The tragedy of love is not death or separation. How long do you think it would have been before one or other of them ceased to care? Oh, it is dreadfully bitter to look at a woman whom you have loved with all your heart and soul, so that you felt you could not bear to let her out of your sight, and realize that you would not mind if you never saw her again. The tragedy of love is indifference.
W. Somerset MaughamReserve is an artificial quality that is developed in most of us but as the result of innumerable rebuffs.
W. Somerset MaughamI now, weak, old, diseased, poor, dying, hold still my soul in my hands, and I regret nothing.
W. Somerset MaughamLife is really very fantastic, and one has to have a peculiar sense of humour to see the fun of it. [Virtue]
W. Somerset Maugham