Frances Burney

Frances Burney (13 June 1752 – 6 January 1840), also known as Fanny Burney and, after her marriage, as Madame d’Arblay, was an English novelist, diarist and playwright. She was born in Lynn Regis, now King’s Lynn, England, on 13 June 1752, to musical historian Dr Charles Burney (1726–1814) and Mrs Esther Sleepe Burney (1725–62). The third of six children, she was self-educated and began writing what she called her “scribblings” at the age of ten. In 1793, aged forty-two, she married a French exile, General Alexandre D'Arblay. Their only son, Alexander, was born in 1794. After a lengthy writing career, and travels that took her to France for more than ten years, she settled in Bath, England, where she died on 6 January 1840.

Read more about Frances Burney:  Overview of Her Career, Family Life, Education, Journal-diaries and The History of Caroline Evelyn, Evelina, Critical Reception, Hester Thrale and Streatham, The Witlings, Cecilia, The Royal Court, Marriage, Camilla, Comedies, Life in France: Revolution and Mastectomy, The Wanderer and Memoirs of Dr. Burney

Famous quotes by frances burney:

    You have sensible women here [in England] but then, they are very devils—censorious, uncharitable, sarcastic—the women in Scotland have twice—thrice their freedom, with all their virtue—and are very conversable and agreeable—their educations are more finished.
    Frances Burney (1752–1840)

    Hetty [Burney’s sister] set down to the harpsichord and sung ... we departed this life of anguish and misery, and rested our weary souls in the Elysian field—my papa’s study—there, freed from the noise and bustle of the world enjoyed the harmony of chattering—and the melody of music!
    Frances Burney (1752–1840)

    Such a set of tittle tattle, prittle prattle visitants! Oh Dear! I am so sick of the ceremony and fuss of these fall lall people! So much dressing—chitchat—complimentary nonsense—In short, a country town is my detestation. All the conversation is scandal, all the attention, dress, and almost all the heart, folly, envy, and censoriousness.
    Frances Burney (1752–1840)

    There is something in age that ever, even in its own despite, must be venerable, must create respect—and to have it ill treated, is to me worse, more cruel and wicked than anything on earth.
    Frances Burney (1752–1840)

    This letter will be delivered to you by my child,—the child of my adoption,—my affection! Unblest with one natural friend, she merits a thousand. I send her to you innocent as an angel, and artless as purity itself; and I send you with her the heart of your friend, the only hope he has on earth, the subject of his tenderest thoughts, and the object of his latest cares.
    Frances Burney (1752–1840)