The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.

In the summer New York was the only place in which one could escape from New Yorkers.

They belonged to that vast group of human automata who go through life without neglecting to perform a single one of the gestures executed by the surrounding puppets.

With a shiver of foreboding he saw his marriage becoming what most of the other marriages about him were: a dull association of material and social interests held together by ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.

We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!

And all the while, I suppose," he thought, "real people were living somewhere, and real things happening to them.

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