Once more it was borne in on him that marriage was not the safe anchorage he had been taught to think, but a voyage on uncharted seas.

He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.

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.

Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose.

Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands, as though it were dangerous to meet it alone.

When a man says he doesn't understand a woman it's because he won't take the trouble.

Every house is a mad-house at some time or another.