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A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

Honore de Balzac

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Honore de Balzac
Age: 52 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 20
Died: 1851
Died: August 19
Art Critic
Dramaturge
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Prosaist
Writer
Tours
France
Balzac
Horace de Saint- Aubin
Onoreh deh Balzaḳ
Lord R'Hoone
Ônôrē de Balzaq
Jeune ceélibataire
Onore de Balzak
Honorato De Balzac
H. Balzak
Honoreé De Balzac
H. Balzac
Horace de S.- Aubin
Honoriusz Balzac
Un Jeune ceélibataire
Lord O'Rhoone
Ūnūrīh dī Balzāk
R'Hoone
Onore de Bal'zak
Hônôrê đơ Banzăc
Honore de Balzak
de. Balzac
Memories
Mothering
Happiness
Guise
Future
Reflected
Family
Fond
Mother
Mum
Past
Lighting
Also
Mom
Beacon
Like
Daughter
Beacons

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Give to a wounded heart seclusion consolation nor reason ever effected anything in such a case.
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There are moments in life when all we can bear is the sense that our friend is near us our wounds would wince at the touch of consoling words, that would reveal the depths of our pain.
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Virtue, perhaps, is nothing more than politeness of soul.
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The events of human life, whether public or private, are so intimately linked to architecture that most observers can reconstruct nations or individuals in all the truth of their habits from the remains of their monuments or from their domestic relics.
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The weakest being on earth can accomplish feats of strength. The frailest urchin will ring every doorbell on the street in arctic weather or hoist himself aloft to inscribe his name on a virgin monument.
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To say to a rich man: You are poor! is to tell the Archbishop of Granada that his sermons are worthless.
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In intimate family life, there comes a moment when children, willingly or no, become the judges of their parents.
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Alas, two men are often necessary to provide a woman with a perfect lover, just as in literature a writer composes a type only by employing the singularities of several similar characters.
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All human beings go through a previous life... Who knows how many fleshly forms the heir of heaven occupies before he can be brought to understand the value of that silence and solitude of spiritual worlds?
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Love is perhaps no more than gratitude for pleasure.
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Rich women need not fear old age their gold can always create about them any feelings necessary to their happiness.
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Genuine sorrows are very tranquil in appearance in the deep bed they have dug for themselves. But, seeming to slumber, they corrode the soul like that frightful acid which penetrates crystal.
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Our heart is a treasury if you pour out all its wealth at once, you are bankrupt.
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White hair often covers the head, but the heart that holds it is ever young.
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Remorse is impotence, impotence which sins again. Repentance alone is powerful it ends all.
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Modern society includes three types of men who can never think very highly of the world--the priest, the physician, and the attorney-at-law. They all wear black, too, for are they not in mourning for every virtue and every illusion?
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It would be curious to know what leads a man to become a stationer rather than a baker, when he is no longer compelled, as among the Egyptians, to succeed to his father's craft.
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Forgetting is the great secret of strong and creative lives.
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Genius is answerable only to itself it is the sole judge of the means, since it alone knows the end thus genius must consider itself as above the law, for it is the task of genius to remake the law moreover the man who frees himself from his time and place may take everything, hazard everything, for everything is his by right.
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Love passes quickly, and passes like a street Arab, anxious to mark his way with mischief.
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