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.

She had no tolerance for scenes which were not of her own making.

The very good people didn't convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted. But you knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside tugging at one with all its golden hands — and yet you hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference.

What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out.

Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites.

Half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn't any.

Misfortune had made Lily supple instead of hardening her, and a pliable substance is less easy to break than a stiff one.