В чьей манере было изъясняться откровенно, когда не было причин, житейских или денежных, о чем то умалчивать. (О Сюзи Бранч)
Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites...
Genius is of small use to a woman who does not know how to do her hair.
Все те незнакомцы и незнакомки, которым она улыбалась мимоходом, на которых оглядывалась с завистью, были свободны от потребностей, рабой которых была она, и они не поняли бы, о чем она толкует, если...
She always paid for her rare indiscretions by a violent reaction of prudence.
You are an artist and I happen to be the bit of colour you are using today. It's a part of your cleverness to be able to produce premeditated effects extemporaneously.
We can't behave like people in novels, though, can we?
There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there’s only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there’s no reason...
Theodora usually found that her good intentions matured too late for practical results.
The words came out slowly, haltingly, as if they had cost him a struggle. Nan had noticed before now that anger was too big a garment for him; it always hung on him in uneasy folds.
The whole truth? Miss Bart laughed. What is truth? Where a woman is concerned, it’s the story that’s easiest to believe.
The columns of the Cathedral porch were still supported on featureless porphyry lions worn smooth by generations of loungers; and above the octagonal baptistery ran a fantastic basrelief wherein the s...
The boy was not insensitive, he knew; but he had the facility and self-confidence that came of looking at fate not as a master but as an equal.
She was very near hating him now; yet the sound of his voice, the way the light fell on his thin, dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothes—she was conscious that even these trivial thi...
She knew herself by heart too, and was sick of the old story.
She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten them all.
She felt a stealing sense of fatigue as she walked; the sparkle had died out of her, and the taste of life was stale on her lips. She hardly knew what she had been seeking, or why the failure to find...
Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
Odbacila sam par dobrih prilika na samom početku – pretpostavljam da to svaka devojka uradi, a znate da sam vrlo siromašna – i vrlo skupa.
Não é verdade, monsieur, que o grande valor está em manter a própria liberdade intelectual, em não escravizar o nosso poder de apreciação, a nossa independência crítica?