Alphonse de Lamartine Quotes about Heart

We cannot have two hearts, one for the animals and one for men. In cruelty towards the former and cruelty to the latter there is no difference but in the victim.

It is the qualities of the heart, not those of the face, that should attract us in women, because the former are durable, the latter transitory. So lovable women, like roses, retain their sweetness long after they have lost their beauty.

Love is the enchanted dawn of every heart.

We don't have two hearts, one for animals and one for humans ; we have one heart or we don't have any.

Friendship, sweet-resting place of the soul, the gloaming wherein our hearts find peace.

The reason that women are so much more sociable than men is because they act more from the heart than the intellect.

God has placed the genius of women in their hearts, because the works of this genius are always works of love.

Eloquence dwells quite as much in the hearts of the hearers as on the lips of the orator.

There are places and climates, seasons and hours, with their outward circumstance, so much in harmony with certain impressions of the heart, that Nature and the soul of man appear to be parts of one vast whole.

Women have much more heart and much more imagination than men; hence, fancy often allures them.

Enthusiasm springs from the imagination, and self-sacrifice from the heart. Women are, therefore, more naturally heroic than men. All nations have in their annals some of these miracles of patriotism, of which woman is the instrument in the hands of God.

The death of a man's wife is like cutting down an ancient oak that has long shaded the family mansion. Henceforth the glare of the world, with its cares and vicissitudes falls upon the old widower's heart, and there is nothing to break their force, or shield him from the full weight of misfortune. It is as if his right hand were withered; as if one wing of his angel was broken, and every movement that he made brought him to the ground.

Shall not this bygone Eden that we knew In our Eternal Life have shape and hue? For where Time is not shall not all Time be? In that calm breast whereto our souls are cleaving Shall we not find our loved ones beyond grieving About the hearth-stone of Eternity?