I think I like 'em better like that...divinely dull...just the quiet bearers of their own beauty, like the priestesses in a Panathenaic procession.

The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.

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

He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless. She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.

...It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

Happiness is a work of art. Handle with care.

My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.