Everybody who does anything at all does too much.

She felt a stealing sense of fatigue as she walked; the sparkle had died out of her, and the taste of life was stale on her lips. She hardly knew what she had been seeking, or why the failure to find it had so blotted the light from her sky: she was only aware of a vague sense of failure, of an inner isolation deeper than the loneliness about her.

A classic is classic not because it conforms to certain structural rules, or fits certain definitions (of which its author had quite probably never heard). It is classic because of a certain eternal and irrepressible freshness.

It is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be

When a man says he doesn't understand a woman it's because he won't take the trouble.

Life is made up of compromises.

She was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in company.