Quotes About Author

and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove

her real depths are Irish and romantic and illogical

I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity. The bored haughty face that she turned to the world concealed something- most affectations conceal something eventually, even though they don't in the beginning

He says unloved women have no biographies—they have histories. Anthony laughed again. Surely

The immediate contingency overtook him, pulling him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss.

The instant her voice broke off ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said.

I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to extract a contributory emotion from me.

I learned a little of beauty - enough to know that it had nothing to do with truth - and I found, moreover, that there was no great literary tradition; there was only the tradition of the eventful death of every literary tradition....

But the rest offended her - and inarguably, because it wasn't a gesture but an emotion.

she would never blame him for being the ineffectual idler so long as he did it sincerely, from the attitude that nothing much was worth doing

When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.

He knew women early and since they spoiled him he became contemptuous of them, of young virgins because they were ignorant, of the others because they were hysterical about things which in his overwhelming self-absorption he took for granted.

as in a muddled carnival crowd an inefficient pickpocket may consider his chances increased.

Those eyes, with the grayness and eternity of a cliff of soft granite, caught his.

She illustrated very simple principles, containing in herself her own doom, but illustrated them so accurately that there was grace in the procedure, and presently Rosemary would try to imitate it.

Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry, he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. I'd be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.

Then it was something more. I wasn't actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity. The bored haughty face that she turned to the world concealed something—most affectations conceal something eventually, even though they don't in the beginning—and

The night had made a sharp difference in the weather and there was an autumn flavor in the air.

New York, he supposed, was home—the city of luxury and mystery, of preposterous hopes and exotic dreams.

La amorfa capacidad de impresionarse adquiere categoría bajo el nombre de temperamento creativo

and floating in the Sound was a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawn.

She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one- the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul.

it's the paternal instinct, Amory—celibacy goes deeper than the flesh. . . .

my yacht. I don't mind going for a coupla hours' cruise. I'll even lend you that book so you'll have something to read on the revenue