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Never will I give my hand where my heart does not accompany it.

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
Give
Giving
Heart
Never
Accompany
Hand
Hands
Doe

More quotes by Ann Radcliffe

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How strange it is, that a fool or knave, with riches, should be treated with more respect by the world, than a good man, or a wise man in poverty!
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The refreshing pleasure from the first view of nature, after the pain of illness, and the confinement of a sick-chamber, is above the conceptions, as well as the descriptions, of those in health.
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There is some magic in wealth, which can thus make persons pay their court to it, when it does not even benefit themselves.
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There are some few instances in which it is virtuous to disobey.
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I never trust people's assertions, I always judge of them by their actions.
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When one can hear people moving, one does not so much mind, about one's fears.
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There is some comfort in dying surrounded by one's children.
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And since, in our passage through this world, painful circumstances occur more frequently than pleasing ones, and since our sense of evil is, I fear, more acute than our sense of good, we become the victims of our feelings, unless we can in some degree command them.
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It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one!
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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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Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest.
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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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Sentiment is a disgrace, instead of an ornament, unless it lead us to good actions.
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There is no accounting for tastes.
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He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away when the stars, one by one, tremble through æther, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation.
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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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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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When the mind has once begun to yield to the weakness of superstition, trifles impress it with the force of conviction.
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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.
Ann Radcliffe
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But St. Aubert had too much good sense to prefer a charm to a virtue.
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