Top 29 Quotes & Sayings by Baroness Orczy

Explore popular quotes and sayings by a British novelist Baroness Orczy.
Last updated on December 22, 2024.
Baroness Orczy

Baroness Emma Orczy, usually known as Baroness Orczy or to her family and friends as Emmuska Orczy, was a Hungarian-born British novelist and playwright. She is best known for her series of novels featuring the Scarlet Pimpernel, the alter ego of Sir Percy Blakeney, a wealthy English fop who turns into a quick-thinking escape artist in order to save French aristocrats from "Madame Guillotine" during the French Revolution, establishing the "hero with a secret identity" in popular culture.

Money and titles may be hereditary," she would say, "but brains are not,".
Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed.
I have so often been asked the question: "But how did you come to think of The Scarlet Pimpernel?" And my answer has always been: "It was God's will that I should." And to you moderns, who perhaps do not believe as I do, I will say, "In the chain of my life, there were so many links, all of which tended towards bringing me to the fulfillment of my destiny."
She, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him — © Baroness Orczy
She, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him
It does seem simple, doesn't it?' she said, with a final bitter attempt at flippancy, 'when you want to kill a chicken...you take hold of it...then you wring its neck...it's only the chicken who does not find it quite so simple. Now you hold a knife at my throat, and a hostage for my obedience...You find it simple...I don't
I shall return, doubt it not. Such love as ours was not created to remain unfulfilled. Whatever may happen, believe and trust in me, as I shall in you, and keep the remembrance of me in your heart without sadness and without regret.
When will you give up these mad adventures, and leave others to fight their own battles and to save their own lives as best they may?' When your ladyship has ceased to be the most admired woman in Europe, namely, when I am in my grave.
We must prove to the world that we are all nincompoops
To love, for us men, is to clasp one woman with our arms, feeling that she lives and breathes just as we do, suffers as we do, thinks with us, loves with us, and, above all, sins with us.
In the chain of my life, there were so many links, all of which tended towards bringing me to the fulfillment of my destiny.
It is only when we are very happy that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay.
Odd's fish, m'dear! The man can't even tie his own cravat!
Sink me! Your taylors have betrayed you! T'wood serve you better to send THEM to Madam Guillotine
When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.
Fate is usually swift when she deals a blow.
Look at this limp cravet. And the sad state of those cuffs. I can hardly bring myself to look upon them.
There is such wonderful balm in self-imposed sacrifice.
Thus human beings judge of one another, superficially, casually, throwing contempt on one another, with but little reason, and no charity.
Your mock saint who stands in a niche is not a woman if she have not suffered, still less a woman if she have not sinned. Fall at the feet of your idol as you wish, but drag her down to your level after that -- the only level she should ever reach, that of your heart.
...but in every century, and ever since England has been what it is, an Englishman has always felt somewhat ashamed of his own emotion and of his own sympathy.
A woman's heart is such a complex problem - the owner thereof is often most incompetent to find the solution to this puzzle.
She said nothing, and Sir Andrew, too, was silent, yet those two young people understood one another, as young people have a way of doing all the world over, and have done since the world began.
The weariest night, the longest day, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.
The sound of distant breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are very happy that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.
music is the most absorbing of all the arts. It absorbs the mind of the artist, whether creator or executant, to the exclusion of every other consideration outside his own immediate necessities or desires.
Even the worst moments and the weariest journeys must come to an end. — © Baroness Orczy
Even the worst moments and the weariest journeys must come to an end.
Now, when their glances met, they understood one another. The power that lay within both their souls had met, and, as it were, clasped hands. They accepted one another's sacrifice. Hers, mayhap, was the more complete of the two, because for her his absence would mean weary waiting, the dull heartache so terrible to bear.
I take it, sir, that you do not approve of our new society." "Approval, sir, in my opinion, demands the attainment of perfection. And in that sense, you rather overrate the charms of your society. I'faith, for one thing, it does seem monstrous ill-dressed for any society, even a new one.
A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate. The hour, some little time before sunset, and the place, the West Barricade, at the very spot where, a decade later, a proud tyrant raised an undying monument to the nation's glory and his own vanity.
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