Letitia Elizabeth Landon Quotes
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'Tis strange how the heart can createOr colour from itself its fate;We make ourselves our own distress,We are ourselves our happiness.
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… when was a woman ever witty without being bitter?
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The scar of fire, the dint of steel,Are easier than Love's wounds to heal.
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This volume was written for children. Miss Landon set out its purpose in the preface.
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How strong is the love of the country in all indwellers of towns !
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The city and the crowd unidealise love; and love, in the young warm heart of a girl, should be a dream apart from all commoner emotions - as sweet and as ethereal as the blush with which it is born and dies. Beauty gives its own gracefulness to love - there must be romance blended with the passion inspired by the very lovely face which the mirror reflected.
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From Arrezi
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There is no denying the fact, that in all sudden emergencies a woman has ten times the presence of mind, or, to use the common expression, her wits more about her than a man.
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'There is a steep and lofty wall,Where my warders trembling stand,He who at speed shall ride round its height,For him shall be my hand.'
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Oh, where is there the heart but knowsLove's first steps are upon the rose!
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I am a daughter of that land,Where the poet’s lip and the painter’s handAre most divine, -where the earth and sky,Are picture both and poetry-I am of Florence.
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Where is the heart that has not bow'dA slave, eternal Love, to thee:Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,And is there one among them free?
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Cecil Forrester was heir to many misfortunes, being handsome, rich, high-born, and clever.
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Oh! what is memory but a giftWithin a ruin'd temple left,Recalling what its beauties were,And then presenting what they are.
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Pure as the snow the summer sunNever at noon hath look'd upon, -Deep, as is the diamond wave,Hidden in the desart cave, -Changeless, as the greenest leavesOf the wreath the cypress weaves, -Hopeless, often, when most fond,Without hope or fear beyondIts own pale fidelity, -And this woman's love can be!
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-the unpunished crime is never regretted. We weep over the consequence, not over the fault.
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But as our explanation will be more brief than one broken in upon by words of wonder, regret, and affection, we will proceed to it ; holding that explanation, like advice, should be of all convenient shortness.
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I dreamed a dream, that I had flung a chainOf roses around Love,-I woke, and foundI had chained Sorrow.
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There is a favourite in every family; and, generally speaking, that favourite is the most troublesome member in it.
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The dying chief sprang to his knee,And the staunch'd wounds well'd fearfully;But his gash'd arm, what is it now?Livid his lip, and black his brow,While over him the slayer stood,As if he almost scorn'd the bloodThat cost so little to be won,-He strikes,-the work of death is done!
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To use the established phrase, three months of uninterrupted happiness glided away-a phrase, though in frequent use, whose accuracy I greatly doubt ; there being no such thing as uninterrupted happiness any how or any where.
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Deceit is this world's passport: who would dare,However pure the breast, to lay it bare?
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The first, the very first; oh! noneCan feel again as they have done;In love, in war, in pride, in allThe planets of life's coronal,However beautiful or bright,-What can be like their first sweet light?
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Oh this is not that sweet loveOwn companion to the dove ;But a wild and wandering thing,Varying as the lights that flingRadiance o'er his peacock's wing.I do weep, that Love should beEver linked with Vanity.