Quotes About Author

He had brought home to her, and always by remarks that were really quite soundless, the conception, hitherto ungrapsed, of some complete use of her wealth itself, some use of it as a counter-move to fate.

Agreeable in the sense of floating there in infinite isolation and leisure that it was.

The misery of Venice stands there for all the world to see; it is part of the spectacle—a thoroughgoing devotee of local colour might consistently say it is part of the pleasure. The

under the long and discurtained ordeal of the morrow's dawn, that

The superiority you discern in me," she concurred, "announces my futility. If you knew," she sighed, "the dreams of my youth!" But our realities are what has brought us together. We're beaten brothers in arms.

The light of his plural pronoun was sufficiently reflected in his companion's face as he again met it; and he completed his demonstration.

I don't know, however, what right I have to ask a service of you. You're the person in the world who has most right, he answered. I've given you assurances that I've never given any one else.

Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him she had grown used to spare no pains, and I fancied her rummaging in some.

Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him.

What it all amounted to, oddly enough, was that in his finally so simplified world this garden of death gave him the few square feet of earth on which he could still most live.

American girls are the best girls," he said cheerfully to his young companion.

She was, moreover, mistress of a very pretty little fortune, and was accounted clever without detriment to her amiability and amiable without detriment to her wit.

I have never entertained an idea. Ideas often entertain me; (Chapter 7)

On her limbs was the stiffness of death, and on her face, in the fading light of the sun, the terror of something more than death.

He put out his hand for good-bye with a "Splendid, splendid, splendid!" And he left her, in her splendour, still waiting for little Bilham.

There were moments," she explained, "when you struck me as grandly cynical; there were others when you struck me as grandly vague.

There's something perverse about women...they're all masochists at heart.

I am of the order whose purpose is not to teach the world a lesson but to explain that school is over.

When into the womb of time everything is again withdrawn chaos will be restored and chaos is the score upon which reality is written.

At the opera, the music makes no sense; here in the street it has just the right demented touch to give it poignancy.

And, though reading may not at first blush seem like an act of creation, in a deep sense it is. Without the enthusiastic reader, who is really the author's counterpart and very often his most secret rival, a book would die.

I even like your deceit, your treachery. It seems aristocratic to me.

Dostoyevsky was the sum of all these contradictions which either paralyze a man or lead him to the heights.

Are we not all victims of fear and anxiety precisely because we lack faith and trust in one another?