Quote

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

More quotes by Sophie Swetchine

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People read every thing nowadays, except books.
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What is resignation? It is putting God between one's self and one's grief.
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Silence is like nightfall. Objects are lost in it insensibly.
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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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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.
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The most culpable of the excesses of Liberty is the harm she does herself.
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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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Providence has hidden a charm in difficult undertakings, which is appreciated only by those who dare to grapple with them.
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Real sorrow is almost as difficult to discover as real poverty. An instinctive delicacy hides the rays of the one and the wounds of the other.
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Feeling loves a subdued light.
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Those who make us happy are always thankful to us for being so their gratitude is the reward of their benefits.
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By becoming unhappy, we sometimes learn how to be less so.
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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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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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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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We expect everything and are prepared for nothing.
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What I value most next to eternity is time.
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Attention is a silent and perpetual flattery.
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There are words which are worth as much as the best actions, for they contain the germ of them all.
Sophie Swetchine