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The fire of true enthusiasm is like the fires of Baku, which no water can ever quench, and which burn steadily on from night to day, and year to year, because their well-spring is eternal.
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
Like
Year
Quench
Water
Steadily
Night
Fires
True
Burn
Ever
Enthusiasm
Wells
Spring
Well
Eternal
Years
Fire
More quotes by Ouida
The scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn.
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It is only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.
Ouida
Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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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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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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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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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.
Ouida
Take hope from the heart of man, and you make him a beast of prey.
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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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It is hard work to be good when you are very little and very hungry, and have many sticks to beat you, and no mother's lips to kiss you.
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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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Talent wears well, genius wears itself out talent drives a snug brougham in fact genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.
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The world never leaves one in ignorance or in peace.
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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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Honor is an old-world thing but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong.
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Youth without faith is a day without sun.
Ouida
The art of pleasing is more based on the art of seeming pleased than people think of, and she disarmed the prejudices of her enemies by the unaffected delight she appeared to take in themselves.
Ouida
Fancy tortures more people than does reality
Ouida
Who has passed by the fates of disillusion has died twice.
Ouida
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
