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Life is always either a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.
Edith Wharton
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Edith Wharton
Age: 75 †
Born: 1862
Born: January 24
Died: 1937
Died: August 11
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Translator
Writer
New York City
New York
Edith Newbold Jones
Edith Newbold Jones Wharton
Literature
Give
Tightrope
Giving
Feather
Always
Feathers
Life
Rope
Tight
Bed
Either
More quotes by Edith Wharton
People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.
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The visible world is a daily miracle for those who have eyes and ears and I still warm hands thankfully at the old fire, though every year it is fed with the dry wood of more old memories.
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What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.
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Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
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Society soon grows used to any state of things which is imposed upon it without explanation.
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... caprice is as ruinous as routine.
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There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.
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I wonder why rich people always grow fat I suppose it's because there's nothing to worry them.
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If only we'd stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time.
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In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles and Orion flashed his cold fires.
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They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods
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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.
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And he felt himself oppressed by this creation of factitious purity, so cunningly manufactured by a conspiracy of mothers and aunts and grandmothers and long-dead ancestresses, because it was supposed to be what he wanted, what he had a right to, in order that he might exercise his lordly pleasure in smashing it like an image made of snow.
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I was never allowed to read the popular American children's books of my day because, as my mother said, the children spoke bad English without the author's knowing it.
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Since the Americans have ceased to have dyspepsia, they have lost the only thing that gave them any expression.
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It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.
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There's no such thing as old age, there is only sorrow.
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[I]t's safer to be fond of dangerous people.
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Don't you ever mind, she asked suddenly, not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?
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Their long years together had shown him that it did not so much matter if marriage was a dull duty, as long as it kept the dignity of duty: lapsing from that, it became a mere battle of ugly appetites.
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