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Hypocrites weep, and you cannot tell their tears from those of saints but no bad man ever laughed sweetly yet.
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
Cannot
Hypocrite
Ever
Weep
Men
Saints
Laughed
Saint
Laughter
Tears
Sweetly
Tell
Hypocrites
More quotes by Ouida
Great men have always had dogs.
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Belief of some sort is the lifeblood of Art.
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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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Youth without faith is a day without sun.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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The joy of a strong nature is as cloudless as its suffering is desolate.
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No great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this world.
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Sport inevitably creates deadness of feeling. No one could take pleasure in it who was sensitive to suffering and therefore its pursuit by women is much more to be regretted than its pursuit by men, because women pursue much more violently and recklessly what they pursue at all.
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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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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.
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Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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The scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn.
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A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.
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Brussels is a gay little city that lies as bright within its girdle of woodland as any butterfly that rests upon moss.
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Indifference is the invisible giant of the world.
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Truth is a rough, honest, helter-skelter terrier that none like to see brought into their drawing rooms.
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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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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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[On Christianity:] Its lip-service and its empty rites have made it the easiest of all tasks for the usurer to cloak his cruelties, the miser to hide his avarice, the lawyer to condone his lies, the sinner of all social sins to purchase the social immunity from them by outward deference to churches.
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The world never leaves one in ignorance or in peace.
Ouida
