In the novel we can know people perfectly, and, apart from the general pleasure of reading, we can find here a compensation for their dimness in life.

Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him.

There is something majestic in the bad taste of Italy.

You want to love everyone equally, and that's worse than impossible--it's wrong.

But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable.

Their quarrel was no more surprising than are most quarrels — inevitable at the time, incredible afterwards.

As her time in Florence drew to a close she was only at ease amongst those to whom she felt indifferent.