To look in the face of hard things and keep moving forward - that's what one has to do.
Diana knew it wouldn't be right, but then she told herself that things only looked wrong when there was someone to see you.
The world is such a marvel - it gave you trials, but if you were still and concentrated, if you tried to do the right thing, it always provided you with salvation.
Interesting" people were her favorite hobby. She collected them: the type who did gay things late at night and smoked cigarettes in mixed company, those would have most scandalized her own mother.
That was how the heroine of a book would play it and Diana was still writing her own story the best heroines she'd always believed took their fate into their own hands.
Her heart the damned thing had begun to race and she only hoped that the rapid inflation and deflation of her chest wasn't visible beneath her fitted bodice.
Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.
They were all dressed in their finest as though life really were some magical stage play in which every moment ought to be illuminated with its own bright spotlight.
Even when a girl is married she still never completely leaves her mother and father's home.
Good night.' Diana summoned all the dignity that she could manage in her bedraggled state and began to move back up the beach. Her dress was soaked and her stockings dotted with sand and her heart couldn't possibly withstand any more.
She was like a heroine in a novel that she herself was writing the character kept protesting that she was too strong for love and yet the narrator went on describing her desire.
Henry was thinking of the younger Holland sister of the way she could go from being an impetuous girl to a knowing woman in a few seconds and never lose the stars in her eyes.
She found herself longing for home-not just for the hotel but for New York and all the real novels that she could lose herself in there.
A man is made in the rough-and-tumble of the world a lady emerges from the flossy back rooms of her own imagination.
Life was a short window and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop.
There was plenty of life left and if he had to he would use it all to get her back. The time had passed for making promises to her-all that was left for him was to act.
But in that moment she realized how false most smiles were and what a tremendous waste of time.
In New York there is always something to look at, but it is all infinitely more interesting through a window in the backseat of a limousine.
There was no pleasure like being envied on a mass scale.
It is well known that a man, when wooing a lady to be his wife, must first win over the females she most confides in—her friends, of course, and her sister, if she has one.
Girls took to dressing like boys, and though women had obtained the vote, we had swiftly moved on to pursuing flashier freedoms: necking in cars and smoking cigarettes and walking down city streets in flesh colored stockings.
I can't imagine what my life was before. I can't imagine ever being without you for very long again.
That is what I want to tell you about: the girls with their short skirts and bright eyes and big-city dreams. The girls of 1929.
After Henry's treatment of her she wasn't sure that men could honestly love women but she wanted to believe it. She wanted to be told pretty things and for the frightening clip of her heart to slow to something more reasonable.
What was it about that short creature with her wild hair and spurious air of purity and why would anyone much less two men love her and to such disastrous ends.
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