It was grey windless weather, and the bell of the little old church that nestled in the hollow of the Sussex down sounded near and domestic. We were a straggling procession in the mild damp air - whic...
We see our lives from our own point of view; that is the privilege of the weakest and humblest of us;
There were several ways of understanding her: there was what she said, and there was what she meant, and there was something between the two, that was neither.
There is no more usual basis of union than a mutual misunderstanding
He was allying himself to science, for what was science but the absence of prejudice backed by the presence of money? His life would be full of machinery, which was the antidote to superstition ...
I might show it to you, but you'd never see it. The privilege isn't given to every one; it's not enviable. It has never been seen by a young, happy, innocent person like you. You must have suffered fi...
The only success worth one's powder was success in the line of one's idiosyncrasy... what was talent but the art of being completely whatever one happened to be?
You young men have too many jokes. When there are no jokes you've nothing left.
When I am wicked I am in high spirits.
He's the victim of a critical age; he has ceased to believe in himself and he doesn't know what to believe in.
And remember this, that if you've been hated, you've also been loved.
Be not afraid of life believe that life is worth living and your belief will create the fact.
It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance, and I know of no substitute for the force and beauty of it's process.
In art economy is always beauty.
There was nothing in the room the next minute but the sunshine and a sense that I must stay.
The Countess was very good company and not really the featherhead she seemed; all one had to do with her was to observe the simple condition of not believing a word she said.
She often wondered indeed if she ever had been, or ever could be, intimate with anyone.
She is like a revolving lighthouse; pitch darkness alternating with a dazzling brilliancy!
She envied Ralph his dying, for if one were thinking of rest that was the most perfect of all. To cease utterly, to give it all up and not know anything more - this idea was as sweet as a vision of a...
One can't judge till one's forty; before that we're too eager, too hard, too cruel, and in addition much too ignorant.