I was just a screw or cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out of it I found I was of no use anywhere else.

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

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.

Do you remember what you said to me once? That you could help me only by loving me? Well-you did love me for a moment; and it helped me. It has always helped me.

The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring.

The effect produced by a short story depends almost entirely on its form.

As the pain that can be told is but half a pain, so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch.