But he hated to be sober. It made him conscious of the people around him, of that air of struggle, of greedy ambition, of hope more sordid than despair, of incessant passage up or down.

Laughter is easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word.

Her beauty climbed the rolling slope, it came into the room, rustling ghost-like through the curtains.

smoking had come to be an important punctuation mark in the long sentence of a day on the road.

I am a woman and my business is to hold things together. My business is to tear them apart.

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.

Can’t repeat the past?…Why of course you can!