Wounded pride can take a rich young man far who is surrounded by flatterers since birth.
STENDHALOur true passions are selfish.
More Stendhal Quotes
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The English are, I think the most obtuse and barbarous people in the world
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On a cold winter morning a cigar fortifies the soul.
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It is with blows dealt by public contempt that a husband kills his wife in the nineteenth century; it is by shutting the doors ofall the drawing-rooms in her face.
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A novel is like a bow, and the violin that produces the sound is the reader’s soul.
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The difference breeds hatred.
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To describe happiness is to diminish it.
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A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.
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Beauty is nothing but a promise of happiness.
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I have a bad memory for facts.
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Every great action is extreme when it is undertaken. Only after it has been accomplished does it seem possible to those creatures of more common stuff.
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If you want to be witty, work on your character and say what you think on every occasion.
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The shepherd always tries to persuade the sheep that their interests and his own are the same.
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Our true passions are selfish.
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After moral poisoning, one requires physical remedies and a bottle of champagne.
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At a distance, we cannot conceive of the authority of a despot who knows all his subjects on sight.
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It is from cowardice and not from want of enlightenment that we do not read in our own hearts.
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The more one pleases everybody, the less one pleases profoundly.
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Every true passion thinks only of itself.
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To seem sorrowful is not in good taste: You’re supposed to seem bored.
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There is no such thing as “natural law”: this expression is nothing but old nonsense… Prior to laws, what is natural is only the strength of the lion, or the need of the creature suffering from hunger or cold, in short, need.
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One of the traits of genius is not to drag its thought through the rut worn by vulgar minds.
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A novel is a mirror which passes over a highway. Sometimes it reflects to your eyes the blue of the skies, at others the churned-up mud of the road.
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The more a race is governed by its passions, the less it has acquired the habit of cautious and reasoned argument, the more intense will be its love of music.
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Spring appears and we are once more children.
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War was then no longer this noble and unified outburst of souls in love with glory that he had imagined from Napoleon’s proclamations.
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In matters of sentiment, the public has very crude ideas; and the most shocking fault of women is that they make the public the supreme judge of their lives.
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