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There are but two future verbs which man may appropriate confidently and without pride: I shall suffer, and I shall die.

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
Men
Pride
Shall
Dies
Suffering
Confidently
Future
Verbs
Two
Appropriate
May
Suffer
Without
Destiny

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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 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.
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In retirement, the passage of time seems accelerated. Nothing warns us of its flight. It is a wave which never murmurs, because there is no obstacle to its flow.
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A malicious enemy is better than a clumsy friend.
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Let us shun everything, which might tend to efface the primitive lineaments of our individuality. Let us reflect that each one of us is a thought of God.
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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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Feeling loves a subdued light.
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Youth should be a savings bank.
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Happiness and Virtue clasp hands and walk together.
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Loving souls are like paupers. They live on what is given 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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Men do not go out to meet misfortune as we do. They learn it and we--we divine it.
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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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Attention is a silent and perpetual flattery.
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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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Friendship is like those ancient altars where the unhappy, and even the guilty, found a sure asylum.
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I love victory, but I love not triumph.
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The most dangerous of all flattery is the inferiority of those about us.
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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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Men are always invoking justice yet it is justice which should make them tremble.
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