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In Came ... A Baby, Eloquent As Infancy Usually Is, And Like Most Youthful Orators, More Easily Heard Than Understood.

-Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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In Came ... A

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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In Came ... A Baby, Eloquent As Infancy Usually Is, And Like Most Youthful Orators, More Easily Heard Than Understood.

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Doubts, Like Facts, Are Stubborn Things.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.

Thou Know'st How Fearless Is My Trust In Thee.

Hope Is Love's Happiness, But Not Its Life.

Ignorance, Far More Than Idleness, Is The Mother Of All The Vices; And How Recent Has Been The Admission, That Knowledge Should Be The Portion Of All? The Destinies Of The Future Lie In Judicious Education; An Education That Must Be Universal, To Be Beneficial.

My Tears Are Buried In My Heart, Like Cave-locked Fountains Sleeping.

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth; But It Is Never Applied Except When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves - When If We Cannot Exclude The Light, We Would Fain Draw The Curtain Before It. The Sneer Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be, That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.

The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The Heart.

And This Is Woman's Fate: All Her Affections Are Called Into Life By Winning Flatteries, And Then Thrown Back Upon Themselves To Perish; And Her Heart, Her Trusting Heart, Filled With Weak Tenderness, Is Left To Bleed Or Break!

Who Has Not Experienced, At Some Time Or Other, That Words Had All The Relief Of Tears?

We Would Liken Music To Aladdin's Lamp — Worthless In Itself, Not So For The Spirits Which Obey Its Call. We Love It For The Buried Hopes, The Garnered Memories, The Tender Feelings, It Can Summon With A Touch.

Whatever People In General Do Not Understand, They Are Al Ways Prepared To Dislike; The Incomprehensible Is Always The Obnoxious.

How Beautiful, Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning! The First Sunshine On The Leaves: The First Wind, Laden With The First Breath Of The Flowers—that Deep Sigh With Which They Seem To Waken From Sleep; The First Dew, Untouched Even By The Light Foot Of The Early Hare; The First Chirping Of The Rousing Birds, As If Eager To Begin Song And Flight; All Is Redolent Of The Strength Given By Rest, And The Joy Of Conscious Life.

There Is A Large Stock On Hand; But Somehow Or Other, Nobody's Experience Ever Suits Us But Our Own.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

The Fearless Make Their Own Way.

Repentance Is A One-faced Janus, Ever Looking To The Past.

Few Save The Poor Feel For The Poor.

Surprises Are Like Misfortunes Or Herrings - They Rarely Come Single.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past; What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last? Were It Not Better To Forget, Than But Remember And Regret?

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth: It Is Never Applied, But When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves.

The Wind Has A Language, I Would I Could Learn! Sometimes 'tis Soothing, And Sometimes 'tis Stern, Sometimes It Comes Like A Low Sweet Song, And All Things Grow Calm, As The Sound Floats Along, And The Forest Is Lull'd By The Dreamy Strain, And Slumber Sinks Down On The Wandering Main, And Its Crystal Arms Are Folded In Rest, And The Tall Ship Sleeps On Its Heaving Breast.

The Rich Know Not How Hard It Is To Be Of Needful Rest And Needful Food Debarred.

There Is Nothing So Easy As To Be Wise For Others; A Species Of Prodigality, By-the-by - For Such Wisdom Is Wholly Wasted.

We Need To Suffer, That We May Learn To Pity.

That Which Is Always Within Our Reach, Is Always The Last Thing We Take; And The Chances Are, That What We Can Do Every Day, We Never Do At All.

Do Anything But Love; Or If Thou Lovest And Art A Woman, Hide Thy Love From Him Whom Thou Dost Worship; Never Let Him Know How Dear He Is; Flit Like A Bird Before Him; Lead Him From Tree To Tree, From Flower To Flower; But Be Not Won, Or Thou Wilt, Like That Bird, When Caught And Caged, Be Left To Pine Neglected And Perish In Forgetfulness.

How Very Satisfactory Those Discussions Must Be, Where Each Party Retains Their Own Opinion!

I Hate The Word 'ought' - It Always Implies Something Dull, Cold, And Commonplace. The 'ought Nots' Of Life Are Its Pleasantest Things.

Alas! The Praise Given To The Ear Ne'er Was Nor Ne'er Can Be Sincere.

Experience Teaches, It Is True; But She Never Teaches In Time.

Nothing But Love Can Answer To Love; No Affection, No Kindness, No Care, Can Supply Its Place: It Is Its Own Sweet Want.

I Will Look On The Stars And Look On Thee, And Read The Page Of Thy Destiny.

No Thoroughly Occupied Man Was Ever Yet Very Miserable.[to Feel Unhappy You Need The Time To Consider How Your Lot Could Be Better]

Our First Love-letter ... There Is So Much To Be Said, And Which No Words Seems Exactly To Say - The Dread Of Saying Too Much Is So Nicely Balanced By The Fear Of Saying Too Little. Hope Borders On Presumption, And Fear On Reproach.

A Preface Is A Species Of Literary Luxury, Where An Author, Like A Lover, Is Privileged To Be Egotistical.

Delicious Tears! The Heart's Own Dew.

One Would Think That An Unsuccessful Volume Was Like A Degree In The School Of Reviewing. One Unread Work Makes The Judge Bitter Enough; But A Second Failure, And He Is Quite Desperate In His Damnation. I Do Believe One Half Of The Injustice - The Severity Of 'the Ungentle Craft' Originates In Its Own Want Of Success: They Cannot Forgive The Popularity Which Has Passed Them Over.

Of All The Follies That We Can Commit, The Greatest Is To Hesitate.

Procrastination

Are We Not Like The Actor Of Old Times, Who Wore His Mask So Long His Face Took Its Likeness?

Society Is Like A Large Piece Of Frozen Water; And Skating Well Is The Great Art Of Social Life.

Truly, A Little Love-making Is A Very Pleasant Thing.

We Are Ourselves The Stumbling-blocks In The Way Of Our Happiness. Place A Common Individual - By Common, I Mean With The Common Share Of Stupidity, Custom, And Discontent - Place Him In The Garden Of Eden, And He Would Not Find It Out Unless He Were Told, And When Told, He Would Not Believe It.

I Never Cast A Flower Away, A Gift Of One Who Car'd For Me; A Flower--a Faded Flower, But It Was Done Reluctantly.

In Marriage, As In Chemistry, Opposites Have Often An Attraction.

Youth, Balancing Itself Upon Hope, Is Forever In Extremes: Its Expectations Are Continually Aroused Only To Be Baffled, And Disappointment, Like A Summer Shower, Is Violent In Proportion To Its Brevity.

Of All False Assertions That Ever Went Into The World Under The Banner Of A Great Name And The Mail Armor Of A Well-turned Phrase, Locke's Comparison Of The Mind To A Blank Sheet Of Paper Appears To Me Among The Most Untrue.

There Is The Cause For Pleasure And For Pain: But Music Moves Us, And We Know Not Why? We Feel The Tears, But Cannot Trace Their Source. Is It The Language Of Some Other State, Born Of Its Memory! For What Can Wake The Soul's Strong Instinct Of Another World, Like Music！

Though Fortune's Wheel Is Generally On The Turn, Sometimes When It Gets Into The Mud, It Sticks There.

An Apt Quotation Is Like A Lamp Which Flings Its Light Over The Whole Sentence.

A Friend Is Never Alarmed For Us In The Right Place.

All Profound Truths Startle You In The First Announcement.

Jealousy Ought To Be Tragic, To Save It From Being Ridiculous.

Fame Is Bought By Happiness.

Habit Is Our Idea Of Eternity.

Charity Is A Calm, Severe Duty; It Must Be Intellectual, To Be Advantageous. It Is A Strange Mistake That It Should Ever Be Considered A Merit; Its Fulfillment Is Only What We Owe To Each Other, And Is A Debt Never Paid To Its Full Extent.

The Truth Is, We Never Make For Others The Allowance We Make For Ourselves; And We Should Deny Even Our Own Words, Could We Hear Them Spoken By Another.

It Is A Curious Fact, But A Fact It Is, That Your Witty People Are The Most Hard-hearted In The World. The Truth Is, Fancy Destroys Feeling. The Quick Eye To The Ridiculous Turns Every Thing To The Absurd Side; And The Neat Sentence, The Lively Allusion, And The Odd Simile, Invest What They Touch With Something Of Their Own Buoyant Nature. Humor Is Of The Heart, And Has Its Tears; But Wit Is Of The Head, And Has Only Smiles - And The Majority Of Those Are Bitter.

Alas! We Makea Ladder Of Our Thoughts, Where Angels Step,but Sleep Ourselves At The Foot: Our High Resolveslook Down Upon Our Slumbering Acts.

It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection Is A Habit.

The Heart's Hushed Secret In The Soft Dark Eye.

Restraint Is The Golden Rule Of Enjoyment.

Good Taste Is His Religion, His Morality, His Standard, And His Test.

The Old Proverb, Applied To Fire And Water, May With Equal Truth Be Applied To The Imagination - It Is A Good Servant, But A Bad Master.

Anticipation Is A Bad Sleeping Draught.

Nothing Is So Fortunate For Mankind As Its Diversity Of Opinion.

He Who Seeks Pleasure With Reference To Himself, Not Others, Will Ever Find That Pleasure Is Only Another Name For Discontent.

Suicide And Antipathy To Fires In A Bedroom Seem To Be Among The National Characteristics. Perhaps The Same Moral Cause May Originate Both.

All Sweeping Assertions Are Erroneous.

I Do Love Violets; They Tell The History Of Woman's Love.

In Came ... A Baby, Eloquent As Infancy Usually Is, And Like Most Youthful Orators, More Easily Heard Than Understood.

I Think Hearts Are Very Much Like Glasses. If They Do Not Break With The First Ring, They Usually Last A Considerable Time.

Oh, No! My Heart Can Never Be Again In Lightest Hopes The Same; The Love That Lingers There For Thee Hath More Of Ashes Than Of Flame.

Confidence Is Its Own Security.

To Be Rude Is As Good As Being Clever.

The Lover And The Physician Are Each Popular From The Same Cause - We Talk To Them Of Nothing But Ourselves.

So Much To Win, So Much To Lose, No Marvel That I Fear To Choose.

Sight-seeing Gratifies Us In Different Ways. First, There Is The Pleasure Of Novelty; Secondly, Either That Of Admiration Or Fault-finding - The Latter A Very Animated Enjoyment.

Memory Has Many Conveniences, And, Among Others, That Of Foreseeing Things As They Have Afterwards Happened.

Nothing More Strongly Marks The Insufficiency Of Luxuries Than The Ease With Which People Grow Accustomed To Them; They Are Rather Known By Their Want Than By Their Presence. The Word 'blasé' Has Been Coined Expressly For The Use Of The Upper Classes.

From Religion ... They Will Learn The Only True Lesson Of Equality - The Conviction That Our Destinies Are Not In Our Own Hands; They Will See That No Situation In Life Is Without Its Share Of Suffering; - And This Perpetual Reference To A Higher Power Ought Equally To Teach The Rich Humility, And The Poor Devotion.

Situations In Life

Words Alike Make The Destiny Of Empires And Of Individuals. Ambition, Love, Hate, Interest, Vanity, Have Words For Their Engines, And Need None More Powerful. Language Is A Fifth Element - The One By Which All The Others Are Swayed.

Praise Is Sometimes A Good Thing For The Diffident And The Despondent. It Teaches Them Properly To Rely On The Kindness Of Others.

I Cannot Love Evergreens - They Are The Misanthropes Of Nature. To Them The Spring Brings No Promise, The Autumn No Decline; They Are Cut Off From The Sweetest Of All Ties With Their Kind - Sympathy. ... I Will Have No Evergreens In My Garden; When The Inevitable Winter Comes, Every Beloved Plant And Favorite Tree Shall Drop Together - No Solitary Fir Left To Triumph Over The Companionship Of Decay.

I Do Not Think That Life Has A Suspense More Sickening Than That Of Expecting A Letter Which Does Not Come.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.

... True Love Is Like Religion, It Hath Its Silence And Its Sanctity.

No Hour Arrives So Soon As The One We Dread.

Hard Are Life's Early Steps; And But That Youth Is Buoyant, Confident, And Strong In Hope, Men Would Behold Its Threshold, And Despair.

Perhaps, From An Innate Desire Of Justification, Sorrow Always Exaggerates Itself. Memory Is Quite One Of Job's Friends; And The Past Is Ever Ready To Throw Its Added Darkness On The Present.

I Cannot See Why A Taste For The Country Should Be Held So Very Indispensable A Requisite For Excellence; But Really People Talk Of It As If It Were A Virtue, And As If An Opposite Opinion Was, To Say The Least Of It, Very Immoral.

English People ... Never Speak, Excepting In Cases Of Fire Or Murder, Unless They Are Introduced.

How Beautiful, How Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning!

To Enjoy Yourself Is The Easy Method To Give Enjoyment To Others.

To The Many, Witticisms Not Only Require To Be Explained, Like Riddles, But Are Also Like New Shoes, Which People Require To Wear Many Times Before They Get Accustomed To Them.

All Beginnings Are Very Troublesome Things.

Hopes And Regrets Are The Sweetest Links Of Existence.

There Is No Wretchedness Like Self-reproach.

How Disappointment Tracks The Steps Of Hope.

When Does The Mind Put Forth Its Powers? When Are The Stores Of Memory Unlocked? When Does Wit 'flash From Fluent Lips?' -- When But After A Good Dinner? Who Will Deny Its Influence On The Affections? Half Our Friends Are Born Of Turbots And Truffles.

Imagination Is To Love What Gas Is To The Balloon-that Which Raises It From Earth.

Eyes That Droop Like Summer Flowers.

It Is Amazing How Much A Thought Expands And Refines By Being Put Into Speech: I Should Think It Could Hardly Know Itself.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past, What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last?

In Our Road Through Life We May Happen To Meet With A Man Casting A Stone Reverentially To Enlarge The Cairn Of Another Which Stone He Has Carried In His Bosom To Sling Against That Very Other's Head.

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.

Strange Mystery Of Our Nature, That Those In Whom Genius Develops Itself In Imagination, Thus Taking Its Most Ethereal Form, Should Yet Be The Most Dependent On The Opinions Of Others!

How Often, In This Cold And Bitter World, Is The Warm Heart Thrown Back Upon Itself! Cold, Careless, Are We Of Another's Grief; We Wrap Ourselves In Sullen Selfishness.

Childhood, Whose Very Happiness Is Love.

A Woman Only Can Understand A Woman.

There Is No Existence So Content As That Whose Present Is Engrossed By Employment, And Whose Future Is Filled By Some Strong Hope, The Truth Of Which Is Never Proved. Toil And Illusion Are The Only Secrets To Make Life Tolerable.

Affection Exaggerates Its Own Offenses.

If There Be Any One Habit Which More Than Another Is The Dry Rot Of All That Is High And Generous In Youth, It Is The Habit Of Ridicule.

Alas! We Give Our Own Coloring To The Actions Of Others.

There Can Be Neither Politically Nor Morally A Good Which Is Not Universal ... We Cannot Reform For A Time Or For A Class, But For All And For The Whole, And Our Very Interests Will Draw Us Together In One Wide Bond Of Sympathy.

Ingratitude Is The Necessary Consequence Of Receiving Favors Of Which We Are Ashamed.

Curiosity Is Its Own Suicide.

A Sealed Book, At Whose Contents We Tremble.

Shopping, True Feminine Felicity!

Knowledge Is Much Like Dust - It Sticks To One, One Does Not Know How.

Consistency Is A Human Word, But It Certainly Expresses Nothing Human.

We Are Rarely Wrong When We Act From Impulse.

The Stars Are So Far, Far Away!

The Dream On The Pillow, That Flits With The Day, The Leaf Of The Willow A Breath Wears Away; The Dust On The Blossom, The Spray On The Sea; Ay,--ask Thine Own Bosom-- Are Emblems Of Thee.

One Of The Greatest Of All Mental Pleasures Is To Have Our Thoughts Often Divined: Ever Entered Into With Sympathy.

Sneering Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.

Every Other Species Of Talent Carries With It Its Eternity; We Enjoy The Work Of The Poet, The Painter, The Sculptor, Only As Thousands Will Do After Us; But The Actor - His Memory Is With His Generation, And That Passes Away.

A Woman's Fame Is The Tomb Of Her Happiness.

Anybody's Applause Is Better Than Nobody's.

There Is No Denying That There Are 'royal Roads' Through Existence For The Upper Classes; For Them, At Least, The Highways Are Macadamized, Swept, And Watered.

To This Hour, The Great Science And Duty Of Politics Is Lowered By The Petty Leaven Of Small And Personal Advantage.

It Is Strange What Society Will Endure From Its Idols.

We Might Have Been - These Are But Common Words, And Yet They Make The Sum Of Life's Bewailing.

Might Have Been

Conscience, Like A Child, Is Soon Lulled To Sleep.

There Are Words To Paint The Misery Of Love, But None To Paint Its Happiness.

... Many A Heart Is Caught In The Rebound ... Pride May Be Soothed By The Ready Devotion Of Another; Vanity May Be Excited The More Keenly By Recent Mortification.

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.

The Very Effort To Forget Teaches Us To Remember.

No Thoroughly Occupied Man Was Ever Yet Very Miserable.

Business Before Pleasure.

Marriage Is Like Money - Seem To Want It, And You Never Get It.

But Ignorance Is Happiness,when Young Hope Is To Show The Way

I Have No Parting Sigh To Give, So Take My Parting Smile.

What Is Life? A Gulf Of Troubled Waters, Where The Soul, Like A Vexed Bark, Is Tossed Upon The Waves Of Pain And Pleasure By The Wavering Breath Of Passions.

Oh, Only Those Whose Souls Have Felt This One Idolatry Can Tell How Precious Is The Slightest Thing Affection Gives And Hallows.

It Is A Curious Fact, But One Which All Experience Owns, That People Do Not Desire So Much To Appear Better, As To Appear Different From What They Really Are.

Travel Is As Much A Passion As Ambition Or Love.

I Would Give Worlds, Could I Believe One-half That Is Profess'd Me; Affection! Could I Think It Thee, When Flattery Has Caress'd Me.

The Truth Is, We Like To Talk Over Our Disasters, Because They Are Ours; And Others Like To Listen, Because They Are Not Theirs.

I Can Pass Days Stretch'd In The Shade Of Those Old Cedar Trees, Watching The Sunshine Like A Blessing Fall,-- The Breeze Like Music Wandering O'er The Boughs, Each Tree A Natural Harp,--each Different Leaf A Different Note, Blent In One Vast Thanksgiving.

Politeness, However, Acts The Lady's Maid To Our Thoughts; And They Are Washed, Dressed, Curled, Rouged, And Perfumed, Before They Are Presented To The Public.

Enthusiasm Is The Divine Particle In Our Composition: With It We Are Great, Generous, And True; Without It, We Are Little, False, And Mean.

Enthusiasm For Life

My Heart Is Its Own Grave!

It Is Curious How Inseparable Eating And Kindness Are With Some People.

Curiosity And Courtesy Are Very Often At Variance.

Youth Is A Season That Has No Repose.

I Have A Respect For Family Pride. If It Be A Prejudice, It Is A Prejudice In Its Most Picturesque Shape. But I Hold It Is Connected With Some Of The Noblest Feelings In Our Nature.

Occupation Is One Great Source Of Enjoyment. No Man, Properly Occupied, Was Ever Miserable.

Strange The Affection Which Clings To Inanimate Objects - Objects Which Cannot Even Know Our Love! But It Is Not Return That Constitutes The Strength Of An Attachment.

Inanimate Objects

Assuredly, Meeting After Absence, Is One Of - Ah, No! - It Is Life's Most Delicious Feeling.

The Fact Is, That Life Is Too Short To Be Occupied By Aught But The Present - Hope And Remembrance Are Equally A Waste Of Time.

Life Is Too Short

Live In The Moment

The Blessings Of Matrimony, Like Those Of Poverty, Belong Rather To Philosophy Than Reality.

Farewell's A Bitter Word To Say.

We Are Ourselves Our Happiness.

Whenever I Hear A Man Talking Of The Advantages Of Our Ill-used Sex, I Look Upon It As The Prelude To Some New Act Of Authority.

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