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But marriage is one long sacrifice.... Chapter 21, Medora Manson speaking to Newland Archer

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
Speaking
Sacrifice
Marriage
Long
Archer
Manson
Chapter
Chapters

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I can't love you unless I give you up.
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He bent and laid his lips on her hands, which were cold and lifeless. She drew them away, and he turned to the door, found his coat and hat under the faint gas-light of the hall, and plunged out into the winter night bursting with the belated eloquence of the inarticulate.
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She threw back her head with a laugh that made her chins ripple like little waves.
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People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.
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Everybody who does anything at all does too much.
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Life has a way of overgrowing its achievements as well as its ruins.
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The desire for symmetry, for balance, for rhythm in form as well as in sound, is one of the most inveterate of human instincts.
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Poetry and art are the breath of life to her.
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Her failure was a useful preliminary to success.
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We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!
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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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It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
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It is almost as stupid to let your clothes betray that you know you are ugly as to have them proclaim that you think you are beautiful.
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Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity, the dread of doing what has been done before.
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Life is always either a tight -rope or a feather-bed . — Give me the tightrope.
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[B]ut he had lived in a world in which, as he said, no one who loved ideas need hunger mentally.
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There is too much sour grapes for my taste in the present American attitude. The time to denounce the bankers was when we were all feeding off their gold plate not now! At present they have not only my sympathy but my preference. They are the last representatives of our native industries.
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The visible world is a daily miracle, for those who have eyes and ears.
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Everything may be labelled- but everybody is not.
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Ah, the poverty, the miserable poverty, of any love that lies outside of marriage, of any love that is not a living together, a sharing of all!
Edith Wharton