I was a failure in Boston...because they thought I was too fashionable to be intelligent, and a failure in New York because they were afraid I was too intelligent to be fashionable.
We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!
The difference is that these young people take it for granted that they're going to get whatever they want, and that we almost always took it for granted that we shouldn't. Only, I wonder—the thing one's so certain of in advance: can it ever make one's heart beat as wildly?
In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.
She was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in company.
Every house is a mad-house at some time or another.
Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.
They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods
Only the fact that we are unaware how well our nearest know us enables us to live with them.
He had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors shriveling up like ghosts at sunrise.
Everything may be labelled- but everybody is not.
Misfortune had made Lily supple instead of hardening her, and a pliable substance is less easy to break than a stiff one.
I feel as if I could trust my happiness to carry me; as if it had grown out of me like wings.
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.
Her failure was a useful preliminary to success.
Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones truths?
She had no tolerance for scenes which were not of her own making.
...and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not.
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.
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.
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.
Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
I'm afraid I'm an incorrigible life-lover, life-wonderer, and adventurer.
How much longer are we going to think it necessary to be American before (or in contradistinction to) being cultivated, being enlightened, being humane, and having the same intellectual discipline as other civilized countries?
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