There is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul.
Edith WhartonHe had known the love that is fed on caresses and feeds them; but this passion that was closer than his bones was not to be superficially satisfied.
Edith WhartonIn a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
Edith WhartonIn reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.
Edith Wharton