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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.
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
Women
Revive
May
Recall
Things
Recalls
Men
None
Love
Dead
Passion
Hope
Past
More quotes by Ouida
No great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this 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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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 world never leaves one in ignorance or in peace.
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The art of pleasing is more based on the art of seeming pleased than people think of, and she disarmed the prejudices of her enemies by the unaffected delight she appeared to take in themselves.
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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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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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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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A little scandal is an excellent thing nobody is ever brighter or happier of tongue than when he is making mischief of his neighbors.
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Take hope from the heart of man, and you make him a beast of prey.
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It needs a great nature to bear the weight of a great gratitude.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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Opposition to a man in love is like oil to fire.
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Indifference is the invisible giant of the world.
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It is only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.
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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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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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Belief of some sort is the lifeblood of Art.
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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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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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