Henry Colbert, the miller, always breakfasted with his wife--beyond that he appeared irregularly at the family table.

I've seen it before. There are women who spread ruin through no fault of theirs, just by being too beautiful, too ful of life and love. They can't help it. Poeple come to them as people go to a warm fire in winter.

What if - what if Life itself were the sweetheart?

In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another; loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching.

Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.

The great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes.

There was nothing but land; not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.