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The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!

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
People
Pretend
Loneliness
Among
Asks
Living
Real
Kind

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I don't know that I should care for a man who made life easy I should want some one who made it interesting.
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True originality consists not in a new manner but in a new vision. That new, that personal, vision is attained only by looking long enough at the object represented to make it the writer's own and the mind which would bring this secret gem to fruition must be able to nourish it with an accumulated wealth of knowledge and experience.
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It was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness.
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He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.
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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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Overhead hung a summer sky furrowed with the rush of rockets and from the east a late moon, pushing up beyond the lofty bend of the coast, sent across the bay a shaft of brightness which paled to ashes in the red glitter of the illuminated boats.
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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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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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She threw back her head with a laugh that made her chins ripple like little waves.
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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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In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.
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traditions that have lost their meaning are the hardest of all to destroy.
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[I]t's safer to be fond of dangerous people.
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... there are spines to which the immobility of worship is not a strain.
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The visible world is a daily miracle, for those who have eyes and ears.
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Archer reddened to the temples but dared not move or speak: it was as if her words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion might drive off on startled wings, but that might gather a flock if it were left undisturbed.
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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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People struggled on for years with 'troubles,' but they almost always succumbed to 'complications.
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Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
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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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