There is more self-love than love in jealousy.
O, Jealousy, thou ugliest fiend of hell! thy deadly venom preys on my vitals, turns the healthful hue of my fresh cheek to haggard sallowness, and drinks my spirit up.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
All jealousy must be strangled in its birth, or time will soon make it strong enough to overcome the truth.
Jealousy is, in some sort, rational and just; it aims at the preservation of a good which belongs, or which we think belongs, to us; whereas envy is a frenzy that cannot endure, even in idea, the good of others.
He that is jealous is not in love.
Jealousy lives upon doubts, it becomes madness or ceases entirely as soon as we pass from doubt to certainty.
In jealousy there is more self-love than love.
Jealousy is the fear or apprehension of superiority; envy our uneasiness under it.
Jealousy – magnifier of trifles.