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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.

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
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Pelt
Like
Naples
World
Baked
Inhabitants
January
Apples
Worship
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Silence is like nightfall. Objects are lost in it insensibly.
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Resignation is, to some extent, spoiled for me by the fact that it is so entirely conformable to the laws of common-sense. I should like just a little more of the supernatural in the practice of my favorite virtue.
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To have ideas is to gather flowers to think is to weave them into garlands.
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If we look closely at this earth, where God seems so utterly forgotten, we shall find that it is He, after all, who commands the most fidelity and the most love.
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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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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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A malicious enemy is better than a clumsy friend.
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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 best advice on the art of being happy is about as easy to follow as advice to be well when one is sick.
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We are often prophets to others only because we are our own historians.
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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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The root of sanctity is sanity. A man must be healthy before he can be holy. We bathe first, and then perfume.
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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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All the joys of earth will not assuage our thirst for happiness while a single grief suffices to shroud life in a sombre veil, and smite it with nothingness at all points.
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The very might of the human intellect reveals its limits.
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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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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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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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We deceive ourselves when we fancy that only weakness needs support. Strength needs it far more.
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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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