Quote

There are disappointments which wring us, and there are those which inflict a wound whose mark we bear to our graves. Such are so keen that no future gratification of the same desire can ever obliterate them: they become registered as a permanent loss of happiness.

Thomas Hardy

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Thomas Hardy
Age: 87 †
Born: 1840
Born: June 2
Died: 1928
Died: January 28
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Dorchester
Dorset
Happiness
Disappointment
Obliterate
Future
Wounds
Registered
Desire
Permanent
Inflict
Become
Bear
Disappointments
Ever
Mark
Keen
Bears
Gratification
Whose
Wound
Loss
Graves
Wring

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To dance with a man is to concentrate a twelvemonth's regulation fire upon him in the fragment of an hour. To pass to courtship without acquaintance, to pass to marriage without courtship, is a skipping of terms reserved for those alone who tread this royal road.
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They spoke very little of their mutual feeling pretty phrases and warm expressions being probably unnecessary between such tried friends.
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We ought to have lived in mental communion, and no more.
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A strong woman who recklessly throws away her strength, she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any strength to throw away.
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Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light.
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She was at that modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called having a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest will.
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And yet to every bad there is a worse.
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You don't talk quite like a girl who has had no advantages.
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Did you say the stars were worlds, Tess? Yes. All like ours? I don't know, but I think so. They sometimes seem to be like the apples on our stubbard-tree. Most of them splendid and sound - a few blighted. Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one? A blighted one.
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Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?
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In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving
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The beauty or ugliness of a character lay not only in its achievements, but in its aims and impulses its true history lay, not among things done, but among things willed.
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We colour and mould according to the wants within us whatever our eyes bring in.
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There is always an inertia to be overcome in striking out a new line of conduct – not more in ourselves, it seems, than in circumscribing events, which appear as if leagued together to allow no novelties in the way of amelioration.
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War makes good history but peace is poor reading.
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To have lost is less disturbing than to wonder if we may possibly have won and Eustacia could now, like other people at such a stage, take a standing-point outside herself, observe herself as a disinterested spectator, and think what a sport for Heaven this woman Eustacia was.
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A novel is an impression, not an argument and there the matter must rest.
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So each had a private little sun for her soul to bask in some dream, some affection, some hobby, or at least some remote and distant hope.
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Let truth be told - women do as a rule live through such humiliations, and regain their spirits, and again look about them with an interested eye. While there's life there's hope is a connviction not so entirely unknown to the betrayed as some amiable theorists would have us believe.
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