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

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Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones.
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Men are always invoking justice yet it is justice which should make them tremble.
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We reform others unconsciously when we walk uprightly.
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Respect is a serious thing in him who feels it, and the height of honor for him who inspires the feeling.
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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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Friendship is like those ancient altars where the unhappy, and even the guilty, found a sure asylum.
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What I value most next to eternity is time.
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Indifferent souls never part. Impassioned souls part, and return to one another, because they can do no better.
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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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Indulgence is lovely in the sinless toleration, adorable in the pious and believing heart.
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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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We do not judge men by what they are in themselves, but by what they are relatively to us.
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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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Happiness and Virtue clasp hands and walk together.
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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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By becoming unhappy, we sometimes learn how to be less so.
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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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The very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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If grief is to be mitigated, it must either wear itself out or be shared.
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