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 WhartonThere was no use in trying to emancipate a wife who had not the dimmest notion that she was not free.
Edith WhartonIt is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be
Edith WhartonBut we're so different, you know: she likes being good and I like being happy.
Edith WhartonAfter all, one knows one's weak points so well, that it's rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others.
Edith WhartonFor 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 WhartonShe pronounced the word married as if her voice caressed it. It seemed a rustling covert leading to enchanted glades.
Edith WhartonTag: classics
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 WhartonMr. Gryce was like a merchant whose warehouses are crammed with an unmarketable commodity.
Edith WhartonHe 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 WhartonTag: the-age-of-innocence face-like-a-wet-flower in-his-arms
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