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A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.
Ouida
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Ouida
Age: 69 †
Born: 1839
Born: January 1
Died: 1908
Died: January 25
Novelist
Writer
Bury St Edmunds
Suffolk
Marie Louise de la Ramée
Marie Louise Ramé
Marie Louise de la Ramee
Marie Louise Rame
Story
Oils
Running
Rumor
Hands
Gossip
Stories
Cruel
Every
Wheels
Runs
Oil
Hand
More quotes by Ouida
One must pray first, but afterwards one must help oneself. God does not care for cowards.
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Count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged.
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Dissimulation is the only thing that makes society possible without its amenities the world would be a bear-garden.
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It is the north wind that lashes men into Vikings it is the soft, luscious south wind which lulls them to lotus dreams.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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It is only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.
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Charity in various guises is an intruder the poor see often but courtesy and delicacy are visitants with which they are seldom honored.
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It is quite easy for stupid people to be happy they believe in fables, and they trot on in a beaten track like a horse on a tramway.
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It needs a great nature to bear the weight of a great gratitude.
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You know the Ark of Israel and the calf of Belial were both made of gold. Religion has never yet changed the metal of her one adoration.
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Youth without faith is a day without sun.
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for what is the gift of the poet and the artist except to see the sights which others cannot see and to hear the sounds that others cannot hear?
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I have known men who have been sold and bought a hundred times, who have only got very fat and very comfortable in the process of exchange.
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Indifference is the invincible grant of the world.
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Honor is an old-world thing but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong.
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What we love once, we love forever. Shall there be joy in heaven over those who repent, yet no forgiveness for them upon earth? --Wanda
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Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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We do not want to think. We do not want to hear. We do not care about anything. Only give us a good dinner and plenty of money, and let us outshine our neighbors. There is the Nineteenth Century Gospel.
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Even of death Christianity has made a terror which was unknown to the gay calmness of the Pagan and the stoical repose of the Indian.
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There is a chord in every heart that has a sigh in it if touched aright.
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