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? — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
Homeopathy - an invention of the Father of Lies! I have tried it and found it wanting. I would swallow their whole doles' medicine… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
In spite of the honestest efforts to annihilate my I-ity, or merge it in what the world doubtless considers my better half, I still… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
There is nothing like a good bit of pain for taking the conceit out of one. — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
The triumphal-procession-air which, in our manners and customs, is given to marriage at the outset - that singing of Te Deum before the battle… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
The habits of study in which I have been brought up have done much to support me. I never allow myself to be one… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
Does not a man physically tremble under the mere look of a wild beast or fellow-man that is stronger than himself? Does not a… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
A fashionable wife! Oh! Never will I be anything so heartless! I have pictured for myself a far higher destiny than this. - Will… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
Men may be rivals, opponents in their fortunes, and yet be friends in their hearts and fair towards each other's worth; but woman, the… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
Blessed be the inventor of photography! I set him above even the inventor of chloroform! It has given more positive pleasure to poor suffering… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
The surest way to get a thing in this life is to be prepared for doing without it, to the exclusion even of hope. — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
It is much to be wished that one had a post that knew what it was doing again; and lawmakers that knew what they… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
I wonder that among all the evils deprecated in the Liturgy, no one thought of inserting flitting. Is there any worse thing? Oh no,… — Jane Welsh Carlyle Copy Share Image
