There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire it is hardly a passion but a blight bred in the cloudy damp despondency of uneasy egoism.

Love shouldn't be about jealousy or anything like that. It should be about commitment and being able to trust that person. If you can't have that from the get-go there's a problem.

What makes the pain we feel from shame and jealousy so cutting is that vanity can give us no assistance in bearing them.

Lovers may be - and indeed generally are - enemies but they never can be friends because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.

Jealousy lives upon doubts. It becomes madness or ceases entirely as soon as we pass from doubt to certainty.

The thermometer of success is merely the jealousy of the malcontents.

Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred jealousy boastfulness disregard of all rules and sadistic pleasure in witnessing violence. In other words it is war minus the shooting.

The knives of jealousy are honed on details.

Jealousy is the grave of affection.

Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.