Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist.

We get something to do and as soon as we've got it, it gets us.

Don't you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered - and I was delivered to you - to be worn. I want you to wear me, like a watch-charm or a buttonhole bouquet.

There seemed to be some heavenly support beneath his shoulder blades that lifted his feet from the ground in ecstatic suspension, as if he secretly enjoyed the ability to fly but was walking as a compromise to convention.

Oh, the secret life of man and woman--dreaming how much better we would be than we are if we were somebody else or even ourselves, and feeling that our estate has been unexploited to its fullest.

Why is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are and no where else in the world.

Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist.