon

"Spiritual pride came in support of spiritual exaltation. Louise felt raised above her species ; a voice had spoken within her inmost soul, whose revealings were vouchsafed but to the chosen few; and what had been indifference, was now disdain. This species of mystical misanthropy is, of all states of mind, the least accessible to the affections. It distrusts them as human, dreads them as perishable, and despises them as degrading ; and their renouncement, at first so bitter, soon becomes a triumph."

"Hopes and regrets are the sweetest links of existence — we pine to attach and be attached; …"

"It is a solace to confide our hopes, our feelings, and our thoughts ; but none to impart our mortifications, — their shame is heightened, not subdued, by sympathy."

"[From Richard Arden]: There are whole races marked out as the victims of a blind and terrible fatality; and circumstances, over which they themselves have no control, work out, unshunned and unsought, the wrong whereof they perish."

"[From Richard Arden]: The mule knows the hidden pitfalls of the morass ; the swallow feels the storm ere it comes upon the air, and wings to the quiet shelter of its nest — they foresee their dangers, and avoid them ; while we blindly rush forward into the depths of the pit and the fury of the tempest ; for we know not what evils await us. No kind foreknowledge gives us even the choice of avoidance."

"How often have I had my ideal destroyed, my pleasant imaginings checked and debased, by the ill-timed remark that changed their whole bearing ! Heaven knows, the observation was true enough ; still there are two ways of putting a fact, and one prefers that which lends a little enchantment to the view."

"… ; but absence, like charity, covers a multitude of sins ; …"

"Did we not daily observe them, we could not believe the instances of hard-heartedness evinced in social life — the neglect, the forgetfulness, and the ingratitude."

"Nothing is so soon lost in a crowd as affection ; we are in too great a hurry to attach ourselves to anything or anybody. What bitter knowledge is brought us by experience ! How do we grow cold, indifferent, and unbelieving — we, who were so affectionate, so eager, so confiding ! Perhaps we expect too much from others. Because an individual likes you, from some sudden impulse, from the effect of circumstances which drew both out agreeably, you have no right to rely on the continuance of that feeling ; a fresher impulse may counteract it — a newer situation lead it to some one else ; and you ought rather to be thankful for even the temporary warmth, than feel disappointed at its cessation. But though this is what it would be wise to do, it is not what we can do. Mutable as is our nature, it delights in the immutable: and we expect as much constancy as if all time had not shown that ever "the fashion of this world passeth away." And this alone would be to me the convincing proof of the immortality of the soul, or mind, or whatever is the animating principle of life. Whether it be the shadow cast from a previous existence, or an intuition of one to come, the love of that which lasts is an inherent impulse in our nature. Hence that constancy which is the ideal of love and friendship. Hence, too, that readiness of belief in the rewards and punishments of a future state held out by religion. From the commonest flower treasured, because its perfume out lives its beauty, to our noblest achievements where the mind puts forth all its power, we are prompted by that future which absorbs the present. The more we feel that we are finite, the more do we cling to the infinite."

"We grow attached unconsciously to the objects we see every day. We may not think so at the time — we may he discontented, and used to talk of their faults ; but let us be on the eve of quitting them for ever, and we find that they are dearer than we dreamed. The love of the inanimate is a general feeling. True, it makes no return of affection, neither does it disappoint it ; its associations are from our thoughts and emotions. We connect the hearth with the confidence which has poured forth the full soul in its dim twilight ; on the wall we have watched the shadows, less fantastic than the creations in which we have indulged. Over each and all is flung the strong link of habit — it is not to be broken without a pang."

"[From Francesca]: Even the very robbers, of whose ferocity we were wont to hear such tales in our own land, have usually possessed some redeeming trait which arose out of a yearning towards their kind."

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

"[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 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."

"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 !"

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

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

"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."

"A woman never can wholly shake off the influence of him whom she first loved. The love itself may be past, — gone like a sweet vain dream which it is useless to remember, or dismissed as an unworthy delusion ; still its memory remains. A thousand slight things recall some of its many emotions — it has become a standard of comparison ; and the "once we felt otherwise," occurs oftener than many would allow, but all must confess."

"With shame — for resentment was a justice she owed to herself. There are some offences which it is an unworthy weakness to forget."

"… 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 !"

"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."

"There is something in a deep conviction that forces, for the time, its own belief on others."

"… they felt as if the evil influence were indeed upon them, and shrunk before that nameless dread of the future, which for the moment subdues the energies, and in whose presence reason trembles. Surely all the more imaginative know this sensation; it is not omen — sound, light, even a cheerful word, have power to destroy its dark dominion ; and, unlike most other human emotions, it has no consequence. But who has not shuddered before the indefinite and unknown ?"

"In the ordinary course of daily life, it is wonderful how little we think of the morrow. That sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, is a truth unconsciously, but universally acknowledged. Instinct clings to the immediate ; but when we do think of the future, uninfluenced by any present hope — by any strong tide of anticipation carrying us along its darkening depths — how terrible does that future ever appear ! — what may it not have in store for us! Sickness, sorrow, poverty, age, and even crime — all that we should now indignantly disclaim, but that to which we may yield under some strong and subtle temptation. The guiltiest have had their guileless and innocent hour. Who knows what may await them of degradation and despair ? Death, too ! — that awful spectre, which stalks over the morrow as his own domain, opens before us his many graves — our own the last ! — no rest till we are worn with weeping for the loved and lost ! At such times, how we marvel at our usual recklessness, and pause, as it were, shrinking from the busy and inevitable current which is hurrying us on to eternity !"

"Strange the unconscious comfort which it is to exaggerate our self-importance, and that crime and sorrow are redeemed from the commonplace by stamping them with the character of fate !"

"Never tell me of the sterner beauties of winter. Winter may have a mighty beauty of its own, where the mountain rises, white with the snow of a thousand years, hemmed in by black pine forests, eternal in their gloom ; where the overhanging avalanche makes terrible even the slightest sound of the human voice ; and where waters that never flowed spread the glittering valleys with the frost-work of the measureless past. But the characteristic of English scenery is loveliness. We look for the verdant green of her fields, for the colours of her wild and garden flowers, for daisies universal as hope, and for the cheerful hedges, so various in leaf and bud. Winter comes to us with gray mists and drizzling rains : now and then, for a day, the frost creates its own fragile and fairy world of gossamer ; but not often. We see the desolate trees, bleak and bare ; the dreary meadows, the withered gardens, and close door and window, to exclude the fog and the east wind."

"But while the common run of ordinary circumstances were going their little round of influence, — small pebbles flung in the great stream of time, whose motion extends not beyond their own narrow eddy, — one of those mighty events was on the wheel of fate which shake the nations with the sound thereof. The generality of individuals perish and are forgotten before the wild flowers have sprung up in the grass sods that cover them. Their home is desolate for a time, and, perchance, missing their care may force their children to grieve for their loss ; perhaps, too, some faithful heart may feel that its life of life has gone from it for ever. But, take the majority of deaths — how little are they felt — how little do they matter ! Strange mystery of human existence, that its most awful occurrence is often its least important ! Death is ever around us, and yet we think not of it; its terrible presence is made manifest, and then forgotten. The most passing interests of life occupy more of our thoughts than its end."

"One after another the parti-coloured fragments of each fragile fabric were strewed over the table, till gradually his hand became accustomed and steady — wall and roofs were properly balanced, and the mimic Babels mounted high in air, — fittest symbols of all the graver plans and trials that agitate human existence. Scarcely is one scheme overthrown ere another is raised out of its ruins, but destined, like its predecessor, to destruction ; and yet, it would seem, the more we know the chances against our efforts — how a breath may demolish, nay, what our own weariness will soon destroy, — the more earnestly do we pursue them to the end."

"The truth is, that people in general are stupified by any great event."

"It is curious to mark the many shapes taken by mental suffering. With some it at once assumes the mask and the manner, puts on smiles, and forces the gay and brilliant word. These are they who are sensitively alive to the opinions of others, who, having once been called animated, deem that they have a character to sustain. Such shrink with morbid susceptibility from its being supposed how much they really feel ; and vanity — vanity, by the bye, in its most graceful and engaging form, usually native to such characters — aids them to support the seeming. They cannot endure being thoughtless agreeable; and only in solitude give way to the regret which oppresses them — then exaggerated to the utmost."

"The general aspect of midnight is calm and solemn ; the lulled spirits unconsciously are subdued by the deep repose."

"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 Robert Evelyn]: Suspicion never obtains more than the mockery of security."

"The ideal of liberty — now the excitement of the day — had arisen from three sources. First, from the religious discussions, which led to an extent and to conclusions of which the original agitators of such discussions little dreamed. To claim a right of thinking for yourself in one instance, ends by claiming that right in many ; and when the habit of examination is once introduced, the folly of any exclusive privilege is soon manifest; for most privileges have commenced in some necessity of the time, and a positive benefit has accrued from their exercise to the many as well as to the individual."

"Wealth acquired by commerce must always bring with it its portion of intelligence, and a desire of security. We would not lightly lose what we have hardly earned. Security can be obtained but by defined rights, and these can be ensured only by equitable laws. … Liberty has been called the daughter of the mountains — she ought rather to be styled the daughter of commerce ; for her best and most useful rights have been founded and defended by states embarked in trade."

"History, it is said, is the past teaching by example. How many false principles have been laid down, how much delusion supported, by reference to the glories of Athens and of Rome !"

"They forget that tyranny and caprice are the attributes of the many as well as of the one, — that the ingratitude of the mob is as proverbial as that of the court; and that an equal subserviency is required by either."

"We turn from no object, even the most common and the most trivial, for the last time, knowing it to be the last, without a touch of sad thoughtfulness. What then must be the feeling with which we look on this glorious and beautiful world, and know that such looks are our last ? — when we know that, in a few fleeting weeks, of the green leaves we now see putting forth, such as are doomed to perish early, like ourselves, will fall upon the earth, in whose dark bosom we are laid in our long rest ? — that the flowers, colouring branches which droop beneath their luxury of bloom, will only expand in time to form our funeral garland? It is even more solemn than mournful to gaze upon the far blue sky, and feel, in the dimness of the soon-wearied sight, how, pass but a little while, and the whole will have faded from our view — its beauty never more to be heightened by the tender associations of earth, and its rain and shine shedding vain fertility on our grave."

"The mysteries of this wonderful universe rise more palpable upon the departing spirit, so soon to mingle with their marvels. A voice is on the air, and a music on the wind, inaudible to other ears, but full of strange prophecies to the ear of the dying ! — he stands on the threshold of existence, and already looks beyond it; his thoughts are on things not of this life ; his affections are now the only links that bind him to the earth, but never was their power so infinite, — all other feelings have passed away. Ambition has gone down to the dust, from which it so vainly rose; wealth is known to be the veriest dross of which chains were ever formed to glitter and to gall ; hope has resigned the thousand rainbows which once gave beauty and promise to the gloomiest hour ; — all desires, expectations, and emotions are vanished — excepting love, which grows the stronger as it approaches the source whence it came, and becomes more heavenly as it draws nigh to its birth-place — heaven."

"Death leaves behind its own solemnity; and, even with the sunshine checkering the grass, the place had a peculiar gloom."

"[From Francesca]: … judgment is an awful word for mortal lips to utter ! Who dares pronounce that a doom is deserved ? If the sudden and early death be a judgment on one, must it not be so on all ?"

"There is nothing more delicious than one of these summer and sudden showers. There is something so inexpressibly lulling in the sound of the falling drops — like remembered poetry, inwardly murmured, rather than spoken. The leaves and flowers seem as if they were conscious of the reviving moisture, and wear fresher verdure and livelier hues ; the perfume which they exhale makes the very breathing a delight — so sweet is the cool and fragrant air : while the birds flutter to and fro, as if they, too, shared the general enjoyment."

"… smoke is the very type of that vapour of the human heart, hope. So does hope spring from the burning passions, which consume their home and themselves — so does it wander through the future, making its own charmed path — and so does it evanish away: lost in the horizon, it grows at last too faint for outline."

"… love delights in hearing its own name, and has a childish pleasure in making excuses for the enjoyment it takes in aught that links its future to that of the beloved."

"I know nothing more pleasant than the half kitchen, half flower-garden ; — the few trees that extend a light shade — either the apple, with its spring shower of fair blossoms, and its summer show of fruit, reddening every day ; or the cherry, with its scarlet multitude — berries more numerous than leaves. Below, long rows of peas put forth their white-winged flowers, tempting the small butterflies to flutter round their inanimate likenesses ; or else of beans, whose fresh, sweet odour, when in bloom, might challenge competition with the sea gales of the spice islands. Then the deep glossy green of the gooseberry is so well relieved by the paler shade of the currant-bush ; and alongside, spreading the verdant length of the strawberry-bed, so beautiful in its first wealth of white blossoms — pale omens of the blushing fruit, which so soon hides beneath its large and graceful leaves. The strawberry is among fruits what the violet is among flowers. Then, I do so like the one or two principal walks, neatly edged with box, cut with most precise regularity, keeping guard over favourite plants : — columbines, bending on their slender stems ; rose-bushes, covered with buds enough to furnish roses for months ; pinks, with their dark eyes ; and the orient glow of the marigold. And there are the neat plots planted with thyme, so sweet in its crushed fragrance ; the sage, with that touch of hoar-frost on its leaves, which, perhaps, has gained for it its popular name of wisdom ; the sprig of lavender, so lastingly sweet ; and the emerald patches of the rapidly springing mustard and cress. I would not give a common garden like this, with the free air tossing its boughs, and the sun laughing upon its flowers, for all that glass and gardener ever brought from a hot-house."