The true picture of life as it is, if it could be adequately painted, would show men what they are, and how they might rise, not, indeed to perfection, but one step first, and then another on the ladder.
ANTHONY TROLLOPEThere is no way of writing well and also of writing easily.
More Anthony Trollope Quotes
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Nobody holds a good opinion of a man who has a low opinion of himself.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
Men who can succeed in deceiving no one else, will succeed at last in deceiving themselves.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
But the school in which good training is most practiced will, as a rule, turn out the best scholars.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
A man’s mind will very gradually refuse to make itself up until it is driven and compelled by emergency.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
No other American city is so intensely American as New York.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
Caveat emptor is the only motto going, and the worst proverb that ever came from the dishonest stony-hearted Rome.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
I have no ambition to surprise my reader. Castles with unknown passages are not compatible with my homely muse.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
The concrete sound that meets the ears of any outside listener is always a sound of women’s voices?
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
There is no royal road to learning; no short cut to the acquirement of any art.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
But mad people never die. That’s a well-known fact. They’ve nothing to trouble them, and they live for ever.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
It is singular how little we are inclined to think that others can speak ill-naturedly of us, and how angry and hurt we are when proof reaches us that they have done so.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
I doubt whether I ever read any description of scenery which gave me an idea of the place described.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE -
This habit of reading, I make bold to tell you, is your pass to the greatest, the purest, and the most perfect pleasure that God has prepared for His creatures.
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Wine is valued for its price, not its flavor.
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Travel with the same woman in a railway car for twelve hours, and you will have written her down in your own mind in quite other language than that of love.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE