It must be less wicked to love the wrong person than not to love anybody at all.

Almost everybody in the neighborhood had troubles, frankly localized and specified; but only the chosen had complications. To have them was in itself a distinction, though it was also, in most cases, a death warrant. People struggled on for years wit

Silence may be as variously shaded as speech.

It must be less wicked to love the wrong person than not to love anybody at all.

I believe I know the only cure, which is to make one’s center of life inside of one’s self, not selfishly or excludingly, but with a kind of unassailable serenity—to decorate one’s inner house so richly that one is content there, glad to welcome anyone who wants to come and stay, but happy all the same when one is inevitably alone.

The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.

She threw back her head with a laugh that made her chins ripple like little waves.