The Women Of Chateau Lafayette Quotes

Because the world always snuffs out fire, and every generation must bring light from darkness again.

Glory is a bittersweet wreath of both flowers and thorns.

Grief is like thick morning fog. You breathe it, swim in it, drown in it—or at least you want to drown, but for some damned reason, you keep living, breathing, walking. One foot in front of the other even though you can’t see the path ahead. You tiptoe, and so does everybody else . .

Our friends warned, In running a middle course, you run the risk of being hated by both sides . .

To ask why was only to demand justification. To ask why not assumed endless possibility...

Many exchange vows, rings, and kisses, but let us exchange hearts. That way you will never be alone; I will always be with you, for you will have, and be, my own dear heart.

I never wanted my boys to believe that heroism was only about fighting. I wanted them to know bravery could be found in working to make a difference, whether on a stage or by risking themselves over a mine-laden sea. I wanted them to look for courage not just in their father's example, but also...in mine.

Now I knew the torments of cruelty were with us in every age.

What happens to us as individuals doesn’t matter much in the larger scheme of things. We must win this war. Our cause is just, and righteousness must prevail. If we must perish to see that it does, it will be to our everlasting glory, even if no one remembers our names.

Fear, it seems, is a contagion as virulent as measles.

You won’t make anything better by weaving your own misery into the collective shroud. If you find some tendril of happiness, then tug on it. Because a world without happiness isn’t worth fighting for.

You young pups prattle on about equality, but heed a woman of experience. In the end, given the opportunity, every man will step upon every other man in a mad scramble to the top. Climb too high too quickly, and the same people who hoisted you up will tear you down. Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

Now, madame, I must go home, because guests, like fish, begin to stink after three days, and I have been here eight years!

He snorted. “If history teaches us anything, madame, it is that there is always another war.

All the tears I’ve been holding back for every kind of reason, as petty as my stalled ambitions and as big as my nation’s shame.

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I’m in too much pain to speak, but I want to tell him that he’s wrong. It matters. Even if we lose this war, even if the Reich lasts a thousand years, then a thousand years from now, someone will need to know that we stood up against the darkest forces of humanity. And that we did it here at Chavaniac, just like those who came before us.

Oh, I remember, my dear. Your unwavering faith renewed my own, reminding me that rebellion against tyranny is obedience to God.

I’ve always believed that you shouldn’t put your neck out for others unless you want it chopped.

my Lord Jesus Christ had transformed the hearts of humanity with his sacrifice.

Knowing you still love me, I will sleep easy for the first time in years . . .

In the end, given the opportunity, every man will step upon every other man in a mad scramble to the top. Climb too high too quickly, and the same people who hoisted you up will tear you down. Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

Hope, after all, is almost as dangerous as trust.

It's a bitter injustice, but injustice is the theme of our times.

Oh, we're all sad from time to time, darling, but I shall soon be better.

That you are fused into my life such that I cannot distinguish you from my own existence.

There is no part of me I withhold from him anymore. No old grudge or pain, no wish or hope to have lived any other life. For ours, together, was glorious.

And I was struck again by the impermanence of life, despairing of all the hours already run out.

These jewels scarcely compensate you for bringing my daughter safely into this world. Nor for all that you are to me, my dear heart. A wife and partner, precious and rare.

But remember that pity has a half-life, Minnie used to say. So don't cry.

It took me a long time to learn that though the people who bring us into being are important, and it's natural to want to know them, we all become people of our own making.

He also needs somebody like me — somebody to slug his arm and muss his hair and push him into new and uncomfortable adventures. And I need him because he's no saint; he's something solid to hold on to, someone who feels like home. Someone who loves me, cracks and all . . .

Remember, Adrienne, that in whatever country I may find myself, I shall always love you. You know my heart, or at least I hope you believe me when I say it is yours for life.

I have always thought memory to be a fool's intellect. Better to discuss new ideas than recite old ones.

To ask why not assumed endless possibility .

the world always snuffs out fire, and every generation must bring light from darkness again.

Yves holds me close. 'I'll take you anywhere you want to go.' And those are the words I've been waiting to hear all my life . . .

I am enough a heretic that even heaven will not console me for leaving Gilbert.

No one is born a hero; it’s something you have to find inside yourself. Once upon a time, even Lafayette was just a boy like you.

In the end, given the opportunity, every man will step upon every other man in a mad scramble to the top. Climb too high too quickly, and the same people who hoisted you up will tear you down. Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

Faith ought never to form the bars of a prison.

never be neutral between right and wrong. Never oppress anybody, or allow anybody to be oppressed. Always stand for what you believe is right, and never flinch in the face of any odds.

It was a farmers’ insurrection that would change our lives, and yet at the time,

Jealousy, my dear, is the most wicked, and most certain, of human impulses.

Pity is the death of romance.

Grief is like thick morning fog. You breathe it, swim in it, drown it — or at least you want to drown, but for some damned reason, you keep living, breathing, walking. One foot in front of the other even though you can't see the path ahead. You tiptoe, and so does everybody else . . .

Acting like a person is like squeezing into some old dress that doesn't fit anymore — I can breathe shallowly for a few hours, but then the seams start ripping and I need to claw it off and gulp in air.

You can't make me that person." "What person?" "The one who hurts you," he says.

To feel appreciated and admired, and not always on my guard for a barbed comment or flare of temper.

You can't make me that person." "What person?" "The one who hurts you," he says.

You can't make me that person." "What person?" "The one who hurts you.

The edges of grief aren't so sharp now, and I can almost smile at the memory. Almost.

I will never again know another breath that is not mingled with brief.

Personally, I don't trust love — inside me it's been a confusing and slippery emotion, taking on too many forms to recognized. And I've apparently been so starved of it that I've developed feelings for everybody who ever showed a real interest.

The softness of the bed left less impression upon me than the softness of the girl upon it," he said, stroking my hair.

I did not yet know your gentleness is a velvet drape over steel...

my person is more persuasive than my pen

Yes, well, madness is part of my charm

My tomorrows were not promised, but I desperately wanted today.

For the world played no part in this new life of mine. Why, then, did the world insist upon intruding?

Perhaps. One of the sweetest words!