Art is on the side of the oppressed. Think before you shudder at the simplistic dictum and its heretical definition of the freedom of art. For if art is freedom of the spirit, how can it exist within the oppressors?
They are all alike you know. They hold their tongues for years and you think you're safe, but when the opportunity comes they remember everything.
Blessed are the pure in heart for they have so many more things to talk about.
She felt a stealing sense of fatigue as she walked; the sparkle had died out of her, and the taste of life was stale on her lips. She hardly knew what she had been seeking, or why the failure to find it had so blotted the light from her sky: she was only aware of a vague sense of failure, of an inner isolation deeper than the loneliness about her.
Everything may be labelled- but everybody is not.
Habit is necessary; it is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive.
I feel as if I could trust my happiness to carry me; as if it had grown out of me like wings.
Habit is necessary. It is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive ... one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in the big things, and happy in small ways.
Society soon grows used to any state of things which is imposed upon it without explanation.
She wondered if, when human souls try to get too near each other, they do not inevitably become mere blurs to each other's vision.
They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods
In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.
We live in our own souls as in an unmapped region, a few acres of which we have cleared for our habitation; while of the nature of those nearest us we know but the boundaries that march with ours.
There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.
Who's 'they'? Why don't you all get together and be 'they' yourselves?
The visible world is a daily miracle for those who have eyes and ears; and I still warm hands thankfully at the old fire, though every year it is fed with the dry wood of more old memories.
Don't they always go from bad to worse? There's no turning back--your old self rejects you, and shuts you out. ~Lilly Bart
Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.
Only the fact that we are unaware how well our nearest know us enables us to live with them.
Once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.
Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
Don't you ever mind," she asked suddenly, "not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?
Genius is of small use to a woman who does not know how to do her hair.
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