I first met Myra Henshawe when I was fifteen, but I had known her about ever since I could remember anything at all.

Sometimes I wonder why God ever trusts talent in the hands of women, they usually make such an infernal mess of it. I think He must do it as a sort of ghastly joke.

The land belongs to the future.

The soul cannot be humbled by fasts and prayer; it must be broken by mortal sin to experience forgiveness of sin and rise to a state of grace. Otherwise, religion is nothing but dead logic.

Late one brilliant April afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson stood at the head of Chestnut Street, looking about him with the pleased air of a man of taste who does not very often get to Boston.

Old men are like that, you know. It makes them feel important to think they are in love with somebody.

Religion and art spring from the same root and are close kin.