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The symptoms of compassion and benevolence, in some people, are like those minute guns which warn you that you are in deadly peril.

Sophie Swetchine

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Sophie Swetchine
Age: 74 †
Born: 1782
Born: November 22
Died: 1857
Died: September 10
Diarist
Lady-In-Waiting
Salonnière
Writer
Moscow
Russian SFSR
Sofia Petrovna Soymonova
Madame Swetchine
Swetchine
Anne Sophie Swetchine
Gun
Warn
Compassion
Benevolence
Minutes
Deadly
Like
Peril
People
Symptoms
Bores
Guns
Minute

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To love deeply in one direction makes us more loving in all others.
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Life grows darker as we go on, till only one pure light is left shining on it and that is faith. Old age, like solitude and sorrow, has its revelations.
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By becoming unhappy, we sometimes learn how to be less so.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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The chains which cramp us most are those which weigh on us least.
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There are but two future verbs which man may appropriate confidently and without pride: I shall suffer, and I shall die.
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The root of sanctity is sanity. A man must be healthy before he can be holy. We bathe first, and then perfume.
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We expect everything and are prepared for nothing.
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Those who make us happy are always thankful to us for being so their gratitude is the reward of their benefits.
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I study much, and the more I study, the oftener I go back to those first principles which are so simple that childhood itself can lisp them.
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The most culpable of the excesses of Liberty is the harm she does herself.
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In retirement, the passage of time seems accelerated. Nothing warns us of its flight. It is a wave which never murmurs, because there is no obstacle to its flow.
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Might we not say to the confused voices which sometimes arise from the depths of our being: Ladies, be so kind as to speak only four at a time?
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Happiness and Virtue clasp hands and walk together.
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Attention is a silent and perpetual flattery.
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We are all of us, in this world, more or less like St. January, whom the inhabitants of Naples worship one day, and pelt with baked apples the next.
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Piety softens all that courage bears.
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There is nothing steadfast in life but our memories. We are sure of keeping intact only that which we have lost.
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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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The very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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