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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
Also
Mom
Beacon
Like
Daughter
Beacons
Memories
Mothering
Happiness
Guise
Future
Reflected
Family
Fond
Mother
Mum
Past
Lighting

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A man's own vanity is a swindler that never lacks for a dupe.
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Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.
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Love passes quickly, and passes like a street Arab, anxious to mark his way with mischief.
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It's not enough to be a good person. You also have to show it.
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To forget is the great secret of strong creative natures to forget is the way nature herself who knows no past and who at every hour begins the mysteries of her untiring labors afresh.
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In a world of hunchbacks, a fine figure becomes a monstrosity.
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True lovers know how trifling a thing is money yet how difficult to blend with love!
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All poetry like every work of art proceeds from a swift vision of things.
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Pity is woman's sweetest charm.
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Beauty is the greatest of human powers. Any power without counterbalance or control becomes autocratic and leads to abuse and to folly. Despotism in a government is insanity in woman, fantasy.
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The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.
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Ah! What pleasure it must be to a woman to suffer for the one she loves!
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There are words which cut like steel.
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During the great storms of our lives we imitate those captains who jettison their weightiest cargo.
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Conscience is a cudgel which all men pick up in order to thwack their neighbors instead of applying it to their own shoulders.
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He hesitated till the last moment, but finally dropped them in the box, saying, I shall win!--the cry of a gambler, the cry of the great general, the compulsive cry that has ruined more men than it has ever saved.
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The pleasures of love proceed successively from a distich to a quatrain, from a quatrain to a sonnet, from a sonnet to a ballad, from a ballad to an ode, from an ode to a cantata, and from a cantata to a dithyramb. A husband who begins with the dithyramb is a fool.
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We flew back home like swallows. 'Is it happiness that makes us so light?' Agathe asked.
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I am not deep, but I am very wide.
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Ah! how much a mother learns from her child! The constant protection of a helpless being forces us to so strict an alliance with virtue, that a woman never shows to full advantage except as a mother. Then alone can her character expand in the fulfillment of all life's duties and the enjoyment of all its pleasures.
Honore de Balzac