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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.
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
Dream
Lashes
Men
Soft
North
Adversity
Luscious
Motivation
Vikings
South
Lulls
Dreams
Lotuses
Wind
Lotus
More quotes by Ouida
Women hope that the dead love may revive but men know that of all dead things none are so past recall as a dead passion.
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The scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn.
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There is nothing that you may not get people to believe in if you will only tell it them loud enough and often enough, till the welkin rings with it.
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Opposition to a man in love is like oil to fire.
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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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A little scandal is an excellent thing nobody is ever brighter or happier of tongue than when he is making mischief of his neighbors.
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Fame! it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises.
Ouida
Dishonor is like the Aaron's Beard in the hedgerows it can only poison if it be plucked.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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Intensely selfish people are always very decided as to what they wish. They do not waste their energies in considering the good of others.
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Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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Friendship is such an elastic word. There never was an age when it stood for so many things in private, and was yet so absolutely non-existent in fact.
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Christianity has been cruel in much to the human race. It has quenched much of the sweet joy and gladness of life it has caused the natural passions and affections of it to be held as sins.
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A pipe is a pocket philosopher,--a truer one than Socrates, for it never asks questions. Socrates must have been very tiresome, when one thinks of it.
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It is a kind of blindness--poverty. We can only grope through life when we are poor, hitting and maiming ourselves against every angle.
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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?
Ouida
Talent wears well, genius wears itself out talent drives a snug brougham in fact genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.
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Fancy tortures more people than does reality
Ouida
The heart of silver falls ever into the hands of brass. The sensitive herb is eaten as grass by the swine.
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When passion and habit long lie in company it is only slowly and with incredulity that habit awakens to finds its companion fled, itself alone.
Ouida
