The worst of doing one's duty was that it apparently unfitted one for doing anything else.

The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring.

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

...though she had not had the strength to shake off the spell that bound her to him she had lost all spontaneity of feeling, and seemed to herself to be passively awaiting a fate she could not avert.

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

What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.

Don't they always go from bad to worse? There's no turning back--your old self rejects you, and shuts you out. ~Lilly Bart