There was now a distinct manifestation of morning in the air, and presently the bleared white visage of a sunless winter day emerged like a dead-born child.
My eyes were dazed by you for a little, and that was all.
Dialect words are those terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel.
Of course poets have morals and manners of their own, and custom is no argument with them.
Give the enemy not only a road for flight, but also a means of defending it.
Aspect are within us, and who seems most kingly is king.
I am the family face; flesh perishes, I live on.
A woman would rather visit her own grave than the place where she has been young and beautiful after she is aged and ugly.
Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down you’d treat if met where any bar is, or help to half-a-crown.
It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.
Measurement of life should be proportioned rather to the intensity of the experience than to its actual length.
The first cause worked automatically like a somnambulist, and not reflectively like a sage.
Women are attracted to silent men. They believe they are listening.
That one true heart was left behind! What feeling do we ever find, to equal among human kind, a dog’s fidelity!
War makes good history but peace is poor reading.
That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.
I am the family face; flesh perishes, I live on, projecting trait and trace through time to times anon, and leaping from place to place over oblivion.
A novel is an impression, not an argument; and there the matter must rest.
That man’s silence is wonderful to listen to.
To be loved to madness – such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover.