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Love sometimes elevates, creates new qualities, suspends the working of evil inclinations but only for a day. Love, then, is an Oriental despot, whose glance lifts a slave from the dust, and then consigns him to it again.
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
Evil
Lifts
Despot
Sometimes
Qualities
Oriental
Love
Creates
Elevates
Dust
Despots
Slave
Inclinations
Whose
Glance
Quality
Glances
Working
Inclination
Suspends
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Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones.
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The most culpable of the excesses of Liberty is the harm she does herself.
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Feeling loves a subdued light.
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Men are always invoking justice yet it is justice which should make them tremble.
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A malicious enemy is better than a clumsy friend.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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We reform others unconsciously when we walk uprightly.
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The very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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Youth should be a savings bank.
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When any one tells you that he belongs to no party, you may at any rate be sure that he does not belong to yours.
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The chains which cramp us most are those which weigh on us least.
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The best advice on the art of being happy is about as easy to follow as advice to be well when one is sick.
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To have ideas is to gather flowers to think is to weave them into garlands.
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Men do not go out to meet misfortune as we do. They learn it and we--we divine it.
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Attention is a silent and perpetual flattery.
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People read every thing nowadays, except books.
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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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It would seem that by our sorrows only are we called to a knowledge of the Infinite. Are we happy? The limits of life constrain us on all sides.
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All the joys of earth will not assuage our thirst for happiness while a single grief suffices to shroud life in a sombre veil, and smite it with nothingness at all points.
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I love victory, but I love not triumph.
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