It isn’t a question of any beauty,’ said Maggie; ‘it’s only a question of the quantity of truth.’ ‘Oh the quantity of truth!’ the Prince richly though ambiguously murmured.
But even while they pretend to be lost in their fairy-tale they’re steeped in their vision of the dead restored to them.
Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him she had grown used to spare no pains, and I fancied her rummaging in some.
Art is long. If we work for ourselves of course we must hurry. If we work for her we must often pause.
Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him.
The strangest thing of all for Milly was perhaps the uplifted assurance and indifference with which she could simply give back the particular bland stare that appeared in such cases to mark civilisation at its highest. It.
They haven’t been good – they’ve only been absent. It has been easy to live with them because they’re simply leading a life of their own.
And to ply them with that evil still, to keep up the work of demons, is what brings the others back.
What it all amounted to, oddly enough, was that in his finally so simplified world this garden of death gave him the few square feet of earth on which he could still most live.
The element of the unnamed and untouched became, between us, greater than any other.
Let us be vulgar and have some fun, let us invite the President.
I was ready to know the very worst that was to be known.
How can I retrace to-day the strange steps of my obsession?
They had built strong and piled high – based as it was on such appearances – their conviction that, thanks to her native complacencies of so many sorts, she would always, quite to the end and through and through, take them as nobly sparing her. Amerigo.
I reflected that I had already, with him, hurt myself beyond repair.
These three words from her were in a flash like the glitter of a drawn blade, the jostle of the cup that my hand for weeks and weeks had held high and full to the brim and that now, even before speaking, I felt overflow in a deluge.
The American girl isn’t ANY girl; she’s a remarkable specimen in a remarkable species.
She lost herself in infinite dismay when she thought of the magnitude of his deception.
It was nothing, but it was somehow everything – it was that something for each of them had happened.
That had been the real beginning – the beginning of everything else.