The sky was clear – remarkably clear – and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.
THOMAS HARDYShe was at that modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called having a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest will.
More Thomas Hardy Quotes
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Silence has sometimes a remarkable power of showing itself as the disembodied soul of feeling wandering without its carcase, and it is then more impressive than speech.
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We colour and mould according to the wants within us whatever our eyes bring in.
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When women are secret they are secret indeed; and more often then not they only begin to be secret with the advent of a second lover.
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And yet to every bad there is a worse.
THOMAS HARDY -
You ride well, but you don’t kiss nicely at all.
THOMAS HARDY -
It is rarely that the pleasures of the imagination will compensate for the pain of sleeplessness.
THOMAS HARDY -
Like the British Constitution, she owes her success in practice to her inconsistencies in principle.
THOMAS HARDY -
It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.
THOMAS HARDY -
Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer?
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Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.
THOMAS HARDY -
Women accept their destiny more readily than men.
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I may do some good before I am dead–be a sort of success as a frightful example of what not to do; and so illustrate a moral story.
THOMAS HARDY -
You, and those like you, take your fill of pleasure on earth by making the life of such as me bitter and black with sorrow; and then it is a fine thing, when you have had enough of that, to think of securing your pleasure in heaven by becoming converted!
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Our impulses are too strong for our judgement sometimes.
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To be loved to madness–such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover.
THOMAS HARDY