I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; “the things people don’t say.
Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.
... it's been a perpetual discovery, my life. A miracle.
Once she knows how to read there's only one thing you can teach her to believe in and that is herself.
If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man; some think even greater.
When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?
I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.
How can I express the darkness?
Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
If the best of one's feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is left us?
When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.
Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.
Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom.
For love... has two faces; one white, the other black; two bodies; one smooth, the other hairy. It has two hands, two feet, two tails, two, indeed, of every member and each one is the exact opposite of the other. Yet, so strictly are they joined together
One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life.
Jealousy ... survives every other passion of mankind.
We can best help you to prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.
As a woman, I have no country
Now this is very profound, what rhythm is, and goes far deeper than words. A sight, an emotion, creates this wave in the mind, long before it makes words to fit it.
I attain a different kind of beauty, achieve a symmetry by means of infinite discords, showing all the traces of the mind's passage through the world, achieve in the end some kind of whole made of shivering fragments.
Come indoors then, and open the books on your library shelves. For you have a library and a good one. A working library, a living library; a library where nothing is chained down and nothing is locked up; a library where the songs of the singers rise naturally from the lives of the livers.
Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.
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