You like excitement and emotion and change, you like remarkable sensations, whereas I go in for a holy calm, for sweet repose.
I didn’t refuse often enough.
Her tact had to reckon with the Atlantic Ocean, the General Post-Office and the extravagant curve of the globe.
We know too much about people in these days; we hear too much. Our ears, our minds, our mouths, are stuffed with personalities. Don’t mind anything anyone tells you about anyone else. Judge everyone and everything for yourself.
Any deep harmony that might eventually govern them would not be the result of their having much in common – having anything, in fact, but their affection; and would really find its explanation in some sense, on the part of each, of being poor where the other was rich.
I reflected acutely that the sense of such differences, such superiorities of quality, always, on the part of the majority – which could include even stupid, sordid headmasters – turn infallibly to the vindictive.
They had found themselves looking at each other straight, and for a longer time on end than was usual even at parties in galleries; but that, after all, would have been a small affair, if there hadn’t been something else with it. It wasn’t, in a word, simply that their eyes had met; other conscious organs, faculties, feelers had met as well.
Wasn’t history full of the destruction of precious things?
I never really have believed in the existence of friendship in big societies – in great towns and great crowds. It’s a plant that takes time and space and air; and London society is a huge “squash”, as we elegantly call it – an elbowing, pushing, perspiring, chattering mob.
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.