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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.
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
Grass
Herb
Destiny
Swine
Fall
Brass
Hands
Herbs
Ever
Eaten
Heart
Falls
Silver
Sensitive
More quotes by Ouida
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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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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We only see clearly when we have reached the depths of woe.
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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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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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Dishonor is like the Aaron's Beard in the hedgerows it can only poison if it be plucked.
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A just chastisement may benefit a man, though it seldom does but an unjust one changes all his blood to gall.
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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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Indifference is the invincible grant of the world.
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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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Truth is a rough, honest, helter-skelter terrier that none like to see brought into their drawing rooms.
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Youth without faith is a day without sun.
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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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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 nowadays is little else but notoriety.
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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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Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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Opposition to a man in love is like oil to fire.
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Count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged.
Ouida
