And wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not.
Ah, don't let us undo what you've done!' she cried. 'I can't go back now to that other way of thinking. I can't love you unless I give you up.
He could not imagine being bored by Susy -- or trying to escape from her if he were. He could not think of her as an enemy, or even as an accomplice, since accomplices are potential enemies: she was s...
Το χειρότερο όταν κάνεις το καθήκον σου είναι ότι γίνεσαι προφανώς ακατάλληλος για οτιδήποτε άλλο. Τουλάχιστον αυτή ήταν η άποψη που είχαν υιοθετήσει οι άνθρωποι της γενιάς του. Ο σαφής διαχωρισμός αν...
Marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.
Even in his unhappiest moments field and sky spoke to him with a deep and powerful persuasion.
Whether by this he meant the clergy I know not; though I observed he spoke favourably of that body in France, pointing out that, long before the recent agitations, they had defended the civil rights o...
To have you here, you mean-in reach and yet out of reach? To meet you in this way, on the sly? It's the very reverse of what I want.
This new resolve gave her a sort of light-headed self-confidence: when she left the dinner-table she felt so easy and careless that she was surprised to see that the glass of champagne beside her plat...
There was such love as she had dreamed, and she meant to go on believing in it and cherishing the thought that she was worthy of it.
There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free.
Then stay with me a little longer,' Madame Olenska said in a low tone, just touching his knee with her plumed fan. It was the lightest touch, but it thrilled him like a caress.
The whole truth? Miss Bart laughed. What is the truth? Where a woman is concerned, it's the story that's easiest to believe. In this case it's a great deal easier to believe Bertha Dorset's story than...
The quiet, almost passive young woman struck him as exactly the kind of person to whom things were bound to happen, no matter how much she shrank from them and went out of her way to avoid them.
The party was made up of what Mrs. Trenor called poky people—her generic name for persons who did not play bridge—and, it being her habit to group all such obstructionists in one class, she usually in...
Superficially so like them all, and so eager to outdo them in detachment and adaptability, ridiculing the prejudices he had shaken off, and the people to whom he belonged, he still kept, under his eas...
Misfortune had made Lily supple instead of hardening her, and a pliable substance is less easy to break than a stiff one.
Life's just a perpetual piecing together of broken bits.
In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.
His days were full and they were filled decently, he supposed it was all a man ought to ask. Something he knew he had missed: the flower of life.