Quote

Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns, And as the portal opens to receive me, A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts Tells of a nameless deed.

Ann Radcliffe

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Ann Radcliffe
Age: 58 †
Born: 1764
Born: July 9
Died: 1823
Died: February 7
Author
Novelist
Writer
Ann Ward
Anne Radcliffe
Anne Ward
Ann Ward Radcliffe
Ann Ward
Mrs. Radcliffe
Ann Radcliffe
née Ward
Court
Courts
Fate
Sits
Darkness
Deed
Dark
Hollow
Battlements
Voice
Opens
Murmurs
Receive
Frowns
Tells
Portal
Deeds
Nameless

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It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one!
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I never trust people's assertions, I always judge of them by their actions.
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How despicable is that humanity, which can be contented to pity, where it might assuage!
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What are riches - grandeur - health itself, to the luxury of a pure conscience, the health of the soul - and what the sufferings of poverty, disappointment, despair - to the anguish of an afflicted one!
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Wisdom can boast no higher attainment than happiness.
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Ignorance of true pleasure more frequently than temptation to that which is false, leads to vice.
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The world ridicules a passion which it seldom feels its scenes, and its interests, distract the mind, deprave the taste, corrupt the heart, and love cannot exist in a heart that has lost the meek dignity of innocence.
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One act of beneficence, one act of real usefulness, is worth all the abstract sentiment in the world.
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Employment is the surest antidote to sorrow.
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If the weak hand, that has recorded this tale, has, by its scenes, beguiled the mourner of one hour of sorrow, or, by its moral, taught him to sustain it - the effort, however humble, has not been vain, nor is the writer unrewarded.
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Poverty cannot deprive us of many consolations. It cannot rob us of the affection we have for each other, or degrade us in our own opinion, of in that of any person, whose opinion we ought to value.
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Never will I give my hand where my heart does not accompany it.
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Do you believe your heart to be, indeed, so hardened, that you can look without emotion on the suffering, to which you would condemn me?
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There is something in the ardour and ingenousness of youth, which is particularly pleasing to the contemplation of an old man, if his feelings have not been entirely corroded by the world.
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I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge - but it was transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it.
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There is some comfort in dying surrounded by one's children.
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But St. Aubert had too much good sense to prefer a charm to a virtue.
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When one can hear people moving, one does not so much mind, about one's fears.
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I wish that all those, who on this night are not merry enough to speak before they think, may ever after be grave enough to think before they speak!
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Virtue and taste are nearly the same, for virtue is little more than active taste, and the most delicate affections of each combine in real love.
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