Quotes from Hans Christian Andersen

Delayed is not forgotten!

Superbe! Charmant! exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbor.

The Ugly Duckling The classic story by Hans Christian

Roses bloom and cease to be, but we shall the Christ-child see

Pop, pop, sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood.

The angel plucks a large handful of flowers, and they carry it with them up to God, where the flowers bloom more brightly than they ever did on earth.

But these are small troubles, people will say. Yes, but they are drops which wear hollows in the rock.

The right sort (of story) come of themselves: they tap at my forehead and say 'Here we are.

he reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first

and the pea was put in the museum, where it can still be seen, if no one has stolen it.

A human life is a story told by God.

And Kay and Gerda looked in each other's eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn: "The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet." There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!

child, looking through bubbles into the future; now those bright bubbles were all behind him. Once more he had

push it myself. On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly on the green burdock

I know what you want. It is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you sorrow, my pretty princess.

language, which he had learnt from his mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst

Behind each petal of the rose he had a tiny bedroom. Oh, how fragrant his rooms were, and how bright and transparent the walls, for they were the beautiful pale pink petals of the rose! All day long the little elf rejoiced in the warm sunshine as he flew from flower to flower or danced on the wings of the fluttering butterflies...

But they hurt me so," said the little mermaid. "Pride must suffer pain," replied the old lady.

Life is a faerytale written by God's hand.

Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them--so deep was the pain in her heart.

flew out and bit him in the neck. Let him alone, said the mother, he is not doing any harm. Yes, but he

No death is sweeter than this, and no rose redder than the blood that flows.

Chi ha una casa in patria può provare nostalgia, ma chi nulla possiede si sente a casa ovunque.

A short time ago—the Star's short time ago is called among men centuries ago—my rays followed a young artist. It was in the city of the Popes, in