Mary Elizabeth Braddon Quotes

Our virtues, as well as our vices, are often scourges for our own backs.

love is so very subtle an essence, such an indefinable metaphysical marvel, that its due force, though very cruelly felt by the sufferer himself, is never clearly understood by those who look on at its torments and wonder why he takes the common fever so badly.

Why, I can't help smiling at people, and speaking prettily to them. I know I'm no better than the rest of the world; but I can't help it if I'm pleasanter. It's constitutional.

How chronic is the unconcern of men and women of the world!

When once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything seems to widen the breach.

You seem to have quite a taste for discussing these horrible subjects," she said, rather scornfully; "you ought to have been a detective police officer.

The strongest proof of repentance is the endeavor to atone.

A modern writer likens coquettes to those hunters who do not eat the game which they have successfully pursued.

There can be no reconciliation where there is no open warfare. There must be a battle, a brave boisterous battle, with pennants waving and cannon roaring, before there can be peaceful treaties and enthusiastic shaking of hands.

Phoebe Marks was a person who never lost her individuality. Silent and self-contained, she seemed to hold herself within herself, and take no colour from the outer world.

A priest can achieve great victories with an army of women at his command.

Surely a pretty woman never looks prettier than when making tea.

Of course there are exceptional circumstances, and there is exceptional talent; but, unhappily, exceptional talent does not always win its reward unless favoured by exceptional circumstances.

Life is such a very troublesome matter, when all is said and done, that it's as well even to take its blessings quietly.

Why is it so difficult to love wisely, so easy to love too well?

it is easy to starve, but it is difficult to stoop.

My intellect is a little way upon the wrong side of that narrow boundary-line between sanity and insanity.

Paris is a mighty schoolmaster, a grand enlightener of the provincial intellect.

love, which is a madness, and a scourge, and a fever, and a delusion, and a snare, is also a mystery, and very imperfectly understood by everyone except the individual sufferer who writhes under its tortures.

Amiability is the redeeming quality of fools.

Self-assertion may deceive the ignorant for a time; but when the noise dies away, we cut open the drum, and find it was emptiness that made the music.