...though she had not had the strength to shake off the spell that bound her to him she had lost all spontaneity of feeling, and seemed to herself to be passively awaiting a fate she could not avert.

Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.

I don't believe in God, but I do believe in His saints.

The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!

She would not have put herself out so much to say so little.

Think what stupid things the people must have done with their money who say they're 'happier without'.

It's you who are telling me; opening my eyes to things I'd looked at so long that I'd ceased to see them.