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Home  »  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical  »  Marie Ebner-Eschenbach

C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.

Marie Ebner-Eschenbach

A clever woman has millions of born foes,—all stupid men.

Accident is veiled necessity.

Age either transfigures or petrified.

An opinion may be controverted; a prejudice, never.

As soon as fashion is universal, it is out of date.

Be the first to say what is self-evident, and you are immortal.

Beware of the virtue which a man boasts is his.

Even virtue is an art; and even its devotees are divided into those who practise it and those who are merely amateurs.

Fools usually know best that which the wise despair of ever comprehending.

Generosity, to be perfect, should always be accompanied by a dash of humor.

Genius points the way; talent pursues it.

Grace is the outcome of inward harmony.

He who says patience, says courage, endurance, strength.

How happy are the pessimists! What joy is theirs when they have proved there is no joy.

How wise must one be to be always kind.

If there be a faith that can remove mountains, it is faith in one’s own power.

In every exalted joy, there mingles a sense of gratitude.

In youth we learn; in age we understand.

It is unfortunate that superior talent and superior men are so seldom united.

Kindness which is not inexhaustible does not deserve the name.

Never expect women to be sincere, so long as they are educated to think that their first aim in life is to please.

Nothing is less promising than precocity. A young thistle is more like a future tree than is a young oak.

Nothing is so often irrevocably neglected as an opportunity of daily occurrence.

One thought cannot awake without awakening others.

Pain is the great teacher of mankind. Beneath its breath souls develop.

Passion is always suffering, even when gratified.

Pity is love in undress.

Since the well-known victory over the hare by the tortoise the descendants of the tortoise think themselves miracles of speed.

The incurable ills are the imaginary ills.

The sympathy of most people consists of a mixture of good-humor, curiosity, and self-importance.

The understanding of some men is clear, that of others brilliant. The former illumines its surroundings; the latter obscures them.

The wise man is seldom prudent.

There are women who love their husbands as blindly, as enthusiastically, and as enigmatically as nuns their cloister.

There is only one proof of ability,—action.

There is something so beautiful in trust that even the most hardened liar needs feel a certain respect for those who confide in him.

They understand but little who understand only what can be explained.

To be content with little is difficult; to be content with much, impossible.

Unattainable wishes are often “pious.” This seems to indicate that only profane wishes are fulfilled.

We are valued either too highly or not high enough; we are never taken at our real worth.

We should always forgive,—the penitent for their sake, the impenitent for our own.

We usually learn to wait only when we have no longer anything to wait for.

What delights us in visible beauty is the invisible.

When the time comes in which one could, the time has passed in which one can.

Where would the power of women be, were it not for the vanity of men?

Wit is an intermittent fountain; kindness is a perennial spring.