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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.

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
Pure
Grows
Age
Darker
Faith
Revelations
Left
Till
Light
Solitude
Life
Shining
Like
Sorrow

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Happiness and Virtue clasp hands and walk together.
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There are words which are worth as much as the best actions, for they contain the germ of them all.
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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.
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Those who have suffered much are like those who know many languages they have learned to understand and be understood by all.
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There is a transcendent power in example.
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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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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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Kindness causes us to learn, and to forget, many things.
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We recognize the action of God in great things: we exclude it in small. We forget that the Lord of eternity is also the Lord of the hour.
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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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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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I love victory, but I love not triumph.
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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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To have ideas is to gather flowers to think is to weave them into garlands.
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He who has ceased to enjoy his friend's superiority has ceased to love him.
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The very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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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.
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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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