Her life should always be in harmony with the most pleasing impression she should produce; she would be what she appeared, and she would appear what she was.
How on the other hand could I make a reference without a new plunge into the hideous obscure?
The perfection of her success, decidedly, was like some strange shore to which she had been noiselessly ferried and where, with a start, she found herself quaking at the thought that the boat might have put off again and left her. The.
He found on the spot the image of his recent history; he was like one of the figures of the old clock at Berne. THEY came out, on one side, at their hour, jigged along their little course in the public eye, and went in on the other side. He too had jigged his little course – him too a modest retreat awaited.
You’re a very nice girl, but I wish you’d flirt with me, and me only.
And it was in the mitigated midnight of these approximations that she had discerned the promise of her dawn.
In such hours as this what have we to do with pain? That is not the deepest thing; there is something deeper.
What we often take to be the new is simply the old under some novel form.
The infirmity of art was the candour of affection, the grossness of pedigree the refinement of sympathy; the ugliest object in fact as a general thing were the bravest, the tenderest mementoes, and, as such, figured in glass cases apart, worthy doubtless of the home but not worthy of the temple – dedicated to the grimacing, not to the clear-faced gods. She.
Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being ‘bad’ is a question for the metaphysicians.
Spiritual age is determined by the acts which make the mornings and evenings of the soul, and not by the motions of the physical globe. The soul should have its own cycles and revolutions, presenting in turn every portion of its existence to the vivifying influence of the great source of light.
Was he in love with Gilbert Osmond’s wife, and if so what comfort did he expect to derive from it? If he was in love with Pansy he was not in love with her stepmother, and if he was in love with her stepmother he was not in love with Pansy. Was she to cultivate the advantage she possessed in order to make him commit himself to Pansy, knowing he would do so for her sake and not for the small creature’s own was this the service her husband had asked of her?
Let your ideas be second-hand, and if possible tenth-hand, for then they will be far removed from that disturbing element- direct observation.
The” thing was the thing that implied the greatest number of other things of the sort he had had to tackle; and it was queer of course, but so it was – the implication here was complete. Not.
The secret of what passed between him and the strange girl who.
I don’t know why – there are no brick gables,′ said Mrs. Prest, ’but this corner has seemed to me before more Dutch than Italian, more like Amsterdam than Venice. It’s perversely clean, for reasons of its own; and though you can pass on foot scarcely anyone ever thinks of doing so. It has the air of a Protestant Sunday. Perhaps the people are afraid of the Misses Bordereau. I daresay they have the reputation of witches.
It takes a great deal to make a successful American, but to make a happy Venetian takes only a handful of quick sensibility. The.
I adore a moat,’ said Isabel. ‘Good-bye.
It was all there, in short – it was what he wanted: it was Tremont Street, it was France, it was Lambinet. Moreover, he was freely walking about in it.
May Bartram smiled. “I don’t pretend it exactly shows that I’m not living for you. It’s my intimacy with you that’s in question.” He laughed as he saw what she meant. “Yes, but since, as you say, I’m only, so far as people make out, ordinary, you’re – aren’t you? no more than ordinary either. You help me to pass for a man like another. So if I am, as I understand you, you’re not compromised. Is that it?