Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.

There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.

He knelt by the bed and bent over her, draining their last moment to its lees; and in the silence there passed between them the word which made all clear.

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 things were inwoven with her deepest life.

Don't you ever mind," she asked suddenly, "not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?

The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.

With a shiver of foreboding he saw his marriage becoming what most of the other marriages about him were: a dull association of material and social interests held together by ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.