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Christianity has been cruel in much to the human race. It has quenched much of the sweet joy and gladness of life it has caused the natural passions and affections of it to be held as sins.
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
Human
Sin
Gladness
Humans
Christianity
Affections
Much
Sweet
Caused
Life
Joy
Cruel
Passion
Passions
Race
Sins
Religion
Affection
Natural
Held
Quenched
More quotes by Ouida
Familiarity is a magician that is cruel to beauty but kind to ugliness.
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Excess always carries its own retribution.
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Take hope from the heart of man, and you make him a beast of prey.
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Great men always have dogs.
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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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Talent wears well, genius wears itself out talent drives a snug brougham in fact genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.
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We only see clearly when we have reached the depths of woe.
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Count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged.
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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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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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[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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A cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run.
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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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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 only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.
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There is a chord in every heart that has a sigh in it if touched aright.
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Who has passed by the fates of disillusion has died twice.
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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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Fame! it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises.
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