Charity, till then, had been conscious only of a vague self-disgust and a frightening physical distress; now, of a sudden, there came to her the grave surprise of motherhood.

No insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity.

What a shame it is for a nation to be developing without a sense of beauty, and eating bananas for breakfast.

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

...I have always lived on contrasts! To me the only death is monotony. Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.

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.

... naturalness is not always consonant with taste.