Quotes About Jealousy

If we can practice when we're jealous, resentful, scornful, when we hate ourselves, then we are well trained.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .

Envy-Thy art blindness

M. Zola is determined to show that, if he has not got genius, he can at least be dull.

I could, of course, have written about the film world and the jealousy there and the frequent belief that others don't have talent. But, for some reason, it just struck me to write about art.

abandoned their mother for the gorgeous girl who had shared

When Larten heard that Alicia had married, he felt both jealousy and delight. A selfish part of him had hoped she'd mourn for him the rest of her life. But mostly he was happy that she'd found someone who could give her all that he had failed to provide.

I told Nora: "I'm not one to suggest that your charm wouldn't make any man turn himself inside out for you, but don't be too sure that guy isn't kidding us." "So it's come to that," she said. "You're jealous of policemen.

She jealous?" I asked before he could go on with his shouting. "And if you don't yell maybe I'll be able to hear you anyway. My deafness is a lot better since I've been eating yeast.

What fire dies when you feed it?

She regarded the things that were important to me as her enemy, not realizing that they were, in fact, the "me" she seemed so jealously to covet.

He knows, now, that nearly everything you call yours in the world can be taken away from you by other people, assuming that they want it enough.

I can see he's not in your good books,' said the messenger. 'No, and if he were I would burn my library.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss, Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger: But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'er Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

O me, you juggler, you canker-blossom, you thief of love!

Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.

O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.

I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak Of one that loved not wisely but too well; Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, Perplexed in the extreme. . .

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all

I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

You are a villain! Iago: You are a senator!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .