The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else.
The moment my eyes fell on him, I was content.
I can't love you unless I give you up.
Until the raw ingredients of a pudding make a pudding, I shall never believe that the raw material of sensation and thought can make a work of art without the cook's intervening.
To visit Morocco is still like turning the pages of some illuminated Persian manuscript all embroidered with bright shapes and subtle lines.
Think what stupid things the people must have done with their money who say they're 'happier without'.
Life is the only real counselor; wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue.
And I wonder, among all the tangles of this mortal coil, which one contains tighter knots to undo, & consequently suggests more tugging, & pain, & diversified elements of misery, than the marriage tie.
In the dissolution of sentimental partnerships it is seldom that both associates are able to withdraw their funds at the same time.
No insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity.
Is there nowhere in an American house where one may be by one's self?
He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.
As he paid the hansom and followed his wife's long train into the house he took refuge in the comforting platitude that the first six months were always the most difficult in marriage. 'After that I suppose we shall have pretty nearly finished rubbing off each other’s angles,' he reflected; but the worst of it was that May's pressure was already bearing on the very angles whose sharpness he most wanted to keep
It is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be
He seemed a part of the mute melancholy landscape, an incarnation of it's frozen woe, with all that was warm and sentient in him fast bound below the surface; but there was nothing nothing unfriendly in his silence. I simply felt that he lived in a depth of moral isolation too remote for casual access, and I had the sense that his loneliness was not merely the result of his personal plight, tragic as I guessed that to be, but had in it, as Harmon Gow had hinted, the profound accumulated cold of many Starkfield winters.
He had known the love that is fed on caresses and feeds them; but this passion that was closer than his bones was not to be superficially satisfied.
My first few weeks in America are always miserable, because the tastes I am cursed with are all of a kind that cannot be gratified here, and I am not enough in sympathy with our gross public to make up for the lack on the aesthetic side. One's friends are delightful; but we are none of us Americans, we don't think or feel as the Americans do, we are the wretched exotics produced in a European glass-house, the most displaced and useless class on earth!
“Yes, the Gorgon has dried your tears,” he said. “Well, she opened my eyes too; it's a delusion to say that she blinds people. What she does is just the contrary — she fastens their eyelids open, so that they're never again in the blessed darkness.”
...I have always lived on contrasts! To me the only death is monotony. Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.
And all the while, I suppose," he thought, "real people were living somewhere, and real things happening to them.
In the summer New York was the only place in which one could escape from New Yorkers.
Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands, as though it were dangerous to meet it alone.
What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out.
[I]t's safer to be fond of dangerous people.
The American landscape has no foreground and the American mind no background.
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