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

One of the first obligations of art is to make all useful things beautiful.

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.

I am secretly afraid of animals.... I think it is because of the usness in their eyes, with the underlying not-usness which beliesit, and is so tragic a reminder of the lost age when we human beings branched off and left them: left them to eternal inarticulateness and slavery. Why? their eyes seem to ask us.

I can't love you unless I give you up.

There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free.

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