Perhaps grown women are beings of a good deal more complexity than cats.
I love you more than I can express, or can ever hope to express.
That’s the way girls are isn’t it? They swear eternal friendship, and then as soon as a man’s in the case it’s all forgotten.
I have never understood why a woman must have a man to take her into dinner.
It is not always easy, for a woman alone.
None of us like to think we are silly. But all must acknowledge that they are capable of silliness, from time to time.
It is painful to see someone suffering what you must be suffering- watching someone you love be so cruelly hurt.
Everything about everybody was very soon known by everybody else.
We always think we know what we want: when in truth there is nothing we are less likely to know.
Miss Rose in this demonstrating the peculiar talent of those who proclaim their absence of self-esteem for getting a lot of attention by pretending they never get any.
Still, some might say it was her duty to endure it. But she could not sacrifice self-respect on the altar of convention. That’s rather a good phrase, isn’t it? I must have read it somewhere.
I think there is a compliment there somewhere, but it is very well disguised.
The influences of our childhood and youth cannot be underestimated, I believe: those are the experiences that shape us, far beyond their immediate power.
I should say no more. Because when we dislike someone we are always very ready to believe any ill of them.
How odd that we always exclaim over children growing, as if in the ordinary run of things they shrink.
It was an impossibility, but Augusta lived quite comfortably with impossibilities.
Some people have to carry a mirror and watch themselves living to feel they’re alive at all.
Under the greenwood tree, who something something me”, tum-te-tum the weather,′ Tom remarked. ‘Shocking memory for poetry.
But Reason’s voice could not always be heard above the clamour of self-doubt.
But her chief emotion was pity: for father’s embarrassment at having to tell her this, for the staggerings of a man obliged, even for a little time, to throw away the crutches of untruth.
Yes, put it there, fill the table so there’s no space left, no room for the guilt.