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

My last page is always latent in my first; but the intervening windings of the way become clear only as I write.

Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites.

But after a moment a sense of waste and ruin overcame him. There they were, close together and safe and shut in; yet so chained to their separate destinies that they might as well been half the world apart.

We shall hurt others less. Isn't it, after all, what you always wanted?

In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.

And you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities.