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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
There is a self-evident axiom, that she who is born a beauty is half married.
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A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.
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The world never leaves one in ignorance or in peace.
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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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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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Truth is a rough, honest, helter-skelter terrier that none like to see brought into their drawing rooms.
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Fame! it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises.
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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 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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Fancy tortures more people than does reality
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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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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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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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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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Talent wears well, genius wears itself out talent drives a snug brougham in fact genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.
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Youth without faith is a day without sun.
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Emulation is active virtue envy is brooding malice.
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Count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged.
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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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