if a man be discreet enough to take to hard drinking in his youth, before his general emptiness is ascertained, his friends invariably credit him with a host of shining qualities which, we are given to understand, lie balked and frustrated by his one unfortunate weakness.
AGNES REPPLIERSensuality, too, which used to show itself course, smiling, unmasked, and unmistakable, is now serious, analytic, and so burdened with a sense of its responsibilities that it passes muster half the time as a new type of asceticism.
More Agnes Repplier Quotes
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Neatness of phrase is so closely akin to wit that it is often accepted as its substitute.
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Humor hardens the heart, at least to the point of sanity.
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History is, and has always been trameled by facts. It may ignore some and deny others; but it cannot accommodate itself unreservedly to theories; it cannot be stripped of things evidenced in favor of things surmised.
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There is nothing in the world so incomprehensible as the joke we do not see.
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Who that has plodded on to middle age would take back upon his shoulders ten of the vanished years, with their mingled pleasures and pains? Who would return to the youth he is forever pretending to regret?
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An historian without political passions is as rare as a wasp without a sting.
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Humor distorts nothing, and only false gods are laughed off their earthly pedestals.
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Now the pessimist proper is the most modest of men. … under no circumstances does he presume to imagine that he, a mere unit of pain, can in any degree change or soften the remorseless words of fate.
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I am eighty years old. There seems to be nothing to add to this statement. I have reached the age of undecorated facts – facts that refuse to be softened by sentiment, or confused by nobility of phrase.
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It is in his pleasure that a man really lives; it is from his leisure that he constructs the true fabric of self.
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What strange impulse is it which induces otherwise truthful people to say they like music when they do not, and thus expose themselves to hours of boredom?
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Next to the joy of the egotist is the joy of the detractor.
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The impulse to travel is one of the hopeful symptoms of life.
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When the milk of human kindness turns sour, it is a singularly unpalatable draught.
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While art may instruct as well as please, it can nevertheless be true art without instructing, but not without pleasing.
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