Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Voltaire

Quote by Voltaire

Author

Voltaire
Voltaire

Voltaire, a French Enlightenment philosopher, writer, and thinker, was born on November 21, 1694, and died on May 30, 1778. He had a profound impact on philosophy, literature, and science in France and Europe with his sharp wit and critical spirit. more

You May Also Like

“The wax of my single tallow candle has melted considerably and only a tiny spark of life remains in its fire. As I sit at this desk, its flailing light bewitches me. My hands are clutched tightly together, trying to summon my energy to regain my composure. Inside my heart, a deep sadness resides, creeping its way through my body. Lowering my hands to my womb, I feel a great sense of hollow emptiness. Once there sat a precious life, wrestling its way inside my being and sparking my heart with love and hope.”

GriefMysteryLonelinessLetterLiteraryEpistolaryEmpressFading LightLove And HopeFemale Sadness
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
Create image

“The Emperor likes to keep an eye on all mail sent from the palace and so he does not approve of the use of envelopes. So I have learned how to employ the ancient art of letter locking: delicately folding and slitting sections of the letter and gluing them down with adhesive where necessary. I feel a lightness of life to know that my words in this letter are sealed away and will only be revealed to you.”

MysteryLonelinessSecretsLetterLiteraryEpistolaryEmpressAncient Letter ArtLetter Locking
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
Create image

“I should like, I think, to die of consumption; it is so romantic; and the symptoms are so agreeable! What a pity it is that it is so slow in its approaches, that we must be so long about dying of it; and then, too, there is so much coughing and groaning, so little dignity in the thing,--in short, I never could perceive any thing to admire in consumption but its name and the name is its best part.”

RomanceLonelinessIllnessFrustrationConsumptionRomanticization
Author:Lord Byron
Create image

“Mail call. Someone throws a box on his bed. Curling, feminine handwriting addressed to Bobby. Cinnamon and chocolate wafts from the paper. Bobby’s fingers trace the letters of his own name, trace the grease spots starting to shine through the brown wrapping paper. You’ll see, Adam had said. Someday. Bobby’s hands shred the paper and reach for a fistful of cookies, shoving them against his lips. Someday, Adam said. Someday.”

LonelinessFoodPoignantSmellsAway From Family
Book:The Price of Cookies
Create image