William Makepeace Thackeray Quotes
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An evil person is like a dirty window, they never let the light shine through.
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A snob is that man or woman who is always pretending to be something better--especially richer or more fashionable--than he is.
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This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is - A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre's tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.
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Those who forgets their friends to follow those of a higher status are truly snobs.
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It is only hope which is real, and reality is a bitterness and a deceit.
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Pray, dear madam, another glass; it is Christmas time, it will do you no harm.
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He who meanly admires mean things is a Snob.
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It is from the level of calamities, not that of every-day life, that we learn impressive and useful lessons.
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He who meanly admires a mean thing is a snob--perhaps that is a safe definition of the character.
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Ah me! we wound where we never intended to strike; we create anger where we never meant harm; and these thoughts are the thorns in our cushion. - William Makepeace Thackeray
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Are not there little chapters in everybody's life, that seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of the history?
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How grateful are we--how touched a frank and generous heart is for a kind word extended to us in our pain! The pressure of a tender hand nerves a man for an operation, and cheers him for the dreadful interview with the surgeon.
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Why do they always put mud into coffee on board steamers? Why does the tea generally taste of boiled boots?
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The ladies--Heaven bless them!--are, as a general rule, coquettes from babyhood upwards.
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Tis misfortune that awakens ingenuity, or fortitude, or endurance, in hearts where these qualities had never come to life but for the circumstance which gave them a being.
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In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone.
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Love seems to survive life, and to reach beyond it. I think we take it with us past the grave. Do we not still give it to those who have left us? May we not hope that they feel it for us, and that we shall leave it here in one or two fond bosoms, when we also are gone?
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Diffidence is a sort of false modesty.
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When a mother, as fond mothers will; vows that she knows every thought in her daughter's heart, I think she pretends to know a great deal too much.
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How do men feel whose whole lives (and many men's lives are) are lies, schemes, and subterfuges? What sort of company do they keep when they are alone? Daily in life I watch men whose every smile is an artifice, and every wink is an hypocrisy. Doth such a fellow where a mask in his own privacy, and to his own conscience?
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Come children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.
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As an occupation in declining years, I declare I think saving is useful, amusing and not unbecoming. It must be a perpetual amusement. It is a game that can be played by day, by night, at home and abroad, and at which you must win in the long run. . . . What an interest it imparts to life!.
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A fool can no more see his own folly than he can see his ears.
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The world is full of love and pity, I say. Had there been less suffering, there would have been less kindness.