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We do not judge men by what they are in themselves, but by what they are relatively to us.

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
Character
Men
Relatively
Judge
Judging
Judgment

More quotes by Sophie Swetchine

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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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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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We deceive ourselves when we fancy that only weakness needs support. Strength needs it far more.
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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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Love sometimes elevates, creates new qualities, suspends the working of evil inclinations but only for a day. Love, then, is an Oriental despot, whose glance lifts a slave from the dust, and then consigns him to it again.
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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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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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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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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given them.
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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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True poets, like great artists, have scarcely any childhood, and no old age.
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He who has ceased to enjoy his friend's superiority has ceased to love him.
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Indulgence is lovely in the sinless toleration, adorable in the pious and believing heart.
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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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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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By becoming unhappy, we sometimes learn how to be less so.
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The mind wears the colors of the soul, as a valet those of his master.
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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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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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