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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.
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
Angle
Hitting
Poverty
Poor
Every
Kind
Maiming
Life
Grope
Blindness
More quotes by Ouida
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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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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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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No great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this world.
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Indifference is the invincible grant of the world.
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An easy-going husband is the one indispensable comfort of life.
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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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Genius scorns the power of gold: it is wrong. Gold is the war-scythe on its chariot, which mows down the millions of its foes, and gives free passage to the sun-coursers with which it leaves those heavenly fields of light for the gross battlefields of earth.
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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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A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.
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The scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn.
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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.
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Fame! it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises.
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Hypocrites weep, and you cannot tell their tears from those of saints but no bad man ever laughed sweetly yet.
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you have not a boat of your own, that is just it that is what women always suffer from they have to steer, but the craft is some one else's, and the haul too.
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Belief of some sort is the lifeblood of Art.
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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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There is no applause that so flatters a man as that which he wrings from unwilling throats.
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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.
Ouida