Abelard And Heloise Quotes

As we expand our knowledge of good books, we shrink the circle of men whose company we appreciate.

Love is incapable of being concealed; a word, a look, nay, silence, speaks it.

I placed a bowl of herbs and ointments in the window of my bedroom, and let the scented breeze carry him away . . .

Even if I could be Queen to the Emperor and have all the power and riches in the world, I’d rather be your whore.

we are much fonder of the pictures of those we love, when they are at a great distance, than when they are near to us.

Jealousy can easily believe the most terrible things.

Tis a thousand times more easy to renounce the world than love.

...instead of the smoldering, soul-baring, Abelard-to-Heloise-sans-castration solicitations you rightfully deserve, you're getting stupefying lines like: "I'm listening to NPR. Do you want to come over and make out?

We have scholars galore, and kings and emperors, and statesmen and military leaders, and artists in profusion, and inventors, discoverers, explorers - but where are the great lovers? After a moment's reflection one is back to Abelard and Heloise, or Anthony and Cleopatra, or the story of the Taj Mahal. So much of it is fictive, expanded and glorified by the poverty-stricken lovers whose prayers are answered only by myth and legend.

It is always some consolation in sorrow to feel that it is shared, and any burden laid on several is carried more lightly or removed.

We commonly die to the affections of those we see no more, and they to ours; absence is the tomb of love.

With him, I became utterly myself as never before - and, to my astonishment, when I looked into his eyes like mirrors reflecting myself back to me, I admired the person I beheld there.

I'm learning that my brain will invent catastrophic scenarios that bear absolutely no relationship to reality because, like Heloise, I am too much accustomed to misfortune to expect any happy turn.

Come too, my inseparable companion, and join me in thanksgiving, you who were made my partner both in guilt and in grace.

Memory supplies the place of a mistress

Were every man to live according to his desires alone, the world would descend into chaos

Perhaps by mingling my sighs with yours I may make your sufferings less, for it is said that all sorrows divided are made lighter.

I have long examined things, and have found that death is less dangerous than beauty.

Heloise learned to love Abelard solely for who he was. That forbidden love brought her nothing but pain, but she would rather have shame and pain with Abelard than peace and happiness without him.

Sometimes you may have not even talked to that person, just seen them at a distance, but inside something has ignited. It may be curiosity, to be able to understand the thoughts in that person’s head, their views on the world and how they can make you feel as a person.

Pleasures tasted sparingly and with difficulty have always a higher relish, whilst everything that is easy and common grows stale and insipid.

I am convinced by a sad experience that it is natural to avoid those to whom we have been too much obliged, and that uncommon generosity causes neglect rather than gratitude.

The heart of man is a labyrinth whose windings are very difficult to discover.” -Heloise To Abelard

If Heloise had been more clear-headed she’d have seen that Abelard was a frightful nerd in human relationships.

Riches and pomp are not the charm of love. True tenderness makes us separate the love from all that is external to him, and setting aside his position, fortune and employments, consider him merely as himself.

The malicious erasure of women’s names from the historical record began two or three thousand years ago and continues into our own period. Women take as great a risk of anonymity when they merge their names with men in literary collaboration as when they merge in matrimony. The Lynds, for example, devoted equal time, thought, and effort to the writing of Middletown, but today it is Robert Lynd’s book. Dr. Mary Leakey made the important paleontological discoveries in Africa, but Dr. Louis Leakey gets all the credit. Mary Beard did a large part of the work on America in Midpassage, yet Charles Beard is the great social historian. The insidious process is now at work on Eve Curie. A recent book written for young people states that radium was discovered by Pierre Curie with the help of his assistant, Eve, who later became his wife. Aspasia wrote the famous oration to the Athenians, as Socrates knew, but in all the history books it is Pericles’ oration. Corinna taught Pindar and polished his poems for posterity; but who ever heard of Corinna? Peter Abelard got his best ideas from Heloise, his acknowledged intellectual superior, yet Abelard is the great medieval scholar and philosopher. Mary Sidney probably wrote Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia; Nausicaa wrote the Odyssey, as Samuel Butler proves in his book The Authoress of the Odyssey, at least to the satisfaction of this writer and of Robert Graves, who comment, “no other alternative makes much sense.

İnsanlar iyimser define avcıları gibidirler, ruhlarında mücevher keşfeder dururlar. Oysa çakıl taşlarından başka bir şey degildir mücevher dedikleri.

Ah? Heloise! how far are we from such a happy temper? Your heart still burns with that fatal fire which you cannot extinguish, and mine is full of trouble and uneasiness.

Abelard to Heloise – Banish me, therefore, for ever from your heart – it is the best advice I can give, for the remembrance of a person we have loved guiltily can not be hurtful, whatever advances we may have made in the way of virtue.

It became evident, that in Paris, only one man could fulfil Heloise’s educational needs, Peter (or as the French called him, Pierre) Abelard, a thirty-seven year old philosopher and teacher

This is the level of refinement at work in the principles that create the fabric of space-time. It is vastly more than just a four-dimensional block. Everywhere we look, it tells the same great story but in countless variations, all interwoven in a higher-dimensional tapestry. This is what Einstein made out of Minkowski's magical pack of cards. Look at space-time one way, and we see Tristan and Isolde hanging, Chagall-like, in the sky. Look another way, and we see Romeo and Juliet, yet another way and it is Heloise and Abelard. All these pairs, each perfect in themselves, are all made out of each other. They and their stories stream through each other. They create a criss-cross fabric of space-time.

Our past sins, our fractured lives--soon nothing but drowned stars in dark skies.

certain Abelard and Heloise allegations between a history teacher and his formerly favorite student,

At present, the ottoman was occupied by a pair of cats who eyed Alex with blasé effeteness. He stuck his hands in his pockets and eyed them back. "Romeo and Juliet," she told him. "They used to be lovers, but since that visit to the vet they're just friends." "Are they friendly?" he asked, stretching out a hand at Romeo's funny pushed-in face. "They're cats," she said, grinning as Romeo turned up his nose at the outstretched hand. Juliet wasn't interested, either. They poured themselves off the furniture, then minced away. "I think they've been talking to your friends at the restaurant," Alex said. "They don't talk to anyone." She saw him glance at the terrarium on the windowsill. "The turtles are Tristan and Isolde, and their offspring are Heloise and Abelard." "So where are Cleopatra and Mark Antony?" he asked. "In a tomb in Egypt, I imagine. But you can look in the fish tank and see Bonnie and Clyde, Napoleon and Josephine, and Jane and Guildford." He bent and peered into the lighted tank. "Fun couples. Is it a coincidence that they all ended tragically?" "Not a coincidence, just poor judgment." "Isn't it bad karma, naming your pets after doomed lovers?" "I don't think they care.

The cup of sinners overflows with so enchanting a sweetness, and we are naturally so much inclined to taste it, that it needs only to be offered to us.

When we fall from a state of happiness with what impatience do we bear our misfortunes!

We tarnish the luster of our most beautiful actions when we applaud them ourselves.

And so, with a slow sweep of the arm that remained forever etched in my memory, he took out a match, lit it, and tossed it onto the pile of books. With a quiet huff...ff...ff the flames rippled over the pages, catching first the old books with the brown paper whose smell I loved so much. I vividly remember how Danko's Burning Heart was engulfed in flames that then licked at Luce's skirt who, desperately trying to protect herself from the fire in pages of Romain Rolland's book, held Pierre tightly to her breast. I watched as the fire spread to the intertwined lovers Pierre and Natasha, Heathcliff and Cathrine Earnshaw, Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, abelard and Heloise, Tristan and Isolde, Salaman and Absal, Vis and Ramin, Vamegh and Azra, Zohreh and Manuchehr, shirin and Farhad, Leyli and Majnun, Arthur and Gemma, the Rose and the Little Prince, before they had the chance to smell or kiss each other again, or whisper. "I love you" one last time.

Temptations have their degrees, they are at first mere thoughts and do not appear dangerous; the imagination receives them without any fears; the pleasure grows; we dwell upon it, and at last we yield to it.

We are led along by an evil in our nature. We listen happily to those who flatter us, and though we may say we are not worthy and a coy little blush may come over our cheeks, still the soul within us is very glad to hear the praise.

Love Christ, and despise yourself for His sake; He will possess your heart and be the sole object of your sighs and tears; seek for no comfort but in Him.

Teaching through works rather than speech, the deed before the word, is better and more thorough.

It is sometimes dangerous to have too much merit.

How void of reason are men, said Seneca, to make distant evils present by reflections, and to take pains before death to lose all the joys of life.

When an evil threatens us, and it is impossible to ward it off, why do we give up ourselves to the unprofitable fear of it, which is yet even more tormenting than the evil itself?

How fatal sometimes are the consequences of curiosity!

What a shame it is that a philosopher cannot accept what might befall any man.