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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

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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
Reveal
Spot
Spots
Demigod
Sensitive
Demigods
Vulnerable
Achilles
Blow
Admitted
Confidence
Invite
Invites

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Attention is a silent and perpetual flattery.
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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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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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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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When fresh sorrows have caused us to take some steps in the right way, we may not complain. We have invested in a life annuity, but the income remains.
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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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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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Providence has hidden a charm in difficult undertakings, which is appreciated only by those who dare to grapple with them.
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Piety softens all that courage bears.
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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 very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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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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He who has ceased to enjoy his friend's superiority has ceased to love him.
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We expect everything and are prepared for nothing.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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Suspicion has its dupes, as well as credulity.
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Kindness causes us to learn, and to forget, many things.
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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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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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Friendship is like those ancient altars where the unhappy, and even the guilty, found a sure asylum.
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