61 Quotes by Jane Welsh Carlyle

  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    'On earth the living have much to bear;' the difference is chiefly in the manner of bearing, and my manner of bearing is far from being the best.

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    One feels as if it could never, never be less. And yet all griefs, when there is no bitterness in them, are soothed down by time.

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    Indeed, I should be very stupid or very thankless if I did not congratulate myself every hour of the day on the lot which it has pleased Providence to assign me. My Husband is so kind! So, in all respects, after my own heart!

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    A fashionable wife! Oh! Never will I be anything so heartless! I have pictured for myself a far higher destiny than this. - Will it ever be more than a picture?

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    But what are friends? What is a husband, even, compared with one's Mother? Of her love, one is always so sure! It is the only love that nothing - not even misconduct on our part - can take away from us.

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    How many precious things do we not already possess which others have not - have hardly an idea of! Let us enjoy these, then, and bless God that we are permitted to enjoy them, rather than importune His goodness with vain longings for more.

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    It is odd what notions men seem to have of the scantiness of a woman's resources. They do not find it anything out of nature that they should be able to exist by themselves; but a woman must always be borne about on somebody's shoulders, and dandled or chirped to, or it is supposed she will fall into the blackest melancholy!

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    They call me 'sweet,' and 'gentle'; and some of the men go the length of calling me 'endearing,' and I laugh in my sleeve and think, 'Oh, Lord! If you but knew what a brimstone of a creature I am behind all this beautiful amiability!'

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  • Author Jane Welsh Carlyle
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    Who knows but I shall grow reasonable at last, descend from my ideal heaven to the real earth, marry, and - Oh Plato! - make a pudding?

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