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
Far from having taken any positive step, I have not yet even fommed any resolution.
Nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a woman; it is at once the most beautiful and most brittle of all human things.
to be sure, marriage is all in all with the ladies; but with us gentlemen it's quite another thing!
A youthful mind is seldom totally free from ambition; to curb that, is the first step to contentment, since to diminish expectation is to increase enjoyment.
Unused to the situations in which I find myself, and embarassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom discover, till too late, how I ought to act.
She [Evelina] is not, indeed, like most modern young ladies; to be known in half an hour; her modest worth, and fearful excellence, require both time and encouragement to show themselves.
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.
A little alarm now and then keeps life from stagnation.
You must learn not only to judge but to act for yourself.
For my part, I confess I seldom listen to the players: one has so much to do, in looking about and finding out one's acquaintance, that, really, one has no time to mind the stage. One merely comes to meet one's friends, and show that one's alive.
Never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed.
To whom, then, must I dedicate my wonderful, surprising and interesting adventures? to whom dare I reveal my private opinion of my nearest relations? the secret thoughts of my dearest friends? my own hopes, fears, reflections and dislikes? Nobody!
The mind is but too naturally prone to pleasure, but too easily yielded to dissipation
There si nothing upon the face of the earth so insipid as a medium. Give me love or hate! A friend that will go to jail for me, or an enemy that will run me through the body!