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.
They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered. They both seemed to have arrived there with an extraordinary innocence as though a series of pure accidents had driven them together, so many accidents that at last they were forced to conclude that they were for each other.
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.
One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still.
Oh God! One minute it’s my world, and the next I’m the world’s fool.
He saw Nicole in the garden. Presently he must encounter her and the prospect gave him a leaden feeling. Before her he must keep up a perfect front, now and tomorrow, next week and next year. All night in Paris he had held her in his arms while she slept light under the luminal; in the early morning he broke in upon her confusion before it could form, with words of tenderness and protection, and she slept again with his face against the warm scent of her hair.
For America is composed not of two sorts of people, but of two frames of mind – the first engaged in doing what is would like to do, the second pretending that such things do not exist.
Whether it’s something that happened twenty years ago or only yesterday I must start out with an emotion, one that’s close to me and that I can understand.