Pride Quotes - The Portrait of a Lady | The Portrait of a Lady -Summary, Themes & Characters - Novels PDF Download

A secret hoard of indifference – like a thick cake a fond old nurse might have slipped into his first school outfit – came to his aid and helped to reconcile him to sacrifice; since at the best he was too ill for aught but that arduous game. (5.4)

Ralph’s way of dealing with his injured body and low spirits is to put on a mask of indifference.

She had no talent for expression and too little of the consciousness of genius; she only had a general idea that people were right when they treated her as if she were rather superior. Whether or no she were superior, people were right in admiring her if they thought her so; for it seemed to her often that her mind moved more quickly than theirs, and this encouraged an impatience that might easily be confounded with superiority. It may be affirmed without delay that Isabel was probably very liable to the sin of self-esteem; she often surveyed with complacency the field of her own nature; she was in the habit of taking for granted, on scanty evidence, that she was right; she treated herself to occasions of homage. (6.1)

Isabel is supremely confident that she is somehow better than everyone else; fortunately for her, people do often admire her, with or without reason.

It often seemed to her that she thought too much about herself; you could have made her colour, any day in the year, by calling her a rank egoist. She was always planning out her development, desiring her perfection, observing her progress. Her nature had, in her conceit, a certain garden-like quality, a suggestion of perfume and murmuring boughs, of shady bowers and lengthening vistas, which made her feel that introspection was, after all, an exercise in the open air, and that a visit to the recesses of one's spirit was harmless when one returned from it with a lapful of roses. But she was often reminded that there were other gardens in the world than those of her remarkable soul, and that there were moreover a great many places which were not gardens at all--only dusky pestiferous tracts, planted thick with ugliness and misery. In the current of that repaid curiosity on which she had lately been floating, which had conveyed her to this beautiful old England and might carry her much further still, she often checked herself with the thought of the thousands of people who were less happy than herself--a thought which for the moment made her fine, full consciousness appear a kind of immodesty. What should one do with the misery of the world in a scheme of the agreeable for one's self? It must be confessed that this question never held her long. She was too young, too impatient to live, too unacquainted with pain. She always returned to her theory that a young woman whom after all every one thought clever should begin by getting a general impression of life. This impression was necessary to prevent mistakes, and after it should be secured she might make the unfortunate condition of others a subject of special attention. (6.2)

Isabel is both proud of herself and worried about mistakes she may make in the future; she’s worried rather paradoxically that her pride is a flaw, although she’s fairly sure that she’s right to be proud…. To get a fuller understanding of this, she hopes to see the world and observe life in various conditions.

"I'm much obliged to you," said the girl quickly. Her way of taking compliments seemed sometimes rather dry; she got rid of them as rapidly as possible. But as regards this she was sometimes misjudged; she was thought insensible to them, whereas in fact she was simply unwilling to show how infinitely they pleased her. To show that was to show too much. (6.4)

Not all of Isabel’s perceived arrogance is actually pride – sometimes, it’s actually humility.

Poor Isabel found ground to remind herself from time to time that she must not be too proud, and nothing could be more sincere than her prayer to be delivered from such a danger: the isolation and loneliness of pride had for her mind the horror of a desert place. If it had been pride that interfered with her accepting Lord Warburton such a bêtise was singularly misplaced; and she was so conscious of liking him that she ventured to assure herself it was the very softness, and the fine intelligence, of sympathy. (12.23)

Isabel is quite aware of her over-active self-confidence, and constantly reminds herself not to get too far up on her high horse.

"Don’t think me unkind if I say it’s just that – being out of your sight – that I like. If you were in the same place I should feel you were watching me, and I don’t like that – I like my liberty too much. If there’s a thing in the world I’m fond of," she went on with a slight recurrence of grandeur, "it’s my personal independence." (16.24)

One of Isabel’s greatest points of pride is her famed independence; she’s so caught up in the idea of it that she doesn’t even notice at first when it’s taken away by Osmond…

She flattered herself that, should she hear from one day to another that he had married some young woman of his own country who had done more to deserve him, she should receive the news without a pang even of surprise. It would have proved that he believed she was firm – which was what she wished to seem to him. That alone was grateful to her pride. (21.10)

At this point, Isabel is more interested in keeping up the image that she’s cultivated than in finding her true happiness – beyond self-satisfaction, that is.

When I say she exaggerates I don't mean it in the vulgar sense--that she boasts, overstates, gives too fine an account of herself. I mean literally that she pushes the search for perfection too far--that her merits are in themselves overstrained. She's too good, too kind, too clever, too learned, too accomplished, too everything. She's too complete, in a word. I confess to you that she acts on my nerves and that I feel about her a good deal as that intensely human Athenian felt about Aristides the Just. (23.13)

It’s Madame Merle’s outer lack of pride that throws Ralph off. Although she has every reason in the world to have a swollen head, she is inhumanly modest.

"Osmond's a gentleman, of course; but I must say I've never, no, no, never, seen any one of Osmond's pretensions! What they're all founded on is more than I can say. I'm his own sister; I might be supposed to know. Who is he, if you please? What has he ever done? If there had been anything particularly grand in his origin--if he were made of some superior clay--I presume I should have got some inkling of it. If there had been any great honours or splendours in the family I should certainly have made the most of them: they would have been quite in my line. But there's nothing, nothing, nothing. One's parents were charming people of course; but so were yours, I've no doubt. Every one's a charming person now-a-days. Even I'm a charming person; don't laugh, it has literally been said. As for Osmond, he has always appeared to believe that he's descended from the gods." (25.15)

Countess Gemini, in her haphazard, excitable, and absurd fashion, demonstrates exactly what’s so odd about Osmond – he’s an arrogant man with nothing to be arrogant about.

"You won’t confess that you’ve made a mistake. You’re too proud."

"I don’t know whether I’m too proud. But I can’t publish my mistake. I don’t think that’s decent. I’d much rather die."

"You won’t think so always," said Henrietta.

"I don’t know what great unhappiness might bring me to; but it seems to me I shall always be ashamed. One must accept one’s deeds. I married him before all the world; I was perfectly free; it was impossible to do anything more deliberate." (47.4)

Henrietta recognizes what’s holding Isabel to Osmond, even if Isabel doesn’t herself – it’s her pride. Having committed to her marriage, she is too ashamed to admit that she was in the wrong, and Isabel is all too aware of the grim fact that you can never unmake a mistake, no matter how hard you try.

"You are nearer to me than any human creature, and I'm nearer to you. It may be a disagreeable proximity; it's one, at any rate, of our own deliberate making. You don't like to be reminded of that, I know; but I'm perfectly willing, because – because – " And he paused a moment, looking as if he had something to say which would be very much to the point. "Because I think we should accept the consequences of our actions, and what I value most in life is the honour of a thing!" (51.28)

Osmond turns Isabel’s own values against her by playing the pride card. He knows that by provoking her sense of honor and responsibility, he will keep her in thrall.