Most timidities have such secret compensations and Miss Bart was discerning enough to know that the inner vanity is generally in proportion to the outer self depreciation.
Сюзи Бранч по мужски относилась к данному слову...
Lost causes had a romantic charm for her,
Is there nowhere in an American house where one may be by one's self?
Her entrances were always triumphs; but they had no sequel. As soon as people began to talk they ceased to see her.
It was horrible of a young girl to let herself be talked about; however unfounded the charges against her, she must be to blame for their having been made.
We shall hurt others less. Isn't it, after all, what you always wanted?
They had never been at peace together, they two; and now he felt himself drawn downward into the strange mysterious depths of her tranquillity.
Now, as he reviewed his past, he saw into what a deep rut he had sunk. The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else... There are moments when a man's imagi...
How impatience men are! All Jack has to do to get everything he wants is to keep quiet and let that girl marry him; whereas I have to calculate and contrive, and retreat and advance, as if I were goin...
Every drop of blood in Lily's veins invited her to happiness.
Don't you ever mind, she asked suddenly, not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?
Archer had reverted to all his old inherited ideas about marriage. It was less trouble to conform with the tradition and treat May exactly as all his friends treated their wives than to try to put int...
But he would see clearer, breathe freer in her presence: she was at once the dead weight at his breast and the spar which should float them to safety.
The return to reality was as painful as the return to consciousness after taking an anesthetic
The Hazeldean heart was a proverbial boast in the family; the Hazeldeans privately considered it more distinguished than the Sillerton gout, and far more refined than the Wesson liver; and it had perm...
Life's just a perpetual piecing together of broken bits.
It seemed to her the diabolical instrument of their estrangement.
I want our life to be like a house with all the windows lit.
I hate in-the-end kindnesses: they're about as nourishing as the third day of cold mutton.