Mr. Dearly wasn't exactly handsome but he had the kind of face you don't get tired of.
Just to be in love seemed the most blissful luxury I had ever known. The thought came to me that perhaps it is the loving that counts, not the being loved in return—that perhaps true loving can never...
I suppose the best kind of spring morning is the best weather God has to offer.
At least we're companions in misfortune
Art could state very little - it's whole business is to evoke responses.
Perhaps it is loving that counts, not the being loved in return- that perhaps true loving can never know anything but happiness.
We were restless for ages...After a while I heard an owl hooting and calmed myself by thinking of it flying over the dark fields – and then I remembered it would be pouncing on mice. I love owls, but...
Thinking of death--strange, beautiful, terrible and a long way off--made me feel happier than ever.
There used to be two of us always on the look-out for life, talking to Miss Blossom at night, wondering, hoping; two Bronte-Jane Austen girls, poor but spirited, two Girls of Godsend Castle.
My God - it's a green child! said the American. What is this place - the House of Usher?
I get the feeling I do on finishing a novel with a brick-wall happy ending - I mean the kind of ending when you never think any more about the characters.
I found it quite easy to carry on a casual conversation it was as if my real feelings were down fathoms deep in my mind and what we said was just a feathery surface spray.
And at last father flung the rug off as if it were hampering him and strode over to the table saying, 'cocoa, cocoa!'-- it might have been the most magnificent drink in the world; which, personally, I...
Americans do seem to say things which make the English notice England.
But it is always dreadful when the pictures in front of one's eyes become meaningless and the real word is there instead and seems meaningless, too.
What I'd really hate would be the settled feeling, with nothing but happiness to look forward to. Of course no life is perfectly happy- Rose's children will probably get ill, the servants may be diffi...
Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation-- every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.
Truthfulness so often goes with ruthlessness.
Simon: You always were wise beyond your years. Cassandra: No I wasn't. I used to be consciously naive.
Now, paper and pencils, said Miss Marcy, clapping her hands.Writing paper is scarce in this house, and I had no intention of tearing sheets out of this exercise book, which is a superb sixpenny one th...