Maurice Maeterlinck
Maurice Maeterlinck
Maurice Polydore Marie Bernard MaeterlinckMaeterlinck from 1932; in Belgium, in France; 29 August 1862 – 6 May 1949) was a Belgian playwright, poet, and essayist who was a Fleming, but wrote in French. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1911 "in appreciation of his many-sided literary activities, and especially of his dramatic works, which are distinguished by a wealth of imagination and by a poetic fancy, which reveals, sometimes in the guise of a fairy...
NationalityBelgian
ProfessionPlaywright
Date of Birth29 August 1862
CountryBelgium
It is only in the space that our thoughts and our feelings enclose that our happiness can breathe in freedom.
We should tell ourselves once and for all that it is the first duty of the soul to become as happy, complete, independent, and great as lies in its power. To this end we may sacrifice even the passion for sacrifice, for sacrifice never should be the means of ennoblement, but only the sign of being ennobled.
An act of goodness is of itself an act of happiness.
Many a happiness in life, as many a disaster, can be due to chance, but the peace within us can never be governed by chance.
We possess only the happiness we able to understand.
Remember that happiness is as contagious as gloom. It should be the first duty of those who are happy to let others know of their gladness.
An act of goodness is of itself an act of happiness. No reward coming after the event can compare with the sweet reward that went with it.
We possess only the happiness we are able to understand.
The future is a world limited by ourselves; in it we discover only what concerns us and, sometimes, by chance, what interests those whom we love the most.
At every crossroad on the way that leads to the future, each progressive spirit is opposed by a thousand men appointed to guard the past.
The dog who meets with a good master is the happier of the two.
The hour of justice does not strike On the dials of this world.
I am moved by the light.
Nothing in the whole world is so athirst for beauty as the soul, nor is there anything to which beauty clings so readily.