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Let us not fail to scatter along our pathway the seeds of kindness and sympathy. Some of them will doubtless perish but if one only lives, it will perfume our steps and rejoice our eyes.

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
Eye
Sympathy
Lives
Seeds
Scatter
Fail
Doubtless
Kindness
Pathway
Failing
Pathways
Along
Perish
Steps
Perfume
Eyes
Rejoice

More quotes by Sophie Swetchine

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There is a transcendent power in example.
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Piety softens all that courage bears.
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Death is the justification of all the ways of the Christian, the last end of all his sacrifices, the touch of the Great Master which completes the picture.
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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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We reform others unconsciously when we walk uprightly.
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Time is the shower of Danae each drop is golden.
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Friendship is like those ancient altars where the unhappy, and even the guilty, found a sure asylum.
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We do not judge men by what they are in themselves, but by what they are relatively to us.
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Kindness causes us to learn, and to forget, many things.
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Pride dries the tears of anger and vexation humility, those of grief. The one is indignant that we should suffer the other calms us by the reminder that we deserve nothing else.
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Old age is the night of life, as night is the old age of the day. Still, night is full of magnificence and, for many, it is more brilliant than the day.
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Let us shun everything, which might tend to efface the primitive lineaments of our individuality. Let us reflect that each one of us is a thought of God.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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The Christian's God is a God of metamorphoses. You cast grief into his bosom: you draw thence, peace. You cast in despair: 'tis hope that rises to the surface. It is a sinner whose heart he moves. It is a saint who returns him thanks.
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Old age is not one of the beauties of creation, but it is one of its harmonies.
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Youth should be a savings bank.
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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.
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What I value most next to eternity is time.
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Our faults afflict us more than our good deeds console. Pain is ever uppermost in the conscience as in the heart.
Sophie Swetchine
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To reveal imprudently the spot where we are most sensitive and vulnerable is to invite a blow. The demigod Achilles admitted no one to his confidence.
Sophie Swetchine