Fanny Burney
Fanny Burney
Frances Burney, also known as Fanny Burney and after her marriage as Madame d'Arblay, was an English novelist, diarist and playwright. She was born in Lynn Regis, now King's Lynn, England, on 13 June 1752, to musical historian Dr. Charles Burneyand Esther Sleepe Burney. The third of six children, she was self-educated and began writing what she called her "scribblings" at the age of ten. In 1793, aged 41, she married a French exile, General Alexandre D'Arblay. Their only son,...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth13 June 1752
To whom, then, must I dedicate my wonderful, surprising and interesting adventures? to whom dare I reveal my private opinion of my nearest relations? the secret thoughts of my dearest friends? my own hopes, fears, reflections and dislikes? Nobody!
Insensibility, of all kinds, and on all occasions, most moves my imperial displeasure
Unused to the situations in which I find myself, and embarassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom discover, till too late, how I ought to act.
Generosity without delicacy, like wit without judgement, generally gives as much pain as pleasure.
She [Evelina] is not, indeed, like most modern young ladies; to be known in half an hour; her modest worth, and fearful excellence, require both time and encouragement to show themselves.
But if the young are never tired of erring in conduct, neither are the older in erring of judgment.
There si nothing upon the face of the earth so insipid as a medium. Give me love or hate! A friend that will go to jail for me, or an enemy that will run me through the body!
We continually say things to support an opinion, which we have given, that in reality we don't above half mean.
People who live together naturally catch the looks and air of one another and without having one feature alike, they contract a something in the whole countenance which strikes one as a resemblance
There is something in age that ever, even in its own despite, must be venerable, must create respect and to have it ill treated, is to me worse, more cruel and wicked than anything on earth
I cannot be much pleased without an appearance of truth; at least of possibility I wish the history to be natural though the sentiments are refined; and the characters to be probable, though their behaviour is excelling
The mind is but too naturally prone to pleasure, but too easily yielded to dissipation
O! how short a time does it take to put an end to a woman's liberty!
credulity is the sister of innocence ...