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
an old woman ... is a person who has no sense of decency; if once she takes to living, the devil himself can't get rid of her.
while we all desire to live long, we have all a horror of being old!
while all the pomp and circumstance of war animated others, it only saddened me; and all of past reflection, all of future dread, made the whole grandeur of the martial scene, and all the delusive seduction of martial music, fill my eyes frequently with tears ...
to be sure, marriage is all in all with the ladies; but with us gentlemen it's quite another thing!
falsehood is not more unjustifiable than unsafe.
To save the mind from preying inwardly upon itself, it must be encouraged to some outward pursuit. There is no other way to elude apathy, or escape discontent; none other to guard the temper from that quarrel with itself, which ultimately ends in quarreling with all mankind.
to diminish expectation is to increase enjoyment.
To Nobody, then, will I write my Journal! since to Nobody can I be wholly unreserved, to Nobody can I reveal every thought, every wish of my heart, with the most unlimited confidence, the most unremitting sincerity, to the end of my life!
But how cool, how quiet is true courage!
Look at your [English] ladies of quality are they not forever parting with their husbands forfeiting their reputations and is their life aught but dissipation? In common genteel life, indeed, you may now and then meet with very fine girls who have politeness, sense and conversation but these are few and then look at your trademen's daughters what are they? poor creatures indeed! all pertness, imitation and folly.
Tired, ashamed, and mortified, I begged to sit down till we returned home, which I did soon after. Lord Orville did me the honour to hand me to the coach, talking all the way of the honour I had done him ! O these fashionable people!
I am too inexperienced and ignorant to conduct myself with propriety in this town, where every thing is new to me, and many things are unaccountable and perplexing.
Tis best to build no castles in the air.
O, we all acknowledge our faults, now; 'tis the mode of the day: but the acknowledgment passes for current payment; and therefore we never amend them.