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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
Destiny
Swine
Fall
Brass
Hands
Herbs
Ever
Eaten
Heart
Falls
Silver
Sensitive
Grass
Herb
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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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.
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What we love once, we love forever. Shall there be joy in heaven over those who repent, yet no forgiveness for them upon earth? --Wanda
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Great men always have dogs.
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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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Fame has only the span of the day, they say. But to live in the hearts of people-that is worth something.
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Emulation is active virtue envy is brooding malice.
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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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Hypocrites weep, and you cannot tell their tears from those of saints but no bad man ever laughed sweetly yet.
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Great men have always had dogs.
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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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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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Honor is an old-world thing but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong.
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Fame! it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises.
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Charity in various guises is an intruder the poor see often but courtesy and delicacy are visitants with which they are seldom honored.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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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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There is a chord in every heart that has a sigh in it if touched aright.
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No great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this world.
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