Honoré de Balzac

Honoré de

French Novelist, Playwright, Poet and Short Story Writer

Author Quotes

A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

Clouds symbolize the veils that shroud God.

If those who are the enemies of innocent amusements had the direction of the world, they would take away the spring, and youth, the former from the year, the latter from human life.

Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation.

Society bristles with enigmas which look hard to solve. It is a perfect maze of intrigue.

The man whose action habitually bears the stamp of his mind is a genius, but the greatest genius is not always equal to himself, or he would cease to be human.

Virtue, perhaps, is nothing more than politeness of soul.

A mother's life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible. Not an hour but has its joys and fears.

Conscience is our unerring judge until we finally stifle it.

If we could but paint with the hand what we see with the eye.

Many men are deeply moved by the mere semblance of suffering in a woman; they take the look of pain for a sign of constancy or of love.

Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine.

The most virtuous women have something within them, something that is never chaste.

Vocations which we wanted to pursue, but didn't, bleed, like colors, on the whole of our existence.

A sympathetic friend can be quite dear as a brother.

Courtesy is only a thin veneer on the general selfishness.

In diving to the bottom of pleasure we bring up more gravel than pearls.

Men die in despair, while spirits die in ecstasy.

Some troubles, like a protested note of a solvent debtor, bear interest.

The smallest flower is a thought, a life answering to some feature of the Great Whole, of whom they have a persistent intuition.

We are never either so wretched or so happy as we say we are.

A woman has this quality in common with the angels, that those who suffer belong to her.

Death unites as well as separates; it silences all paltry feeling.

It is a singular fact that many men of action incline to the theory of fatalism, while the greater part of men of thought believe in a divine providence.

Modesty is the conscience of the body.

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French Novelist, Playwright, Poet and Short Story Writer