Everybody must be managed. Queens must be managed. Kings must be managed, for men want managing almost as much as women, and that's saying a good deal.
Thomas HardyRead
But nothing is more insidious than the evolution of wishes from mere fancies, and of wants from mere wishes.
Interpretation
The quote highlights how desires can evolve into deeper needs, reflecting on the complexities of human wants.
In this quote, Thomas Hardy expresses the idea that wishes start as simple fancies but can transform into profound desires that shape our actions and motivations. It suggests that the evolution of our wishes can subtly influence our lives, indicating a deeper level of human psychology and the implications of what we truly want versus what we simply wish for casually.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about the nature of human desires at a psychology seminar.
Everybody must be managed. Queens must be managed. Kings must be managed, for men want managing almost as much as women, and that's saying a good deal.
Because what's the use of learning that I am one of a long row only - finding out that there is set down in some old book somebody just like me, and to know that I shall only act her part; making me sad, that's all. The best is not to remember your nature and your past doings have been just like thousands' and thousands', and that your coming life and doings'll be like thousands' and thousands'.
I wish I had never been born--there or anywhere else.
Her affection for him was now the breath and life of Tess's being; it enveloped her as a photosphere, irradiated her into forgetfulness of her past sorrows, keeping back the gloomy spectres that would persist in their attempts to touch herβdoubt, fear, moodiness, care, shame. She knew that they were waiting like wolves just outside the circumscribing light, but she had long spells of power to keep them in hungry subjection there.
The trees have inquisitive eyes, haven't they? -that is, seem as if they had. And the river says,-'Why do ye trouble me with your looks?' And you seem to see numbers of to-morrows just all in a line, the first of them the biggest and clearest, the others getting smaller and smaller as they stand further away; but they all seem very fierce and cruel and as if they said, 'I'm coming! Beware of me! Beware of me!
Of course poets have morals and manners of their own, and custom is no argument with them.
Every fairy tale had a bloody lining. Every one had teeth and claws.
Silence is the unbearable repartee.
Men trust their ears less than their eyes.
Still everyone, including the abbot, had said that he was running away from his grief. They'd had no idea what they were talking about. He'd cradled his grief, almost to the point of loving it. For so long he refused to give it up, because leaving it behind was like leaving her.
There are in truth three states of the converted: the beginning, the middle, and the perfection. In the beginning they experience the charms of sweetness; in the middle the contests of temptation; and in the end the fullness of perfection.
The world is all alike. Those that seem better than their neighbours are only more artful. They mean the same thing, though they take a different road.
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