She says queer things sometimes in a bantering way that you don’t notice at the time and you find yourself thinking about afterward.
The lovers were just entering the grounds of the pension. They were leaning toward each other as the water oaks bent from the sea. There was not a particle of earth beneath their feet. Their heads might have been turned upside down, so absolutely did they tread upon blue ether.
The heart jealous of the soul!
Don’t part from me in any ill humor. I never knew you to be out of patience with me before.
His coming was in the nature of a welcome disturbance; it seemed to furnish a new direction for her emotions.
Robert’s going had some way taken the brightness, the color, the meaning out of everything. The conditions of her life were in no way changed, but her whole existence was dulled, like a faded garment which seems to be no longer worth wearing.
They had been permitted to sit up till after the ice-cream, which naturally marked the limit of human indulgence.
Or else she stayed in and nursed a mood with which she was becoming too familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not despair; but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled.
Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one’s life.
I wonder if anyone else has an ear so tuned and sharpened as I have, to detect the music, not of the spheres, but of earth, subtleties of major and minor chord that the wind strikes upon the tree branches. Have you ever heard the earth breathe?
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
She wanted something to happen – something, anything: she did not know what.
The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude.
In the procession I should feel the crushing feet, the clashing discords, the ruthless hands and stifling breath. I could not hear the rhythm of the march.
The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.
A certain light was beginning to dawn dimly within her, – the light which, showing the way, forbids it.
I would give up the unessential; I would give up my money, I would give up my life for my children; but I wouldnt give myself. I can’t make it more clear; it’s only something I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me.
Have you ever heard the earth breath?