Quote
"It takes one woman twenty years to make a man of her son—and another woman twenty minutes to make a fool of him."
H
Helen Rowland"What a man calls his "conscience" is merely the mental action that follows a sentimental reaction after too much wine or love."
Helen May Rowland was an American journalist and humorist. For many years she wrote a newspaper column in the New York World called "Reflections of a Bachelor Girl". Many of her pithy insights from these columns were published in book form, including Reflections of a Bachelor Girl (1909), The Rubáiyát of a Bachelor (1915), and A Guide to Men (1922).
"It takes one woman twenty years to make a man of her son—and another woman twenty minutes to make a fool of him."
"A Bachelor of Arts is one who makes love to a lot of women, and yet has the art to remain a bachelor."
"When two people decide to get a divorce, it isnt a sign that they "dont understand" one another, but a sign that they have, at last, begun to."
"Oh yes, there is a vast difference between the savage and the civilized man, but it is never apparent to their wives until after breakfast."
"France may claim the happiest marriages in the world, but the happiest divorces in the world are "made in America"."
"Why does a man take it for granted that a girl who flirts with him wants him to kiss her—when, nine times out of ten, she only wants him to want to kiss her?"
"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."
"yes is a pleasant country... love is a deeper season than reason"
"true lovers in each happening of their hearts live longer than all which and every who"
"What concerns me fundamentaly is a meteoric burlesk melodrama, born of the immemorial adage love will find a way."
"Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flower Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!"
"Unchanged within, to see all changed without, Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. Yet why at others Wanings shouldst thou fret? Then only mightst thou feel a just regret, Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light In selfish forethought of neglect and slight."