She had everything she wanted, but she still felt, at times, that there were other things she might want if she knew about them.

Edith Wharton

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There was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free.

Edith Wharton

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It is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be

Edith Wharton

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But we're so different, you know: she likes being good and I like being happy.

Edith Wharton

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After all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others.

Edith Wharton

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For she was really too lovely--too formidably lovely. I was used by now to mere unadjectived loveliness, the kind that youth and spirits hang like a rosy veil over commonplace features, an average outline and a pointless merriment. But this was something calculated, accomplished, finished--and just a little worn. It frightened me with my first glimpse of the infinity of beauty and the multiplicity of her pit-falls. What! There were women who need not fear crow's-feet, were more beautiful for being pale, could let a silver hair or two show among the dark, and their eyes brood inwardly while they smiled and chatted? but then no young man was safe for a moment! But then the world I had hitherto known had been only a warm pink nursery, while this new one was a place of darkness, perils and enchantments...

Edith Wharton

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She pronounced the word married as if her voice caressed it. It seemed a rustling covert leading to enchanted glades.

Edith Wharton

Mots clés classics

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I want - I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that -categories like that- won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.

Edith Wharton

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Mr. Gryce was like a merchant whose warehouses are crammed with an unmarketable commodity.

Edith Wharton

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He had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors shriveling up like ghosts at sunrise.

Edith Wharton

Mots clés the-age-of-innocence face-like-a-wet-flower in-his-arms

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