Through this atmosphere of torrid splendor moved wan beings as richly upholstered as the furniture, beings without definite pursuits or permanent relations, who drifted on a languid tide of curiosity... Somewhere behind them, in the background of their lives there was doubtless a real past, yet they had no more real existence than the poet's shades in limbo.

Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.

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.

The American landscape has no foreground and the American mind no background.

Any rapidly enacted episode. . .should be seen through only one pair of eyes.

In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.

... caprice is as ruinous as routine.