Madame de Stael
Madame de Stael
Anne Louise Germaine de Staël-Holstein, commonly known as Madame de Staël, was a French woman of letters of Swiss origin whose lifetime overlapped with the events of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic era. She was one of Napoleon's principal opponents. Celebrated for her conversational eloquence, she participated actively in the political and intellectual life of her times. Her works, both critical and fictional, made their mark on the history of European Romanticism...
NationalityFrench
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth22 April 1766
CountryFrance
Prayer is more than meditation. In meditation the source of strength is one's self. When one prays he goes to a source of strength greater than his own.
When at eve, at the bounding of the landscape, the heavens appear to recline so slowly on the earth, imagination pictures beyond the horizon an asylum of hope, - a native land of love; and nature seems silently to repeat that man is immortal.
Enthusiasm gives life to what is invisible; and interest to what has no immediate action on our comfort in this world.
Love is a symbol of eternity. It wipes out all sense of time, destroying all memory of a beginning and all fear of an end.
The universe is in France; outside it, there is nothing.
there is not enough interest in life to spread over twenty-four hours when one can't sleep.
Happy the land where the writers are sad, the merchants satisfied, the rich melancholic, and the populace content.
What is love, if it can calculate and provide against its own decay?
Never, never have I been loved as I love others!
A voyage without companionship, that is to say without conversation, is one of the saddest pleasures of life.
The memories which come to us through music are not accompanied by any regrets; for a moment music gives us back the pleasures it retraces, and we feel them again rather than recollect them.
All music, even if its occasion be a gay one, renders us pensive.
There is no reality on this earth except religion and the power of love; all the rest is even more fugitive than life itself.
nothing recalls the past like music ...