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In every heart there should be one grief that is like a well in the desert.

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
Heart
Every
Like
Desert
Grief
Wells
Well

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The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.
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Do you know-I hardly remembered you? Hardly remembered me? I mean: how shall I explain? I-it's always so. Each time you happen to me all over again.
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She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies.
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In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.
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Society soon grows used to any state of things which is imposed upon it without explanation.
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Little as she was addicted to solitude, there had come to be moments when it seemed a welcome escape from the empty noises of her life.
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Women ought to be free - as free as we are,' he declared, making a discovery of which he was too irritated to measure the terrific consequences.
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The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!
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It was too late for happiness - but not too late to be helped by the thought of what I had missed. That is all I haved lived on - don't take it from me now
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I've always shrunk from usurping the functions of Providence, and when I have to exercise them I decidedly prefer that it shouldn't be on an errand of destruction.
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A New York divorce is in itself a diploma of virtue.
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It must be less wicked to love the wrong person than not to love anybody at all.
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Habit is necessary. It is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive ... one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in the big things, and happy in small ways.
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Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.
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Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.
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It was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness.
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I have never known a novel that was good enough to be good in spite of its being adapted to the author's political views.
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It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
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Her failure was a useful preliminary to success.
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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!
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