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?
A New York divorce is in itself a diploma of virtue.
It was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness.
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.
How I hate everything!
A frivolous society can acquire dramatic significance only through what its frivolity destroys.
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.
My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.
Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.
You thought I was a lovelorn mistress; and I was only an expensive prostitute.
The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring.
She had been bored all afternoon by Percy Gryce... but she could not ignore him on the morrow, she must follow up her success, must submit to more boredom, must be ready with fresh compliances and adaptibilities, and all on the bare chance that he might ultimately decide to do her the honour of boring her for life.
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.
Society soon grows used to any state of things which is imposed upon it without explanation.
I discovered early that crying makes my nose red, and the knowledge has helped me through several painful episodes.
Little as she was addicted to solitude, there had come to be moments when it seemed a welcome escape from the empty noises of her life.
She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies.
Her vivid smile was like a light held up to dazzle me.
there are lots of ways of answering a letter - and writing doesn't happen to be mine.
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.
She threw back her head with a laugh that made her chins ripple like little waves.
To be able to look life in the face: that's worth living in a garret for, isn't it?
There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.
Genius is of small use to a woman who does not know how to do her hair.
As the pain that can be told is but half a pain, so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch.
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