Here is Tom Jenkyns, honest and dull, except when he drank too much. It's true that his wife was a scold, but that was no excuse to kill her. If we killed women for their tongues all men would be murd...
He's made his own hell and there's no one but himself to thank for it.
He would stare down at us in our new world from a long-distant past--a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways, a past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a p...
He was like someone sleeping who woke suddenly and found the world...all the beauty of it, and the sadness too. The hunger and the thirst. Everything he had never thought about or known was there befo...
He was like a schoolmaster after all. It was just as she had feared. He was now going to make a fuss about her drawings, and write to Pappy, and worry Pappy, and say that time must be set aside for he...
He took her face in his hands and kissed it, and she saw that he was laughing. When you're an old maid in mittens down at Helford, you'll remember that, he said, and it will have to last you to the en...
He can’t get rid of me, he can’t shake himself clear. It has happened all my life, this business of clinging to people, of getting too fond of them.
Happiness is not a possession to be prized, it is a quality of thought, a state of mind. Of course we have our moments of depression; but there are other moments too, when time, unmeasured by the cloc...
Had I known, that last hour sitting there, talking and laughing about trivial things, that there was a clot forming like a time bomb close to his heart, ready to explode, I would surely have behaved d...
Freada said nothing was worth doing without effort. Pappy used to say that too. Everyone said it. But when things happened easily, what was the sense in driving yourself, in sweating blood?
For all the unpleasant suggestion that it conjured, it was the one room in the inn that had vitality, and was not morne and drear. The other rooms appeared neglected or unused; even the parlor by the...
Dust unto dust. There was no reason then for life—it was only a fraction of a moment between birth and death, a movement upon the surface of water, and then it was still. Janet had loved and suffered,...
Did you never try, I asked, to make some life of happiness?Happiness was not in question, he said; that went with you, a factor you refused to recognise.
But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood.
But once a woman stole the initiative, plundered the perquisites and took the lead, what happened to the globe? The fabric cracked
Because I believe there is nothing so self-destroying, and no emotion quite so despicable, as jealousy.
At twenty-three it takes very little to make the spirits soar.
As I stood there,hushed and still,I could swear that the house was not an empty shell but lived and breathed as it had lived before.
And, though there should be a world of difference between the smile of a man and the bared fangs of a wolf, with Joss Merlyn they were one and the same.
And perhaps one day, in after years, someone would wander there and listen to the silence, as she had done, and catch the whisper of the dreams that she had dreamt there, in midsummer, under the hot s...