Death is the only pure, beautiful conclusion of a great passion.

But having more freedom she only became more profoundly aware of the big want. She wanted so many things. She wanted to read great, beautiful books, and be rich with them; she wanted to see beautiful things, and have the joy of them for ever; she wanted to know big, free people; and there remained always the want she could put no name to? It was so difficult. There were so many things, so much to meet and surpass. And one never knew where one was going.

Beauty is a mystery. You can neither eat it nor make flannel out of it.

It's better to be born lucky than rich. If you're rich, you may lose your money, but if you're born lucky, you will always have more money.

It grew late. Through the open door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies, almost as if it were prowling abroad.

So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness.

The artist usually sets out -- or used to -- to point a moral and adorn a tale. The tale, however, points the other way, as a rule. Two blankly opposing morals, the artist's and the tale's. Never trust the artist. Trust the tale. The proper functions of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.