Anthony Patch had ceased to be an individual of mental adventure, of curiosity, and had become an individual of bias and prejudice, with a longing to be emotionally undisturbed. This gradual change had taken place through the past several years, accelerated by succession of anxieties preying on his mind.
It was Sunday – not a day, but rather a gap between two other days.
She did not know yet that splendor is something in the heart; at the moment when she realized that and melted into the passion of the universe he could take her without question or regret.
The drink made past happy things contemporary with the present, as if they were still going on, contemporary even with the future as if they were about to happen again.
I grew up thinking that writer and secretary were the same, except that a writer usually smelled of cocktails and came more often to meals.
He would have considered entering the leather business because the intensity of the competition would have kept him from unhappiness.
Daisy put her arm through his abruptly but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her. It has seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.
Because of the chasm which his grandfather’s visit had opened before him, and the consequent revulsion from his late mode of life, it was inevitable that he should look around in this suddenly hostile city for the friends and environments that had once seemed the warmest and most secure. His fist step was a desperate attempt to get back his old apartment.
E’ sempre triste guardare con occhi diversi cose alle quali, con fatica, ci siamo adattati.
If you want to be prominent, get out and try for something.
What if I do? I’ve heard you and Maury, and everyone else for whose intellect I have the slightest respect, agree that life as it appears is utterly meaningless. But it’s always seemed to me that if I were unconsciously learning something here it might not be so meaningless.
A chi poteva interessare, in quella calura, di chi fossero le labbra ardenti che aveva baciato, quale tersa avesse inumidito la tasca del pigiama sul suo cuore!
Tell me about yourself.” And she gave the answer that Adam must have given. “There’s nothing to tell.” But.
The growth of intimacy is like that. First one gives off his best picture, the bright and finished product mended with bluff and falsehood and humor. Then more details are required and one paints a second portrait, and a third – before long the best lines cancel out – and the secret is exposed at last; the planes of the pictures have intermingled and given us away, and though we paint and paint we can no longer sell a picture.
His eyes were of a bright, hard blue. His nose was somewhat pointed and there was never any doubt at whom he was looking or talking – and this is a flattering attention, for who looks at us? – glances fall upon us, curious or disinterested, nothing more.
She lent him her lips again for the faint brush of a kiss.
Oh, what did it matter? This night, this glow, the cessation of anxiety and the sense that if living was not purposeful it was, at any rate, essentially romantic!
He was remembering too vividly the youth and freshness of her lips.
When a girl tells the man she likes second best about the other one, then she’s in love.” – Cecelia Brady.
These people could appreciate me and take me for granted, and these men would fall in love with me and admire me, whereas the clever men I meet would just analyze me and tell me I’m this because of this or that because of that.” – Anthony for the moment wanted fiercely to paint her, to set her down now, as she was, as, as with each relentless second she could never be again. “What.